Chapter Text
The only reason Caitlyn was spending her Thursday night in a lecture hall was because she needed to take another elective. Apparently only having a pre-law degree wasn’t enough but “law school prospects must now show they are focused on having a well-rounded education”. Caitlyn was more convinced it meant “law school prospects must now pay even more money to show they have a well-rounded education”.
All that aside, it didn’t change the fact that Caitlyn had signed away 10 Thursday nights of her life to sit through “Women’s Studies in the 21st Century”.
“Hey….” Taptaptaptaptap . “Hey!”
Caitlyn darts her eyes to see a red-headed woman incessantly tapping her pen on Caitlyn’s notebook.
“Shhh!” Caitlyn takes a quick glance at the teacher, who is still droning through the class syllabus. “What?”
“Why is this woman talking about reproductive rights? How is this relevant to the class?” The red-headed woman looked seriously dumbfounded (and a little angry) waiting for Caitlyn’s reply.
“Where have you been for the last 20 years? It’s a cornerstone in 21st century women’s rights. It would be weird if it wasn’t in the syllabus.”
“Wait. No, no, not again…” The red-headed woman frantically digs around in her backpack pulling out protein bar wrappers, a pair of boxing gloves, and finally, a crumbled-up energy drink-stained syllabus. “Shit! I thought this was ‘Studying 21st Century Women”! I gotta get out of here!”
“Huh, what even are 21st century women?!”
The red-head woman freezes, locks eyes with Caitlyn, and in the most serious voice says, “Lesbians”.
Caitlyn doesn’t even have time to react as the red-headed woman begins shoving her items back in her bag before bolting out of her seat and running to the emergency exit door. As 30 pairs of eyes move from the exit door to her, Caitlyn slowly begins to shrink in her seat, realizing it is going to be a very, very long 10 weeks.
Vi would always be the first one to admit she only came to college to get a degree. Not to become top of the class, not to enter graduate school, but only to have the expensive sheet of paper that allowed her to hit the minimum qualifications for a decent job. She had decided to major in architecture, a subject she was at least a bit interested in. When you spend your teenage years doing parkour across the city, you tend to become interested in the way buildings were made.
Vi would also be the first to admit, her repeated habit of misreading things was probably one of the top reasons she found herself in most of the situations she did. The public education system would call it dyslexia, but they also called Vi “a little hellion” so you couldn’t trust everyone.
“Vi, if you’re going to drop a class, I must put down a reason. Saying ‘you were bamboozled’ isn’t good enough.”
“Look,” Vi does an over-exaggerated sigh before continuing, “As I said, prior to registering for the class I was under the impression it would be covering different material. After reading the syllabus, I’ve determined the subject matter is not for me.”
“Like I said, I need a valid reason for WHY the class isn’t for you. This class has been offered for years and remains one of the most popular ones. We’ve never had anyone withdraw and it even attracts many male students.”
It was the following Friday morning and Vi had been in the guidance counselor’s office for the past 15 minutes trying to withdraw from “Women’s Studies in the 21st Century”. After her dramatic “emergency exit stage left” escape she was on a mission to correct her scheduling mistake. No matter how frustrating the guidance counselor was, she was NOT admitting her “lesbianism” mistake.
“Why do I need a reason?! I thought you could withdraw without penalty if it was within the first two weeks of class?!”
“If you don’t have a reason, then I’ll need you to leave. We have other students with more important concerns.”
Without waiting for Vi’s reply the guidance counselor rises from her seat, opens the door, and gives Vi the most passive aggressive “get out” face she could show without getting fired.
With one final grunt Vi exits the office and drops into one of the lobby chairs. Part of her says to just tough it out. She was in her final semester of college, and this would be the last credit she needed. She had kept her grades up all four years and was on track to have a job lined up at graduation. All she needed was to survive these last 10 weeks and she’d be done with school forever.
Vi remained sitting in the chair for a while, not caring nor paying attention to the flurry of activity around her. There were students with concerns about financial aid, students being put on probation for having a low grade point average, and a laundry list of people in and out with all kinds of problems. Without admitting to it, Vi knew her “issue” was a drop in the bucket compared to some of the other students, but still, she really did not want to take this class.