#believe it or not this is a pencil drawing done in my management accounting class i just decided to slap digi colors on. no references lol

[oozeandgoo-art]

[marvelslut16]

The sketchbook

Prompt number: 27 “give me that”

Fandom: IT

Paring: Stanley Uris x reader (aged up to juniors in high school)

Rating: T

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: Bullying. Swearing I think. Mentions of a boner. The use of the word flamer. 

A/N: It’s a short one today boys and ghouls. I wasn’t super motivated and energetic during the day and SNL started tonight, so priorities lmao. Anywho, enjoy day three of fictober. Also it’s spooky season so my brain is stuck on IT.

You had been encouraging Stan to become an artist since the start of freshman year when he finally worked up the nerve to show you his sketches of the birds he watched for hours on end. Each drawing was done with so much love and care, the thickness of each pencil stroke clearly thought out beforehand, and the birds looked so real they would fly off the page if you left the book open long enough. Stan never believed your praises, claiming you had to say it because you’re his best friend, and said that being an artist wasn’t a suitable and reliable career. So he never took art as an elective, always accounting. 

Now almost done with your junior year of high school Stan always seems to be sketching in his book, running out of pages in a mere month. One day in english class you peer over his shoulder and see the most realistic drawing of an eye you have ever seen. Just looking at it you can tell that the imaginary person the eye belongs to is laughing, there’s an unmistakable sparkle to it and the eye scrunches slightly. 

Noticing that the pages are running low, and knowing that his dad won’t buy him another sketchbook anytime soon, you take your saved up allowance to buy Stan the thickest and best sketchbook the art store has to offer. Bev teases you relentlessly for being so obvious about your feelings, and the boys tease Stan for blushing when you give him the present. The losers were always trying to see what Stan is sketching, upset that you’re the only one he shows, but he doesn’t even show you over half of the drawings he’s done.

He leaves his sketchbook closed and off to the side at lunch, usually helping you with last night's math homework while the losers eat. Usually nobody touches said book, but today Richie is feeling particularly troublesome. The boy with the glasses is giddy because he and Eddie finally kissed and they're going out on their first date tonight, so the trashmouth shows his happiness by being invasive with everyone else. The boy had already ruffled through your backpack earlier in the day and stole a smoke from Bev. Richie’s long fingers wrap around the book, neither you nor Stan notice until the book is being pressed firmly to Richie’s chest and away from your grasp. 

“Where’s my book?” Stan asks a few minutes later, pushing the math homework and lunch trays roughly. 

“Oh you mean this?” Richie smirks, confidently holding the sketchbook up between his thumb and index finger.

“Give it back to him Richie,” you roll your eyes, you know that even in his mood Richie won’t actually flip through the book. Luckily for every loser, Richie had learned which lines not to cross over the years. 

“Or I could just take it,” Henry’s victorious laugh seems to reverberate off the walls of the lunchroom as he grabs the sketchbook from Richie’s fingers. Richie looks panicked and like he’s about to vomit at the turn of events, beside him Eddie’s face scrunches up in disgust at all of the germs being collected on the leather-bound book. 

“Give me that back,” Stan’s voice goes up in active, quickly standing from his seat. His attempts at reaching for the sketchbook are futile, Bowers only backing away further or raising his arms up and out of Stan’s reach.

“It looks like Uris here isn’t a flamer after all,” Bowers laughs, his friends joining in, as he flips through the pages filled with Stan’s beautiful artwork. “He’s got a creepy little crush on (Y/L/N), I bet he gets a boner drawing these!”

“Give him the book back Henry,” your voice is hard and annoyed. You don’t let his taunts get to you, there was no way Stan was actually drawing you. 

“Look at this one!” Bowers ignores you as he laughs louder, pointing out a picture to his friends. “(Y/L/N) you look good in a swimsuit.” 

Before you can respond, Stan launches himself at Henry, successfully grabbing the sketchbook and tearing it from the bully’s grip. Luckily none of the pages ripped, each drawing still in perfect condition. You try to get Stan to meet your eyes, you want to know if he really was drawing you, but he refused to meet your gaze as he packed up his bag. Stan doesn’t say a word to anyone, instead he slings his bag over one shoulder and quickly leaves the cafeteria. Bowers and his friends are laughing in delight, you’re too focused on the boy in his khakis, baby blue button up shirt, and his mop of curls receding figure to yell at Henry. 

“Bail me out of detention,” you look Richie in the eye as you say this, knowing he’s the only one with the skills to get you out of there. You quickly stand from your own seat and grab your bag, following Stan into the boys bathroom you just watched him disappear into. 

You hear quiet sniffles when you push the door to the bathroom, said sniffles stop once the door creaks and alerts Stan that someone entered. He’s hiding in one of the stalls, his shiny brown shoes peeking out from under the stall door give him away. 

“Stan please talk to me,” you stick out a hand to push on the stall door, but it's locked and doesn't budge. You let out a little sigh, turning and locking the door to the bathroom before heading back to stand in front of his stall. “I’ll stay in here all day if I have to, please talk to me.”

“I’m sorry,” there’s a shaking in his voice that surprises you.

“Stan, baby, what are you sorry for?” you don’t notice your slip up, letting out the pet name you wish you could call him Stan unlocks the stall door, eyes wide and slightly watery as he stares at you. 

Instead of responding Stan hands you the sketchbook, letting you see every drawing for the first time. Bowers wasn’t kidding, the book is filled with drawings of you. You midlaugh, you lounging in the hammock with your showercap on, you in your swimsuit at the quarry, you looking up from a textbook when you study with him. You’re taken aback by how beautiful he’s managed to make you look, causing you to wonder if this is how he sees you. 

“Babyboy, these are beautiful,” you breathe after a few tense moments. You finally tear your eyes away from the drawings and are greeted by his bright red cheeks. “What?”

“You need to stop doing that,” he murmurs quietly, looking down at the yellowing tiles beneath his loafers 

“Doing what?” you’re head tilts to the side, you replay everything you’ve said that could make him uncomfortable. 

“Calling me baby and babyboy,” he chances a quick glance at you, before once again avoiding your gaze.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” you rush out. “I didn't realize I was saying that! And the last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable! I’m so sorry Stan-” 

“I never said you made me uncomfortable,”  courage surges through him as he takes a step closer to you and finally meets your eyes. “I like you (Y/N), if you couldn’t already tell, and I can’t listen to you call me that knowing you’ll never do it again. And I want you to do it again-”

“I like you too, Stan,” you lean in for a quick kiss to cut off his rambling, running your hands through his curls as you pull back. “My babyboy.”

Permeant tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen​ @rexorangecouny​

[literarytrashcollection]

The Model

AN: I love me a soft, fluffy Bucky. I just wanna snuggle him always. Also, spot the Stan Lee cameo.

Bucky x Reader

----------

I could feel my heart hammering in my chest as I approached the lounge area. Steve and Bucky were talking softly, gentle laughter and whispered memories. How could I interrupt that with something so mundane? I steeled myself at the doorway, mouthing over the words again as I rehearsed what I was going to say for the hundredth time.

I walked in, trying to be casual, and sat down in one of the oversized arm chairs.

“Morning, Y/N,” Bucky said lightly, picking up his coffee. Ever since I had joined the Avengers, I’d be well and thoroughly adopted as the baby of the group. Parker even was defensive over me, and he was younger than me.

I flashed Bucky a nervous smile and looked down at my lap. “Steve, I need to ask you a favor.” I finally blurted after what felt like an eternity of silence. When neither of them spoke, I raised my eyes slightly, meeting Steve’s. “We’re doing…” I cleared my throat. It was suddenly drier than the Sahara in the room and I wanted to run away desperately. “We’re studying the human form for art class and I was wonderingifyouwouldbemymodel.” It came out like word vomit and I swear my face was going to burst into flames from the sheer heat of it.

Bucky snorted. “Aw, Stevie, Y/N wants to get you naked.”

My eyes snapped to Bucky and I narrowed them. “I will end you.” I hissed, but he just laughed harder. “They have a model we can use at school, but I thought the bragging rights would be deserved if I got to use an Avenger. Also, the model at school is a creepy old dude.” The word vomit just kept coming. I was babbling, my nose scrunched up as the image of Stan, the art model came to the forefront of my mind.

I refused to look at Steve—or stop talking—until he said my name gently. When I looked up, he was sitting forward with his elbows on his knees, Dad-Look firmly seated on his face. “Are your intentions pure?” He asked, voice grave but I could see him stifling a smile, just the slightest sparkle of mischief in his eyes.

“That’s it, I’m gonna ask Nat. She’ll do it.” I huffed, standing to storm out of the room. Nat would tease me too, but it would be Titanic jokes, instead of “are you just trying to fuck me” jokes at least.

“I’ll do it,” Bucky said and for a minute, I don’t think me or him or Steve or God even believed what just came out of his mouth. “I mean, if you’re going to get bragging rights for doing an Avenger, it may as well be extra challenging.” He added, raising his metal arm. “Besides, I’m still grounded after I got a little too aggressive with that crime syndicate from my last mission. I’ve got time to kill.”

Steve and I both stared at each other, then back at Bucky. “You know she’s talking about getting you naked, right?” Steve asked.

“No shit, Sherlock. When has my being naked in front of a cute girl ever bothered me?” Bucky retorted. He then took a deep breath and raised his eyebrows at me. “When do we start?”

----------

Bucky came with me to school the next day. The art department was usually empty on Fridays, so we were able to find a room to ourselves easily. I locked the door, closed the blinds and turned on the lights that I needed while Bucky wandered the edges of the room, looking at the knick-knacks and half finished pieces that littered the shelves.

“If you’re an Avenger, why are you still going to college?” He asked abruptly, fingers drifting over a freshly kiln-ed abstract pottery piece.

I shrugged. “Can’t Avenge forever. Besides, I’m still just in training. I’ve got no more clearance than you do.”

I pushed a lounge chair out of the corner and into the center of the room and draped a cloth over it, then set up my easel and stool. I could calm my raging nerves with the methodical routine of my art set up, ignore the warning sirens in my head with the stability and consistency of an easel, a pad of paper, pencils, erasers and fixative.

“You can probably get comfortable now. You brought a book, right?” I asked, setting out pencils and charcoal for myself. I started some music too, just so I could zone out and work without thinking too much about the fact that I was drawing Bucky naked for a grade. I understand all of those words separately, said the voice in my mind, dwelling on it being Bucky and him being naked and the ease of which he was willing to do it.

“I didn’t know I needed to,” he said sheepishly and my heart dropped. He was going to be naked, bored, and making fun of me. I had planned to just draw him reading, but that was out the window. Fan-fucking-tastic. “It’s okay, I can amuse myself.” He said with a dirty smirk, voice dripping innuendo.

I sighed and waited while he stripped down to his underwear. We both met eyes for a moment as he dropped his last article of clothing and every inch the cloth fell from his hips was an inch of blush that crawled up my chest and over my face. I quickly busied myself with adjusting my sketch pad on the easel, making sure my pencils were sharp enough, that I had enough smudge sticks and erasers.

“How should I… How do you want me?” He asked and I swallowed thickly. Not only did I have to draw him naked, but I had to adjust him naked too?

I walked over, making a point to not look at him, but at the space around him as I positioned him, so he was mostly sitting up, one leg kind of propped up, the other stretched out, his metal arm draped across his stomach in an effort to cover his junk for my own benefit.

I tried to position him so he looked strong, powerful, but leisurely. I wanted him to look regal, a man completely in control of himself and the people around him. That’s how I envisioned him. He wasn’t a leader yet, but he could be. “Comfy?”

He nodded and offered me a reassuring smile. “Trust me, this isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve done naked.” What is the weirdest thing you’ve done naked, Barnes? I didn’t ask what my head was screaming, but I couldn’t help my wandering mind.

“That does not instill me with any kind of confidence, Buck.” I sighed, returning to my things. “Try not to move, if you can help it. I’m going to snap a reference photo, just so if you need to get up and go to the bathroom or anything, you can and we can just reposition you.” I picked up my phone and took the photo. God, this was bad. I was horrified. I shouldn’t have even asked Steve. Bucky wouldn’t have known and then I wouldn’t have been in this predicament. Natasha would have been a much better candidate.

“Y/N, this isn’t a big deal, you know? I give you shit, but this isn’t that weird. Just friends hanging out.” I knew he could read my discomfort. It’s not like I hid it at all. But I felt bad being so weird about it at the same time. “Why’d you pick Steve anyway?”

I set my phone down and got comfortable on my stool, trying to decide where to start, both with the picture and with the answer. “He’s an artistic guy. I figured he would understand what I was doing better than most of you guys.”

“But why not Wanda or Natasha? Wanda seems like she’d be into this kind of stuff.” He asked as I started with his foot. I figured the best way to start was to trace the whole thing, then work the details in.

I sighed a little. “I can draw the female figure all day long. I happen to be female, if you hadn’t noticed. So, I kind of already know what it all looks like.”

“So, what? You’re saying you’ve never seen the male figure?” He asked with a laugh. I didn’t reply, which seemed to be answer enough for him. I’d resigned myself to doing this whole assignment with a blush on my face anyways. “Are you a virgin?”

I took a deep breath, focusing intently on my work and the music. I traced the curve of his legs, with my eyes and my pencil. Then his abdomen, his arms, his chest and shoulders.

“It’s okay if you are. I just thought… a pretty girl like you with so much confidence and charisma, you know?” He chuckled, his eyes far away, like he was reveling in some memory dredged up. My heart did a flip when he sucked his lower lip between his teeth, my mind wandering to a filthy place. I had to stop myself.

I put my pencil down for a minute and shut my eyes. “Boys never really liked me because I’m so… strong.” Boyish, masculine, aggressive, independent, memories of all the rejections I’d faced flitted through like a bad slideshow of sadness, quelling any inappropriate thoughts that might’ve been forming.

Bucky actually snorted. “Seriously? No offense, Y/N, but you must be going after pussies.” When I didn’t reply again, focusing instead on his metal arm, he continued: “Doll, if they can’t see through your powers to who you are, they’re just shallow, egocentric douche bags looking for empowerment. You deserve lightyears better than that.”

“It’s hard to find guys who can see past the powers though,” I shrugged. “Guys don’t even want to get close to a girl who can throw them across a room. A lot of the ones who were into that were… weird. And that’s not to say that all men are like that, just the ones that I’ve had to pleasure of dealing with.”

“Definitely not all men,” Bucky chuckled cryptically.

I shook my head, narrowing my eyes as I drew in the slats of his metal arm, added in the glinting light that reflected off of it. I felt my heart squeeze as I drew the marred flesh at his shoulder, the place where they had so indelicately taken his flesh arm away and forced the metal one on him.

“For the record, I think you’re wonderful the way you are.” Bucky piped up awkwardly.

I smiled a little. “Thanks Buck.” I had long since accepted myself. “Dating’s kind of on the back burner. If I happen across a decent guy who genuinely likes me and isn’t put off by my powers, awesome. Otherwise, I’m happy. I’m gonna finish my degree significantly earlier than most, I’m an Avenger and if I ever decide I’m done Avenging, then I’ve got a restaurant back home to run.”

“Is that what you’re in school for?”

“I’m in school for business management and accounting, both of which will help.” I nodded. I stood up and walked over to him, frowning as I studied his chest and the criss-crossing lines of scars that interrupted otherwise beautiful skin. I could feel him watching me, but couldn’t be bothered to care. As long as I didn’t have to study his dick, I could pretend that this wasn’t weird.

“So, why the art classes then?” He asked as I hesitantly reached out and traced a particularly long scar that ran from his collarbone to his hip. Once I was content with my recollection of his scars, I went back to my stool, lightly penciling them in before I went back for the detail work.

I couldn’t help but be enamored by the strong planes of muscle and smooth skin that stretched across his body. He was beautifully constructed and honestly, the artist part of me (and maybe the girl part of me) wanted to study every inch of him from head to toe because he was stupidly perfect. I could’ve spent years drawing him and never stopped being impressed by him.

“I have always loved art. Business is practical, but art is where my heart lives.” I mumbled. It was corny, but it was true. As much as Avenging made me feel good, made me feel like I was in the right place in my life, art was always my dream. Becoming an Avenger was like walking into a tower dedicated to art models, emotions thriving and warring between these god-like beings, emotions just begging to be captured with pencils and paper and paint.

He didn’t say anything for a while and when I looked up, his eyes were shut, face relaxed. Was he really that bored? I let my gaze linger as I studied the peaceful set of his face, the smudge of his lashes that dusted his cheeks, the soft, pillowy shape of his lips, juxtaposed with the sharp angles of his jaw and cheeks, hard and soft beautifully married to make up a face so perfect, it should’ve been illegal.

Maybe that was the real reason he was the most deadly assassin in the world, taking “if looks could kill” into a reality where he was so beautiful, people just dropped dead.

“Y/N, if you love art so much, that’s what you should do. You shouldn’t do something to make your family happy. You should do something that makes you happy.” Bucky said softly, startling me out of my revere. I busied myself with my drawing again, trying to translate the softness of his face onto the page.

“That’s what my parents keep telling me too,” I sighed.

“They’re right.”

I took a deep breath. Drawing his loose hair made me want to run my fingers through it, feel the softness of it.

Should’ve asked Nat. You wouldn’t be falling in love with her if you were drawing her, came that annoying little voice in my head. My heart thumped in agreement, but it knew that I’d held a special place for Bucky there long before I’d gotten him naked and posed for a drawing.

“What’s your dream, Buck?” I asked, trying to distract myself.

He didn’t speak again for a long time, but this time when I looked over, he was staring right at me, a sadness pulling his eyebrows together and tightening his lips into a hard line. “I think, kinda like Stevie, anything I wanted from life died when I went off the cliff. A lot of what he wanted out of life died in the ice.”

“So, what, you’re just floating aimlessly right now?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I’m trying really hard to heal from the Solider, you know? I want to be a better man now than I was then. I guess I’m just trying to use what I learned from him for good. I guess my dream is to just be better than I was.”

My heart broke for him. He’d been through too much in his life, lost too much of his life to HYDRA and the Soldier inside him.

“I didn’t mean to make you sad. I guess I just feel kind of open to you right now,” he laughed nervously.

I flicked my eyes back up to his face for a moment and shook my head. “I’m just sad for the past you’ve had. You’re already a better man than he was.”

He chuckled and stood, walking over to see what I’d done so far, still buck-naked. I did my best not to look at him, full stretched out in all his glory as he studied my work. His fingers traced some of the lines before he moved his hand to rub my back reassuringly.

“You’re so good at this, doll.” He murmured, pressing a light kiss to the top of my head before he ducked down to grab my purse, rummaging around for the protein bar he’d insisted he would not eat, because he definitely would not get hungry during this.

----------

When we finished, we both stood back studying it. I’d waited to put too much detail into his face until I got him laughing again. The look on his face as he leaned into laughter, the crinkling in his eyes, it made my heart sing loudly. I wanted to live in that feeling, I wanted to always picture him like that, regal and proud and happy, a man marred by the past, but comfortable in his skin and in his life.

He’d hugged me tight, no words on his lips but a simple, heartfelt thank you, Y/N. That by itself made me infinitely more happy with the piece than any grade I could have received.

He insisted on taking a picture with his phone of the piece, then one of me with the piece, “so he could show off the amazing artist.” To whom he planned on showing me off, I didn’t know. He never ventured from the tower much, didn’t have any friends outside of the Avengers, certainly no one that he would be showing nude drawings of himself to. I posed, a cheesy smile on my face nonetheless. He took me out for ice cream afterwards.

----------

At the end of the semester, the best pieces of art were put on display for an art show. I invited all of the Avengers, but only Steve, Natasha, Bucky and Tony could come, just because missions still had to be completed, the world still needed to be saved.

We rolled up to the campus and Tony looked unceremoniously scandalized by the lack of paparazzi and, well, people. He made a show of going on about some of the more famous art shows he’d attended, then nudged me with his shoulder and gave me a wink that told me everything I needed to hear without saying a word. This isn’t a big deal, you have no reason to be nervous, his smile said as he swaggered towards the art department building.

The display room had been redesigned by some of the interior decorating kids. Pottery, paintings, sculptures and drawings all intermingled through out the room, pieces hung from the walls, the ceiling, sat on stands and stools.

Off in the corner, Stan sat on the same stool the students who had used him as a model drew him on, dressed in nothing but a sock to maintain some semblance of modesty. His aviator style glasses and gray mustache bristled as he talked to patrons and students alike.

“You didn’t tell me there would be nudity at this party. Suddenly, I’m much more interested,” Natasha purred in my ear as she sauntered off to examine some of the abstract art. She were trying.

Avenging was easy, I felt no nerves over that. Art? Art was something that I felt down in my bones and watching as strangers and classmates and the people I cared about most poured over it and the details I’d done my best to capture, that made my throat close and the sweat run like rivers down my skin.

Steve and Bucky both pestered me until I took a picture of them posing with Stan, his arms wrapped around their waists as they both grinned hugely at me. Frat boys tried to convince my boys to go back to their houses with them and party. For a moment, I thought maybe they would.

Tony tried to buy someone’s statue of a naked woman, one delicate foot propped up on a hog-tied bear Captain Morgan style. He said he loved the female-empowerment that radiated off it. He wanted to give it to Pepper. Natasha said no and pick-pocketed his wallet off him, waving it me before she dropped it into her purse.

We all stood before my drawing of Bucky at the same time, all of us coming together to study it. I could feel my heart rate rising the longer no one spoke.

“This is absolutely incredible, Y/N,” Steve finally said. “Your attention to detail is insane.”

“It’s scarily lifelike.” Tony added. “Are you sure you didn’t just take his picture?” It was lighthearted ribbing, and it eased my nerves slightly.

“There’s so much emotion coming from this,” Natasha murmured, lacing her fingers with mine for a moment. “It’s beautiful.”

“That’s it, this calls for a celebration. Where’s the drink service at?” Tony said, looking around pointedly. When the rest disbursed, Bucky remained, staring up at the drawing with admiring eyes.

“It doesn’t even look like me.” He whispered, not looking at me. “It does, but it’s not… it feels surreal. That’s not at all how I ever imagine myself.”

He looked down long enough to slide his metal fingers through mine, holding on tightly. “It’s how I imagine you.” I admitted.

“This is how you see me?” He asked, emotion raw in his eyes. My heart started beating wildly, nervous that I had somehow upset him. He’d seen the drawing a dozen times since I’d finished it, but this was the first time he’d seemed truly moved by it. All I could do was nod. He smiled slightly, squeezing my hand hard. “It helps, knowing someone has so much faith in me.”

I rested my head on his shoulder, not responding.

----------

Tony demanded champagne in the car home. Happy rolled his eyes slightly in the rear view mirror as Tony popped the bottle. Natasha passed around glasses and once we were all served, we clinked our glasses together.

While the ride home was short, it was well spent, all of us laughing and chatting. I was permitted to take my piece home with me. Tony told me he wanted to have it hung up in the tower, framed and celebrated for years to come. He also decided he wanted to commission an oil painting of himself, also nude, but posed the same as the statue he had wanted to buy, bear and all.

Happy and Steve had to escort Tony inside, Natasha following after them lazily, a small, happy smile gracing her lips and lighting up her tired eyes. I wanted to draw her next, but I wanted it to be candid. Something fierce and powerful to remind her of how amazing she was.

“Come with me,” Bucky murmured, startling me out of my admiration of my friends. He offered me his arm and I linked mine through it. We walked up the stairs, but we took it slow, chatting quietly about some of the other pieces that we’d seen at the show that we’d liked and pieces we’d hated or just didn’t get (i.e. female Captain Morgan with the bear). We laughed at chatty Stan who’s sock almost fell off twice, once “accidentally” as Natasha talked to him.

He led me up to the viewing deck, a nice balcony that looked over New York. The lights from the buildings and cars glittered like stars, an entire universe built into one city. Bucky moved his hand to my back and stayed quiet with me, letting me drink in the beauty below me. I could have stayed there forever, the warmth of his skin making me cozy.

“Thank you for being my model.” I mumbled after a long moment of silence.

He nodded, his fingers slowly sliding to my hip. “Since I did you that favor, I was wondering if I might have one in return?”

“Of course, anything.” I nodded, studying the way the windows on the buildings reflected the lights of the buildings around them, making everything infinitely brighter.

“Will you do me the pleasure of going on a date with me?” He asked softly, his lips almost at my ear. Suddenly the city was dull compared the beauty of the intimate moment he’d created between us. I looked up at him and was mesmerized by the way his eyes sparkled, his lips turned up into a smile as he held me closer than I had realized he was holding me.

It took me an embarrassingly long time to remember how to speak. “I said anything, didn’t I?” I replied. It was meant to come out snarky, cool and collected. It came out soft though. Even I could hear the wanting in my voice.

He smiled brilliantly, muting all the lights that twinkled below us, only for a moment as he lowered his mouth to mine, fireworks going off somewhere in the vicinity of our joined lips.

[kyndaris]

How Long is Eighty Days - Part One

I first met her just as first semester began. Palms sweating, I glanced around the lecture hall. We had just been instructed to introduce ourselves to the people next to us. From what I could see, most had classmates they knew from high school. I, on the other hand, had been the only person in my grade to throw my lot into this particular course. No familiar faces loomed out at me. And all the others were already deep in conversation.

That was when she turned towards me with a beatific smile on her face. Her hazel eyes were filled with a mix of kindness and warmth as she took me in. Had it not been the very first day and the very first subject for the under, with the weight of scrutiny heavy on my shoulders, I might have offered an articulate response. Instead, a strange gurgling had my cheeks aflame when I realised that it had come from my throat. There went my first impression. I waited for her to turn away and condemn me as the ‘strange one’ with a look of bemusement, but she surprised me by offering a sympathetic ear.

“I’ve often been told that I take the words right out of someone’s mouth,” she whispered conspiratorially. “The first day is always the worst, isn’t it? Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

A nervous smile touched my lips. “You don’t seem all that intimidated.”

She grinned. “I’ll have you know that I’ve always been good at power. But the truth of the matter is that I’d much rather be back home instead of facing this gauntlet of lectures and tutorials. Meeting new people is always a frightening experience.”

“Jamie,” I said, sticking out my hand.

She eyed it for a good half second before giving it a proper shake. “My parents have always been old fashioned. It’s a little embarrassing, come to think of it, but you can call me Cassie. Although my full name is Cassandra.”

“Glad to make your acquaintance. Cassandra.”

“Now you’re just making fun of me,” she accused, though humour laced the words.

Before we could delve further into conversation, the lecturer was quick to catch our attention and the lesson resumed. I don’t quite remember much of that first hour for Sociology and Anthropology. Although I was quick to take notes, my mind remained focused on the feel of Cassie’s hand in mine and the sweet citrusy perfume she wore.

The next time I saw her, I had just taken shelter underneath the glass overhang of the beloved central business school as the autumnal rains pelted down. Like the intelligent creature I was, I had decided to wait until the middle of the week to purchase all the necessary textbooks – believing the lines would be shorter.

Cassie was with a group of what I assumed were her old classmates. The way they exchanged banter reminded me of all those movies where the popular girl was surrounded by simpering sycophants. And yet, I envied each and every one of them as they laughed at one of Cassie’s jokes or gossiped about the things they had gleaned from the first week. It was irrational. But by the time she and her posse had disappeared from view, I was on the verge of turning green. Books in hand, I stepped out from my hiding spot with nary an umbrella and allowed myself to be drenched as I trudged towards the bus stop.

Needless to say, several days later I was sick in bed and trying to make sense of the words printed on the water damaged page. It was a miracle that it had not already turned into pulp during the deluge.

That would be the last time I ever forgot to bring something to stave off the inclement weather.

 --

How long is eighty days? Break it down into hours and you get one thousand nine hundred and twenty. Minutes-wise, there’s a whopping total of one hundred nineteen thousand two hundred. In those burgeoning and fleeting moments of romance, each and every single of those precious minutes felt like a millennium that passed in the blink of an eye. At least, that’s how I saw the following twelve weeks as Cassie and I slowly became more comfortable in each other’s company.

Often, I found myself counting down the seconds until I would see her in the lecture we shared. Afterwards, we would head out to the library lawn, going over the readings for class. When the fancy struck her, she would convince me into skipping my next class and we would head to the nearby beach. Despite the fact that winter was fast encroaching, we would still see tourists flocking to the golden sands.

“Did you see that?” I would ask, pointing to one of the hapless families trying to take a selfie as they were battered by high winds. “You can tell which ones are from the mainland. They’re not typically dressed for a day out in the sun. Umbrellas, long sleeves – those are your hints that they’ve not been here long.”

In those too-brief moments, we flirted and teased. For me, they were the highlights of each week and I savoured the time I could spend with Cassie. And when she slowly but surely introduced me to her circle of friends, I learned quickly to adapt. Some were friendly, eager to see a new face. Others could have done well with a lesson in manners.

And as exams loomed ever closer, we would occasionally go out to the Roundhouse or the heart of the city, drinking and clubbing into the early hours. It was a different experience.  The idea of grinding away and hoping to catch the eye of someone who might be interested left a bad taste in my mouth, but by the time the deadlines were knocking on the door, I took to them like a fish to water.

Of course, my grades slid a bit but I was quick study when it came to revising. It isn’t a simple brag to say that I aced most of my classes. That is, everything except for Sociology and Anthropology. Suffice it to say, I managed to scrape by with a passing mark but my overall standing took a significant hit. Cassie, on the other hand, fared much better. But she had a talent for constructing essays with surprising depth that seemed to elude me. When the marks came in, she was in the top ten percent of the class.

Thus, semester break began. And with it, the school holidays.

It was the perfect time to learn about each other’s habit beyond the confines of university. We would organise dates to the local cinema and perhaps follow it up with a karaoke session. Sometimes we would go as a group with a mixture of her friends and mine. Other times, it would just be the two of us. Those were the moments I cherished. Being alone with Cassie and talking about anything that came to mind.

I swiftly learned that though she had enrolled into a humanities degree, her heart longed for the sciences. Cassie was someone that was not afraid of getting her hands dirty. Coding and circuits and trying to figure out how the world worked. Those were the topics that interested her. But when she had expressed her desire to pursue a degree in engineering, her parents had been adamant. They had quashed any and all dreams before they even had the opportunity to take flight. Cassie bristled as she recounted how her father had sat her down in the living room and told her explicitly that her career path was set in stone. It was expected that she take over the accounting for their family-run business. And with her older sister absconding overseas, it was she that was expected to carry on the legacy.

Yet despite her frustrations, Cassie was quick to shut down any encouragement from me. She would offer me a rueful grin and shake her head. “Thanks Jamie but it really doesn’t matter what I do at uni. There’re always online courses and I’ve found that it’s actually quite fun trying to figure out all these things by myself. I mean, it can be difficult to understand why something has gone wrong but that’s why we have Google, right?”

But all of our alone time quickly came to an end in July. I can’t rightly say that my mother was negligent but she often relied on me to take care of Derrick, particularly on the days when he did not have any actual tutoring. Younger than me by four years, he stood a good twenty centimetres taller. I hated that. Having seen him swaddled in diapers (and even helped change a few) it simply seemed unfair that Derrick was all but looming over me in Year 10. I tried, once, to see if I might be able to break his kneecaps when the first signs of a growth spurt were underway but dad put a stopper to those plans.

Actually, that was a lie. And it goes to show what a poor taste I have in jokes. Derrick, the loyal brother, would find the humour in it but often my sense of funny has a tendency to put off most upstanding citizens. But Cassie had one just as black as my own. Or, at the very least, she was appreciative of the sarcasm.  

Derrick and I, though, we’re close. Perhaps the four year age gap worked in our favour. What fights we did have were short-lived. Mostly because he had a face that everyone could love. And we often bantered in the privacy of our shared study room. That, of course, didn’t mean I wanted him around when I was with Cassie.

After our first ‘date’ with him playing the third wheel, Derrick was quick to pounce upon me for more details. “She seems nice.”

“What?” I asked, looking up from my bowl of noodles.

“Cassandra. I like her. Not as much as that other girl who could draw those henna tattoos, of course. What happened to her by the way?”

“She moved interstate,” I said. “I suppose being up in the Sunshine State is better than settling for physiotherapy. Alice was always ambitious and well, I was never one to put myself out there. The distance didn’t help much either.”

“That’s a shame,” said Derrick as he worked on his maths problems. Finally he set aside pencil and scientific calculator and stretched. Pushing aside his workbook, he finally asked the one question I had been dreading for days on end. “But come on Jamie, when are you going to make it Facebook official? I’ve seen the way you look at Cassandra and she seems interested as well.”

Despite the fact that he had lost most of his baby fat and there was an inkling of facial hair, Derrick still managed to look like a lost puppy. His pleading brown eyes begged for an answer and though my heart could be as cold as ice, it could not resist the pull.

A resigned sigh escaped my lips. I had wrangled with the question for so long that I had pushed it to the back of my mind. Did it really matter whether or not we took the next step? But what if she only saw our relationship as merely platonic? For several weeks I had been caught in a pit of paralysis and unable to climb my way out of it. The idea of placing my heart on the line and waiting for it to be crushed was not something I could idly do. And yet, what if Cassie felt the same?

“This is Houston and we have a problem. Contact with Jamie has been lost. I repeat: contact with Jamie Zhang has been lost. Hello? Is there anyone still there?” Derrick always knew the best way to break my train of thought. I tossed a mean glare his way as he merely shrugged. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.”

“I do. It’s just…I’m scared. What if Cassie sees me as just a friend?”

Derrick slung an arm around my shoulder. “Chin up, Jamie. There’s plenty of other fish in the sea if the worst happens. But you know what mum keeps saying about opportunities. You’ll miss all the ones you don’t take. So go out there!”

It was cheesy and clichéd. But Derrick always knew what to say. For a fifteen year old going through puberty, he could be surprisingly worldly even if he was still a tad obsessed with shonen anime that included the likes of Attack on Titan and One-Punch Man, often playacting scenes in our backyard. I suppose it is true: no-one is perfect.

 --

Heeding the advice from my brother, I asked Cassie out to talk on the day just before uni was to resume. She was eager to watch the latest winter blockbusters that had hit the silver screens. Once the movie was over, we strolled down through the bustling city streets, avoiding the main road. Years had gone by but the light rail was still under construction. Rumour had it that it would go on for ten or more years, diverting traffic from the centre of town. Finally, we found ourselves in the Botanic Gardens, overlooking the harbour.

It was not how I imagined where the confession would be, but surrounded by all the different species of flora that were still flourishing despite the chill helped push me over the edge.

Taking a deep breath, I turned towards Cassie. “I like you,” I said. Terror and a small spark of hope warred in my chest. This was now or never. Do or die. I had made myself vulnerable and now my nerves were all jumbled together as I waited patiently for her reply.

“I like you too,” she replied but it was clear that my words had her puzzled. “What brought this on, Jamie? Did you think I was going to leave after all the things we did last semester? Don’t forget, we actually have a lecture and a tutorial together.”

It was enough to confirm the feelings I had. Whether it was madness that gripped me or something else, I could not be quite sure. Yet, despite all the barriers I had put up to stop myself from giving into my base impulses, I leaned forward and captured her lips with mine.

[buzzfeedwheeze]

The New Teacher - Shyan AU

CHAPTER 2

Shane watched as Andrew made his way through his second bowl of cereal with milk. Only kids like that, my ass! He was beaming. It just felt so right to sit by his son’s side and enjoy a nice breakfast before leaving for work. Unfortunately, the familiarity of it brought back memories that he wish would’ve stayed buried on the depths of  his mind.

He and Sara used to make pancakes of the new characters of Disney that they had been working on at the studio and Andrew would happily munch at them after pointing out mistakes in anatomy or color. The first time he did it, they were so surprised that they thought they had hurt his feelings and perhaps shut down their child, but the next time they tried to subtly make him comment it worked out fine. It should’ve been expected, after all, he was their kid and art was always a big part of their lives so it obviously would attract little Andrew. Shane remembered when they had just adopted Andrew, they were trying to figure out how to make the small 8 year-old interact with them so Sara suggested painting palm trees’ leaves on the living room wall and Andrew sat on the floor and started to make small coconuts. Even though it was sort of painful to revisit the memories, he would always have a fond smile as the mental image of a smaller Andrew with his brows furrowed as he mixed the colors to get the perfect green popped in his mind.

He sighed.

There was no use trying to hold back those memories. Watching Andrew eating his cereal while simultaneously trying to tweet just reminded him other mornings. After Andrew’s second day in high school, he wouldn’t shut up during breakfast about the art class and how the other students loved his style and of course, it was when he met the transfer student from Malaysia, Steven Lim, who even asked to keep one of his drawings.

“Dad, are you in there?” Andrew was waving a hand in front of him. “Earth to dad!”

Shane gave him a tiny nod and went back to staring at his now cold pancakes and coffee. Andrew’s voice was weak when he asked. “Are you thinking about mom again? It’s just that you have that look…”

This time Shane actually made an effort and fought back the urge to hide his emotions from the world. “I… No. Not really. Not now.” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t thinking about her per se and I’m definitely not in love with her anymore, kiddo. I know you might think that I am..”

“It’s not that dad…” Shane made a gesture to stop him.

“It’s just hard to sort of filter my memories. Most of my happy memories with or without you are full of your mom’s presence and it’s tough to get over the fact that I was the happiest when we were together, probably the happiest I’ll ever be. I don’t think I can find someone that will make me feel like that again.” Andrew was looking at him with a concerned expression. “No! It’s not that I am unhappy. I mean, I have you! Andrew, you are the one thing in life that matters, the one thing that makes me wake up in the morning and actually thank god that I’m alive. For you being the way that you are, I’ll forever be grateful. I still can’t believe you chose us, that you chose me.”

“Dad, cut the sentimental crap!” he shouted, but he was visibly taken aback by his dad’s declaration. “You’ll find someone better for you, someone that deserves you. You and mom were okay, but okay doesn’t mean right, you get it?”

“So…” Shane didn’t want to discuss this any further, so he did what he was good at. He changed the focus of the conversation and with a teasing smile playing on his lips he continued. “Are you and Steven right, right?”

“Ugh, you are insufferable!” he snapped as he got up and stormed off to his room, leaving a very amused Shane and his very dirty bowl to be cleaned. As Shane washed the bowl he allowed himself to wonder if maybe his son was right. What if there is someone waiting for me? Nah, that’s bullshit.

XxXxXxXxX

“Have a great day, kiddo!” Shane handed Andrew his backpack and leaned on the side of the car. “Remember to give that Bergara dude hell.”

Andrew rolled his eyes and managed to give his dad a nod before turning around and going in the direction of Steven, who waved at Shane with as much energy as puppy. He watched them holding hands and disappearing inside the school building. It was the perfect image to have in his mind before jumping inside his car and going back to his eight hour shift at the Disney Studio where he would be trying keep sanity as he worked on a new animation project. But life had other plans. As he was about to turn away he noticed a cool Jeep pulling over at the teacher’s parking lot. Shane gritted his teeth as he saw the small guy hopping off the car.

Begara noticed him and as he walked in the direction of the school staring at Shane the whole time in what was supposed to be a menacing way. The staring match didn’t last much since when Ryan was about to climb the stairs to the building he tripped on his own foot and fell. Shane’s laughed was the only thing heard on the area. The other man quickly got up and stuck his middle finger to Shane which would’ve been offensive if he wasn’t blushing like a small kid. Shane chuckled again when he heard the main door of school being slammed.

“What a lovely day.” he said between giggles.

When Shane arrived at the studio there was, indeed, a pile of things to be done, but he was on such a big mood that he actually started to whistle some Disney songs. He turned his computer on and started to work on the animation, trying to make everything in sync and all the transitions smooth to facilitate the job of the Keith, the dude responsible for checking his progress and corrected small details.

The morning passed really fast. So fast Shane didn’t notice it was time to have his lunch break and got startled when Eugene touched his shoulder.

“Jesus, Madej. It’s break time. Stop working.”

Shane got up from his chair and stretched his body, lazily. He pocketed his phone and wallet and was about to leave when he decided to go back and take his sketchbook too. Today he was feeling creative. He decided to go to the Subway near the studio where he wouldn’t have to socialize with his co-workers and where people wouldn’t be asking questions about his doodles.

The place was almost empty, there was only a family of tourists with their ridiculously big Mickey Mouse Ears hats and faces full of sunscreen. Shane ordered a sandwich and chose a more reserved booth. He settled the sketchbook on the table and picked his favorite pencil, which was really small and was completely dented from falls and nervous teeth biting into it.

He gave a tentative bite on the sandwich and moaned slightly as he tasted the unique artificial flavors that only a fast-food chain restaurant could have. No wonder everyone called him a raccoon, he’d consider almost any food delicious. Or at least edible.

Shane started to sketch and after eating half of the food and finishing the face he realized he had drawn the fucking crazy teacher. Ryan Bergara. He ripped the page off and crunched the paper. Why would he draw that guy? He decided to keep the drawing though. It was fine art. So he got the little ball of paper and placed it on his jacket’s pocket.

There was still some time left before he had to go back to work, so he decided to get a nice ice cream cone. Shane bought one with two flavors ,vanilla and cookie though, of Mr. Tinsley a cool older guy that used to work as a detective or something like that in the 70s. Since it wasn’t a hot day, but the sun wouldn’t help the case of his ice cream, he found a nice bench underneath a tree.

He got his phone out and began to browse through Instagram. Then he stopped at a new photo of Steven. In the photo Steven was wearing a tinfoil hat, which wasn’t something so unusual, but the caption of the picture was the problem.

“What the fuck!” Shane perked up on the bench and gripped the ice cream cone harder. “‘@ryanbergara lended his cool hat to me, best teacher ever :)’”

It was impossible to ignore the urge to click on the username. In fact, Shane didn’t even try to hold back. He was bombarded by a series of photos of a Mr. Bergara at Disney and Universal Studios, puppies, Lakers and mirror selfies. He sucked in a breath. If the dude wasn’t bat shit crazy he would totally be my type. His bisexual senses were tingling so he decided to close the app. Nope.

I wonder if he has a twitter account? Maybe I could fight him. Shane clicked on the blue icon on his screen and typed bergara and there it was a @ryansbergara. Shane had a devilish smile as he analised the profile. The fucking profile picture was a photo of him wearing a tinfoil hat and his header was a screenshot of the X-files opening. Not surprising at all but that made Shane itchy to annoy the guy. That was practically begging to receive some of the old skeptic treatment that his family perfect through the generations.

Shane Madej - @shalexandej   01:39 PM

@ryansbergara hey dude nice hat. going to teach the kids how to do one… oh wait you already did!

He watched as a notification pop-up appeared on his screen only a few minutes later.

Ryan Bergara - @ryansbergara  01:42 PM

@shalexandej ha ha ha very funny stalker, i didnt teach them that!! i talked about how it is useless and actually applied some scientific concepts [GIF]

Shane Madej - @shalexandej   01:43 PM

@ryansbergara THANK GOD YOU DID THAT but i’ll have you know that i instructed my kid to make your life hell

Ryan Bergara - @ryansbergara  01:45 PM

@shalexandej oh really? Cause he actually helped in class

Shane Madej - @shalexandej   01:45 PM

@ryansbergara [GIF] NOOOOOO NOT MY KID BERGARA YOU ARE A CULT LEADER

Ryan Bergara - @ryansbergara  01:46 PM

@shalexandej hahahahahhahahsahs maybe ;)

Ryan Bergara - @ryansbergara  01:46 PM

@shalexandej i have to go prepare for my next class, see ya stalker [GIF]

Shane was about to reply when he receiver another type of notification. Ryan had just followed him. Well Bergara, this might be your downfall. He clicked on the follow button and he unconsciously knew how big of mistake that decision was.

[powerofhumanity]

Power of Higher Education

I told myself I was done with higher education institutions once I earned my Bachelor’s degree; I really wanted to be.

As an independent college student, I was fortunate enough to complete my undergraduate education at St. John’s University with “only” about $14,000 in student debt. Considering tuition was around $60,000 a year, not too terrible. I earned enough in scholarships, grants, and work-study funds to cover everything but food and housing, go figure. I was truly blessed to have a high school counselor, G.M., who not only saw my potential, she made sure I was able to secure my place in the world of higher education so I could see where that potential would take me.

G.M. worked tirelessly to vet scholarship applications I qualified for and ultimately found an incredible organization making its own special impact towards the betterment of the world by assisting society’s “undesirables”, the homeless, the under-resourced, and the misguided youth of the Long Island area.

My time at STJ was necessary. It took about two years of seeing other black students (my K-12 schools were in predominantly white communities) on campus embracing their blackness before I was finally able to convince myself it was unnecessary to constantly straighten my hair, an aspect of my appearance I can control sans surgery, for those who may find my natural curls “offensive”. I was beginning to understand that I have what I have and to make it work for me rather than society.

STJ as an institution allowed me the space to explore my independence and to begin to grow as an individual. It was in a Queens classroom where I realized my interests and potential was leading me to be an elementary educator.

Unfortunately, I had already declared a major and my practical side told me if I was really meant to teach, I would pursue the degree at a later date once I reduced the balance of my undergrad loans to the mid-thousands. Are you laughing, too?

Fast-forward to working as a private daycare worker, daycare substitute in various Boston centers, and eventually a City Year Boston corps member which led me to my position as a first-grade teacher. I held the role for three years, finally attending grad school to secure my master’s in education.

My first year went well and as the months turned into year 2 and 3, my sense of “I can do better for my students” grew. I wanted to learn to effectively differentiate content and to provide resources families would be excited to use to support their child. After failing student-teaching practicum requirement with my own students, I left my classroom in order to complete the final year of my program at BU.

When you pay for a service, you should receive it in the highest quality it can be delivered. That’s why customer service exists.

I enrolled at BU because they matched the education award I earned from City Year service, covering the majority of my first year costs which is uncommon as graduates receive virtually no aid. Finances influence many of my decisions (see above) and BU is supposed to have a reputable education program. A master’s degree to me is a necessary evil as it helped me fulfill requirements to become licensed.

I was so excited to earn a master’s degree I enrolled in a summer course. My fervor for this degree quickly dissipated to me surviving the program. My courses mainly added to my anxiety rather than deepening my content-knowledge. My second year (’17-’18) was the worst year by far.

2016-2017: Year one of teaching reminded me that not everyone in education is there to serve the students. I struggled to piece together best practices from last year’s classroom observations and limited teaching opportunities as an associate. I taught full time and attended class full-time completing the year with an impressive GPA.

2017-2018: Year two, I only went to school part-time. With no tuition reimbursement program, my employer deducted pay for all of my early departures rather than finding some way to allocate my two years of unused sick leave towards the time I needed to commute to class. I argue that leaving work early to attend class due to being sick of the overhanging sense that I could provide stronger instruction which would encourage my students to reach their full potential in the time they are with me could be counted as absence due to illness.

Depression and anxiety won that year. My job had a lot of sessions around identity and then refused to acknowledge mine in the simplest of forms. I struggled to maintain a behavior system I didn’t believe in. One student had behavioral issues that were at times dangerous to others; with non-existent bathroom coverage I knew I had an interesting year ahead. My student would draw pictures of their favorite animals or them hanging out with their mom then throw something at me as I try to speak to them about a problem they’re experiencing. Tired of losing money for furthering my education, I signed up for an online course at BU and a science course at UMass Boston so I could affordably make progress on my degree. I planned and BU laughed. My depression made it difficult to balance work and degree responsibilities. I was more concerned about the never-ending behavior meetings and ensuring all my students felt safe despite the choices an individual made. My students understood everyone needs different things and when there was a meltdown they knew I would keep them safe and they could focus on their learning/playing. My online studies fell to the wayside as I had no healthy coping skills and no meaningful support. I was perfectly fine being a medium-functioning depressive (high-functioning in undergrad) and knew I would never reveal my mental health issues to HR. BU ended up advising I take a leave of absence, I’m unfamiliar with the term and aggravated I can’t just turn in my work late. I was transparent with BU thinking like UMass, the professor would be understanding. I was wrong. The amount of time it took to stop pleading that I be allowed to turn in late work because “they don’t think it would be manageable for me” and to reach the appropriate individuals to get to a final no meant I missed a reimbursement deadline. Now I’m out about $7000 for a semester because the Psych department does not waive the fee for part-time students seeking services for an in-house form requirement.

2018-2019: I clearly remember the incessant calls from a Boston University extension, requesting I consider donating to some fund as well as conversations with Jack from BU’s collections department on how and when to settle my bill so my account doesn’t go to collections. I am provided no sense of closure on the refund request and ultimately let it slip from my mind as it enrages me that I was denied the opportunity to earn a grade when I paid to be educated that semester. As I’m on leave, I focus my third year in first grade on using the after-school space as a way to get to know my students better (I had led the after-school program in ‘15-’16 and wanted to establish myself as a classroom teacher my first two years). After prepping my room for the next day, students would teach me the newest dance/game or see if they could help out in my room with things like sharpening pencils.

At this point it has been almost a year since I was forced to go on leave and I have to start the reinstatement process where I convince the school I’m ready and able to finish the program. I never wanted to go on leave so this stirs up a bunch of negative feelings. I’m reinstated of course and prepare to finally finish my degree.

Fall 2019: The fall semester I don’t even remember. It was independent study for social studies methods and a waste of my time and extra money as this was the course I had to withdraw from. I had the same professor who didn’t seem to remember advising me to give up on trying to make up assignments for the other course (I’m the only one with my first name at this institution). I did a lot less work this time around than I would have by making up my work in Spr ‘18 and received an A. I would have been much happier earning a C/high B for $7000.

Spring 2020: Once I felt comfortable that I was actually graduating I thought I would tie up loose ends and make sure I didn’t miss a notification. The refund request is supposedly a 4-6 week process. Mine began in 2018 and I have to follow up in June 2020 since there is no clear resolution; no rejection of my request with rationale of why I am in debt with no positive impact on my education and/or well-being and no approval with a refund.

Since completing my program I have attended numerous free webinars as well as summits focusing on the typical content areas plus science, anti-racist curriculum design, and teaching virtually in anticipation of the upcoming school year. I have learned exponentially more in a month of webinars than I did my 3 years of active enrollment at Boston University.

This post was drafted at the beginning of the second attempt of my refund request process (6.6, 6.24, and 6.30.2020). I have yet to hear the results which should come this week if they adhere to their guidelines this time around. If the committee looks at my case and sees me as an individual and not a number as my therapist stated, I get a return of my funds and I will at least be able to replenish the savings account I had to deplete to fund this educational endeavor. Within a year or so, I will buy a property to finally begin generating wealth for my future family because if not me, then who?