by Robin Roseau
And so I made an appointment with Mr. Harris. We talked for an hour, and while I wasn't any closer to picking a school, I had a better idea how to go about it.
Over the next few weeks, I assembled information on a great many schools in both the United States and Europe. And then I wrote to Jasmine again. "Does my scholarship include trips home?"
"Yes. For each major break, and I will also arrange for your mother and sister to visit you once or twice a year, wherever you decide to attend. Have you thought about what you want to study?"
"Does it matter at this point? Don't all freshmen take the same basic classes?"
"Perhaps. I presume you aren't considering the engineering schools. But if you want to study marine biology, for instance, you wouldn't want to attend a school in Kansas."
"LOL. Was that a hint?"
"Only an example."
"I bet there isn't a lot of marine biology to do on the space station."
"No, but you should study whatever you want."
"Even art history?"
"If that's what you want to study."
"I was kidding. I don't know a thing about art."
"Which is why you would go to school to study it. Imagine someone with an art history degree being given access to the art of twenty alien species."
"You're serious."
"If that's what interests you."
That entire exchange happened over the course of an entire evening, but it helped.
I applied to eight different schools, three in Europe and the rest in America. I was accepted to four. And then I talked to Mr. Harris and sent email to Jasmine. They both assured me a liberal arts education would be very valuable, and Jasmine told me flat out she would support me as long as I was serious with my studies.
In the end, I accepted the invitation from Mount Holyoke in Massachusetts. I liked the idea of attending an all-women's school. I think it was as good a decision as I could have made.
Jasmine and I emailed frequently. Sometimes she initiated the conversations; sometimes I did. The day I arrived at Holyoke she sent me an email reminding me I was welcome to seek her advice at any time and congratulating me on my new adventure.
I still hadn't decided what I wanted to study. I signed up for the basic freshman classes. Amongst the requirements was a foreign language class. I reviewed the choices and then smiled.
* * * *
"Good afternoon, Ladies," said a woman as she stepped into the classroom. We all looked at her, and a few of the girls gasped. I smiled.
"My name is Bluebell Beaming." Her eyes were bright, bright blue, as blue as any I'd seen on a Catseye before. "I am the Catseye professor, as you can guess. If you are here because you intend to learn Japanese, you are in the wrong foreign language class."
There were a few nervous titters at that, but no one got up to leave.
"If being in the room with one of the space aliens makes you nervous, you are perhaps in the wrong room."
She looked around the class, her eyes settling on each of us in turn. When she looked at me, I simply smiled. There weren't many of us, only fourteen women, and by the next class, there would only be eleven. Apparently, three of us decided learning Catseye wasn't for them.
"Very good," said Professor Beaming. "I am going to introduce myself a little then ask each of you to briefly introduce yourself. Then we'll talk about the goal and structure of the class. As you can see, I am a Catseye. I am female. All Catseye are female. This is not a class in alien biology, so please don't ask about that."
A hand immediately went up, and the professor sighed. "Yes?"
"So, like, all Catseyes are lesbians?"
"We don't think of it in those terms, but yes."
"That is so cool!" said the girl.
"If I may continue?"
"Of course. I'm sorry."
"Quite all right. It is good that you wish to understand." She looked around the room. "I hold what on my planet is considered a business degree. In human terms, that really means the equivalent of a business degree combined with an advanced degree in psychology, but that is Catseye psychology. To hold my job here, I also have a doctorate in human psychology, so you may call me Ms. Beaming, Professor Beaming, or Dr. Beaming. All are accurate."
She looked around the room. "Who thinks she knows something about the Catseye?"
Several hands went up, including mine.
"Who thinks she knows what type of jobs we tend to hold?"
Mine was the only hand that stayed up.
"Yes, Miss," she said. "Please stand up, state your name clearly, and tell me what type of job you think I hold."
I stood. "I am Skye Andrews," I said. The Catseye smiled at that. "And I think you have two jobs. You teach here, and you're probably some sort of administrator somewhere."
"Very good, Ms. Andrews," she said. "You may sit. Ms. Andrews is correct. I am the chief administrator at one of the Testing Centers in Boston. I am one of two Catseye who teach our language in Massachusetts and one of seven on the American eastern seaboard."
A hand went up.
"Yes?"
"If you're from Boston, why don't you have a Boston accent? You sound like you're from somewhere else."
"I am from somewhere else. I am from the Catseye home world."
There were some snickers at that.
"I can actually put on a number of human accents," she said. And then she demonstrated the ability to sound British, American southern, and Australian. But then she spoke briefly in French, then something that sounded like German, and finally in what I thought might be Japanese.
I didn't know about anyone else, but I was impressed.
"To answer your other most common questions, yes, I am married. My wife works at the United Nations. We have two daughters, both slightly older than all of you. Physically I am fifty-seven Earth years old, but my body is in the condition of about the equivalent of a thirty-year-old human and will remain that way for many, many years."
She looked around the room. "Questions about me?"
No one raised her hand.
"All right," she said after a moment. "Let me get to know each of you a little. State your name and then tell me something unique about yourself." She pointed to a girl in the front row.
When it was my turn, I stood up and repeated my name. Then I asked, "Do you know who Sapphire Fletcher and Dr. Moirai are?" She cocked her head, so then I said, "Dr. Moirai is Temier."
"Oh," she said. "Yes, I know who they are."
"I once waited on them when they came to the restaurant for dinner."
"Well, well," said the Catseye. "I'll remember that. Thank you, Ms. Andrews."
Ten minutes later, we'd all introduced ourselves.
"All right. This is an introductory class to Catseye. If you earn a passing grade, then at the end of one term, you will know the very basics of the Catseye language, including a vocabulary of about three hundred words. You will recognize the words when I speak them, and you will be able to read and write them in both your Latin alphabet and in the alphabet used by Catseye. Your attempts to speak the words will be unintelligible."
We looked around at each other.
"Humans are able to learn to speak Catseye, but they do so with the most horrid accent I can imagine, and only people who are accustomed to their accent can understand them. Your vocal apparatus is not equipped to make all the required sounds, and you tend to add a nasal sound that should not exist."
She let that sink in.
"Your final exam will be a combination of verbal and written. The verbal section will involve listening to me speak slowly and translating what I've said into English. If you take the second term of this class and earn a passing grade in both sections, you will fulfill the foreign language requirements of this school. You will not, however, be able to hold a conversation in Catseye."
I sighed at that, and I wasn't the only one.
"For those who are here only to learn an exotic foreign language, that is proba
bly sufficient. For the rest of you, I conduct a more intensive version of this class. It is a two-year program and involves attending events hosted by my family. I will have more information in a few weeks."
Right then, I decided I wanted to take the advanced program. What good was being here if I couldn't actually use what I learned?
"In addition to learning the Catseye language, you will also learn a little of our culture as well as that of some of the other species inhabiting human space." She gestured to me. "Such as Temier." She looked around the room. "I am going to be blunt. If you are feeling xenophobic, please drop my class. I do not have time to deal with those sensitivities. Catseye are administrators, not diplomats."
Almost subconsciously I settled more firmly into my chair. I wasn't going anywhere.
"All right. Let us begin."
* * * *
I stayed after class, waiting until Professor Beamer had dealt with any other students. She turned to me. "Ms. Andrews."
"How do I get into your advanced class?"
"Show an aptitude during the first few weeks."
"And then what?"
"If I am impressed, then you will receive an invitation."
"If you aren't impressed, I hope you will give me a final chance to convince you."
She paused before nodding. "What did you think of the Temier?"
"We don't get any in the restaurant," I said. "And she wasn't Temier anymore."
"She is still Temier on the inside," Professor Beamer said. "But I understand what you mean. Will there be anything else, Ms. Andrews?"
"No, thank you, Professor."
I turned for the door, but she stopped me. "Ms. Andrews?"
"I turned to face her."
"Have you been Tested yet?"
I almost told her that yes, I had, but then I remembered that it was done under the table, so to speak. "Not yet, Professor."
She smiled. "Good."
"Why is that good, Professor?"
She didn't answer. Instead she asked, "Have you selected a major?"
"Not yet, Professor. I'm going to take as many different types of classes this year as I can and try to decide next year."
"Are you taking any business classes?"
"Not yet. I have to get the freshman requirements handled."
"I hope you'll take a business class or two before you choose a major. If you do not have room in your schedule, I hope you'll talk to me no later than the middle of next year, and certainly before you make a final decision regarding your major."
"You're a busy woman, Professor," I said.
"Is that a human way of telling me you aren't interested in my opinion?"
"No. It's a human way of letting you decide if you're going to insist. You are, after all, a busy woman."
She returned my smile. "Catseye never make an offer like that if she doesn't mean it. Ms. Andrews, I am always blunt, but I will be especially blunt with you. If you choose any major other than business without first taking an introductory business class or having that conversation with me, I will be exceedingly disappointed."
I smiled. "Thank you, Professor. I won't disappoint you. Promise."
"Good. Thank you, Ms. Andrews." Again, I headed for the door, but she again stopped me with my name. "Ms. Andrews."
I turned to her.
"The college has assigned an academic advisor."
"Yes. Professor McGivens. She's an associate professor of English."
"English."
"Yes, Professor."
"Perhaps you would accept a change."
"To you, Professor?"
"To me."
I smiled broadly. "I would welcome such a change, if it can be done without insulting Professor McGivens. She's my freshman composition professor."
"As you can guess, Catseye have a certain amount of influence. You will receive official notice, but at least until you choose your major, you can consider me your academic advisor."
"Thank you, Professor."
This time she let me go.
* * * *
The first few weeks of school flew past. I emailed Mom, Audra, and Jasmine no less than weekly. I studied. I studied hard. When I told Jasmine how hard I was studying, hoping she'd be proud of me, she actually called me.
"When do you exercise?"
"Jasmine?"
"When do you exercise, Skye?"
"I climb the dorm stairs to my room several times a day."
"Insufficient. Fix this. I require a different answer the next time I call you."
"Seriously?"
"Human bodies require exercise not only for weight control, but for happiness and well-being. I don't care what form of exercise pleases you, but find something."
"I used to play soccer, but I don't want a fixed schedule like that."
"Perhaps there are more casual games."
"They play Frisbee several times a week. That's kind of like soccer."
"Throwing a plastic disk around is not at all like soccer."
"Ultimate Frisbee," I said. "It's like soccer, but with a Frisbee instead. It's a lot of running. I think I could be good."
"I don't care if you are good. I care if you exercise."
"I care if I'm good."
She barked her Catseye laugh. "And in the winter?"
"I'll find something."
"Good."
I wasn't a great Frisbee player, but I turned out to be at least halfway decent, and I could run as fast as any of the other women. In the winter, we played in the gym. And so I got the exercise that Jasmine required.
She was right, too. I felt better afterwards.
* * * *
I worked hard. Professor Beamer had warned us she gave frequent quizzes, and I didn't always get everything right. I fretted that she wouldn't invite me into her special program. My fears were baseless.
It was the sixth week of the class. As she frequently did, she gave a quiz. This, like about half her quizzes, was verbal. She said a word two or three times, and we were to write it down in both Latin and Catseye alphabets and offer a definition. Two of the ten words I couldn't remember, and I sighed.
We self-graded. She simply projected the answers on the board. We graded our own papers and then turned them in. I misspelled two more words, and I was sure I was failing. I slunk down in my chair.
Professor Beamer collected the exams, glanced through them briefly, studying one a little longer than the others.
"Ms. Andrews," she said. "Please stay after class."
"Yes, Professor Beamer," I said. I was sure she was going to kick me out of class.
Then she gave the assignment for next week and dismissed us. I collected my things as everyone filed out, and then, my heart in my throat, I turned to her.
"I know this is short notice. I would like to invite you to dinner with my family either Friday or Saturday evening."
"Me? Really?" I pointed to the stack of papers. "It was my paper you looked at the longest, wasn't it."
"It was."
"I'm studying hard, Professor. I really am. I'm sorry I got all those wrong."
"Ms. Andrews, calm down," she said. "Your quiz scores aren't always the top score in the class, but you are consistently in the top three, every quiz. I cannot say that about anyone else. Do you want to know a secret?"
"Sure. I like secrets."
She smiled. "You seem to be very good at keeping them, too. Part of the reason for so many quizzes is because they also quiz me."
"I don't understand."
"If everyone gets every question right, then my quizzes are too easy, and I am probably also not teaching you as quickly as you're able to learn. If scores are around half or less, the opposite is true. If everyone makes the same mistakes, it tells me what I haven't taught properly, or perhaps something that is difficult for a human to understand. Regardless, it tells me what I need to work on."
"Oh. I hadn't thought about that."
"Of the two words you didn't know, no one in class got
both right, and five of you got them both wrong. The people who were likely to fail the class have already dropped, so no one remaining is doing poorly. But clearly I did something wrong in how I taught those two words, so we'll go over them again next week, as well as a few others than seemed to be problematic."
"Oh." I smiled. "I'm passing?"
She offered her laugh. "You're doing better than passing, Ms. Andrews. Now, are you able to make dinner this weekend? I can arrange transportation from you, probably in the form of one of my daughters."
"I'd like that a great deal. I'm free either evening."
"Perhaps you would like to come Saturday evening. I can have you returned late on Saturday, or you could stay for breakfast."
"Really?"
"Really. But I must tell you. We won't be speaking English."
It dawned on me what she was really offering. "You're inviting me into the advanced program."
"Do you remember what I said about being blunt?"
"Catseye are always blunt."
"I want to see how you interact with my family, and how they interact with you."
"Oh. All right. I'd love to come Saturday, and if no one hates me, returning Sunday is great. Can I bring something?"
"Dress is upscale for dinner, whatever you wear for sleeping, and casual for breakfast. Do you know what those mean?"
"Yes, Professor."
"Here at school, I am Professor Beamer. In my home, I am Bluebell. Will you be offended if I call you Skye?"
"No, Professor."
"Very good. I have your information and will contact you before Saturday to arrange for picking you up."
"Thank you, Professor."
* * * *
As soon as I got back to my room, I emailed Jasmine. "Please, if you have five minutes, I would like to talk to you. Call me. I don't care what hour it is."
My phone rang a few minutes before midnight. I glanced at it and breathed a sign of relief. "Jasmine."
"Is everything all right, Skye?"
"Yes. I just needed to talk to you about something." I told her about the invitation to dinner. Then I talked to her about clothes.
"I told her I knew what upscale meant for clothes, but I don't have a clue what it means. I didn't want to admit that. But I'm pretty sure I don't have anything upscale, and I don't know where to buy anything."