Upsy Daisy: A First Love College Romance

by Smartypants Romance

  She slid me a book with the words Student Life stamped across the top. “Here are some of our clubs and organizations. I’d strongly suggest you look through it and select a few that you may be interested in. Your time here at Fisk is but a blink in the grand scheme of your life, but it’s my job to guide you on how that time can be best spent. I’m here to put you on the path of life-long success, learning to build connections is a big part of that.”

  I nodded. She was right; there was nothing wrong with trying new things, and goodness knows the importance of making connections had been stressed to me my whole life. I stopped nodding and began speaking when I caught her frowning at the motion. She was definitely a Dolly-type.

  “Of course. I’d overlooked that. I’ll take a look and decide on something.”

  I’ll just have to recalibrate my schedule. I think there was a half hour on Thursday between four thirty and five that wasn’t—

  My musing was cut off as she continued, “No doubt you’ve already looked through the course catalogue and decided what you’d like to take. Even though”—she looked me in my eyes—“your academic advisor is supposed to guide your course selection.”

  I smiled wryly. Busted. I already knew exactly what I wanted to take.

  “Well, let's have a look.” She opened her palm and I slid my course booklet with its circled selections across her desk.

  “I can’t wait to see what the valedictorian of 1979 will be embarking upon this—”

  She stopped abruptly. Her eyes ran over the courses I’d circled as she flipped the pages in silence.

  She looked back up at me, her lips pressed firmly together.

  “No,” she said in a tone that indicated it was final.

  I sat up straighter in the chair. I hadn’t expected her to deny me outright without any conversation.

  “But—”

  “No.”

  “If you’ll let me—”

  “No.”

  “I believe that I am owed the chance—”

  “No.”

  “If you’ll just be reasonable—”

  “No and no, forever and ever, amen. I am not being unreasonable. I’m the only one of us using reason. No. You are not owed the chance to speak on this. No, I will not allow you the opportunity to try this lunacy.”

  To my horror, she began drawing lines through the courses I’d selected as she spoke.

  “I do not allow freshmen to double major. And I know that you know that the course load you’ve selected would equate to just that. It is not a good idea. It is, in fact, a terrible idea. It will set you up for failure, both academically and socially. You will end up sitting in my office next year this time, trying to repeat your freshman year because you failed all your classes. Other ambitious freshman before you have tried and failed to carry this course load. It’s my job to put you on the path for success, not to rubber stamp half-baked delusions of grandeur.”

  “Dr. Gwinn, if you’ll just let me expl—”

  “I’ll hear no more on the matter. Report back here at quarter past the hour and I will have your perfectly reasonable, perfectly challenging courses selected for you.”

  She closed my folder and reached for the next one, glancing at her watch as she did so.

  I was shocked. I’d never in my life been so summarily dismissed. She was definitely a Dolly-type.

  But if she’s the Dolly-type, you know how to persuade her: cold, hard, logic. You can do this, Daisy. You can beat her at her own game.

  Me, Dolly, and Ado had been encouraged, prodded . . . okay, forced to discuss and defend our positions on various topics around the dinner table growing up. It hadn’t mattered that I’d been in elementary school, while Dolly was in middle school and Ado in high school and then later college. I had not been exempt from the conversations.

  While I was not a sore loser—okay, maybe I was just a little, but no one wanted to lose all the time—I could never beat Dolly in a debate. Ado, I now suspected, took it easy on me, but Dolly was ruthless. When she was right—which occurred annoyingly often—everyone was going to know it.

  A gracious winner she was not.

  I focused so much on how I hated the “spirited discussions,” as my parents had called them, that I’d missed the ideas they’d been trying to teach me. That is, until my mother took pity on me. She’d touched my face and gently explained, “The purpose of these discussions isn’t to win, Daisy. The point is to ground you in a firm foundation. I always want you to be able to know yourself, and to defend your beliefs against small-minded people.”

  I thought of my mother’s words and realized I did know how to convince Professor Gwinn. I’d grown very good at making my case. It was a natural by-product of having to do it so often when I was so outmatched.

  I knew if I was going to have a chance to change Professor Gwinn’s mind I’d need to speak fast.

  “Professor Gwinn, you value time, right? I assume that means both yours and mine. Unless the things you said about utilizing my time here wisely were all hogwash.”

  She reared back and stared at me for what felt like a full minute.

  Be patient, Daisy. Just make sure your logic is airtight.

  Then she'd sighed, and it almost unnerved me. She did not seem like a woman given to sighing.

  “Yes, I value your time,” she said, sounding totally exasperated.

  She opened her mouth, undoubtedly about to kick me out again, so I dove in speaking faster than James Jones.

  “Well if that’s the case, then I’d like my twenty-three minutes.” I fought against the urge to call her ma’am. I needed her to see me as someone that was worthy of standing before her and advocating for myself.

  “It’s nine-oh-five, and I estimate that your next appointment will be on time and arrive at nine twenty-eight.” I calculated that she’d want me to incorporate the “early equals on time” lunacy to prove I was listening. “Then that leaves twenty-three minutes for me to make my case to you for why this should be allowed.”

  She said more gently, “Daisy, I do value your time. It’s for that reason that I don’t want you to waste it. Even if you were to spend the next twenty-three hours making your point, I wouldn’t be swayed. I’ve just seen this too many times. People come in and they’re at the top of their class and they are brilliant and bright, but college is meant to challenge you. And some—most, in fact—are in for a rude awakening with a regular schedule. Forget about double majoring.”

  She had a point, and she was right.

  Here’s the thing though: she was also wrong.

  Not about those other kids. About me.

  I wasn’t one of those kids. I’d lived with beyond high expectations all my life. I wouldn’t fail. I didn’t know how. It wasn’t in my constitution. When you’re one of a handful of Black kids in a white school and you’re the daughter of nearly everyone’s employer, you learn very quickly that excellence isn’t an option; it’s the only option.

  “Dr. Gwinn, I know you’re trying to do what’s best for me. But you have been very insistent that I should try new things. That I should have an open mind, and that I should be willing to accept that I am ill-equipped for the challenges coming my way.

  “All I ask is that for just a few moments you apply those same principles to yourself. I ask that you have an open mind. That you allow yourself to consider that you could be wrong, and that I may be perfectly equipped to handle an extra-rigorous course schedule.”

  I wasn’t just top of my class. What she didn’t realize was that I’d grown up under pressure on all sides. My sister was a straight-A student, my brother was straight-A student, my mother had been crowned Miss Negro Tennessee in 1945 and had been salutatorian of her class at Howard, and my father . . . well, my father was in a class by himself, literally. He’d been the first Black person appointed to the judgeship in the state of Tennessee since before the Reconstruction Era.

  I came from coal stock. We were diamonds under pressure.

  An
d I knew no words would be enough to prove that to her. What I needed was a chance to show her.

  “All I am asking is for fairness. I am asking for the opportunity to show you that I can handle these classes. I am asking to prove to you that I am not those other students. If you think it appropriate that a blanket principle be applied to me and that I be penalized for the failings of others—”

  “Now wait a minute—you are not being penalized, Daisy.”

  “But I am. I’m being held back from fulfilling my academic potential because some other student, at some other time, wasn’t able to live up to theirs.”

  She sat for a moment with her fingers steepled under her chin, mulling over what I had said.

  Know when to hold them, Daisy.

  After a moment she gestured to me with her palm open. “All right. What do you propose, Daisy? How do you intend to prove that you can handle the course work?”

  I was going to have to wing it, because how do you prove something until you’ve done it? But this was important to me. It was my whole future. She wanted to test me before saying yes.

  Tested.

  She wanted to test me? Well, she could throw all the tests at me.

  “Usually exams are given at the beginning of the semester. I’m here a week earlier than classes are going to start. I can take the tests now, for all of my desired courses. When I pass, you’ll know I can handle the work.”

  “That won’t do. That will only prove to me that you’re smart. And I already know that. It isn’t just the work, it’s the time. I don’t know if you’ll be able to manage all these classes at once.”

  Another brilliant idea came to me.

  “Professor Gwinn, the deadline to drop classes isn’t until September fifteenth. What if we do this as a trial? By that time, I should have had my first round of tests. We’d be four weeks into the semester! I can show you my grades from my first set of exams and then you’ll know I can handle the classes. If I am doing well, then I get to stay in all the classes. And if I can’t handle the course load, I’ll drop the home economics classes. No arguments.”

  She steepled her fingers under her chin again and I could see she was seriously considering my proposal. I hastened to add, “And of course I’ll still join a club or social group while I maintain my grades.” I rolled my eyes and waved my hands like it would be a piece of cake.

  She laughed softly. “You sure will. And I think I know just which club you’ll be joining.”

  She held her hands in front of her, palms up in a conciliatory manner. “Okay, Daisy. I’m willing to give this a try.”

  I broke into a grin. I felt like breaking into a dance.

  “A try,” she repeated. “Under two conditions.”

  “Yes!” I agreed quickly. “Anything.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You might not be so quick to agree once you know what they are.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be fine. I trust your wise and just counsel.”

  She laughed fully at my joke and I beamed. I had the feeling Professor Gwinn didn’t laugh nearly as much as she should, and it was nice to be able to make her smile.

  “First”—she held up a finger—“I’m going to monitor your grades closely. Now, ordinarily I’d have you meet with me . . .” She glanced down at the oversized calendar on her desk.

  Ordinarily?

  I thought she said she’d never done this before.

  “Ordinarily!” I screeched. “I thought you said you’ve never allowed anyone to do this?”

  She grinned like the cat that caught the canary.

  “Did I say that?”

  She tapped her chin theatrically as if thinking. “I don’t believe I used the word never. I don’t allow it now.”

  My chin dropped.

  She raised her eyebrows defiantly. “Now are you going to let me finish? Or …?”

  I bit my tongue.

  Her eyes were definitely brighter and her lips were curved like she was holding back a smile. Professor Gwinn was something else.

  She took my silence as encouragement to continue. “Now, as I was saying, ordinarily I’d meet with you on a weekly basis, but unfortunately, Professor Dixon is out this semester so I’m teaching almost double the number of classes. Before you make any very funny jokes about my having a double major this semester—don’t.” She pointed at me with one eyebrow raised, and I bit my tongue to keep from smiling at her humor.

  “I am not nearly as enthused by the extra work as you are. Between my busy schedule and your own schedule, I don’t think we will be able to meet as often as I’d prefer, so I am going to set you up with a mentor. One of my student aides is double majoring as well, in business and mathematics. I’ll arrange for you two to meet weekly, and you will not miss any meetings.”

  “But what if she’s too busy to meet with me?”

  She waved me off. “That won’t happen—best time manager I know. You’ll learn a lot.” She quickly jotted down something on a pad of paper then ripped the sheet off, folded it in half, and handed it to me.

  “There. You can meet there later today and then arrange the rest yourselves. Do not miss any meetings,” she repeated, emphasizing each word.

  “I’ll get the weekly report on how you’re progressing during my meetings with my aides. I assume you’re staying in Jubilee with the rest of the freshman. If I have concerns and need to contact you, I’ll leave a note for you there. If you need me, you can check in during office hours.”

  Then she took the course selection sheet, signed it with a flourish, ripped off the carbon copy, and slid it back to me along with my course booklet.

  She slipped the original copy in my file, closed it, checked her watch, and then reached for the next manila folder.

  I grabbed my things and walked to the door, still smiling at my good fortune.

  I was good. I was so good, I was great. I walked in there and made my case and—

  “Daisy,” she said, and I turned, startled.

  “There’s a second condition that you seem to be forgetting.”

  I hadn’t forgotten; I’d hoped she had. She was smiling a bit too broadly and I suddenly had a very bad feeling about this.

  “Oh, yes!” I said, trying to sound enthused while looking at her expectantly.

  “I’ve figured out the perfect social activity for you.”

  “Great!” I said through a smile that felt like a grimace.

  “Anyone that can come into their academic advisor’s office, who happens to be the acting dean of the school no less—”

  I felt my mouth drop open.

  “And successfully make the case for why they should be allowed to double major as a freshman, even after being asked to leave, is a natural fit for the debate team.”

  I wasn’t good.

  I was an idiot. She was good. As the saying went, I was playing checkers and Professor Gwinn—Dean Gwinn—was playing chess.

  “Public speaking?” I croaked.

  “Oh, yes. And before you come up with all the reasons why you’re not doing this, let me save you the time.” She glanced at her watch again. “After all, I know how much we both value time.” She blinked rapidly at me grinning while turning my argument against me. “So, let us skip whatever argument you’re concocting to get out of this and just say you agreed to do anything, and this is the anything you’ve agreed to. But, I have fantastic news. The debate team doesn’t start until spring, so you have the whole fall semester to vanquish whatever trepidation I heard in your voice just now when you mentioned public speaking. And as an added bonus, your mentor is the captain of the debate team, so you have a whole semester to practice together.”

  “Thank you, Professor Gwinn,” I ground out, feeling less grateful by the second.

  She looked at me, eyes brimming with humor and sincerity. “Oh Daisy, it was my pleasure.”

  Chapter Seven

  Trevor

  Dr. Gwinn holding court was a thing of beauty. The President of Fisk Univers
ity had just announced to a handful of student aides that supported the Department of Business Administration that Dr. Gwinn would become acting dean while Dean Dixon was out on maternity leave.

  The whoops and the hollers that erupted with the announcement should not have been unexpected, but our slight, bookish president seemed taken aback. I understood why. Dr. Gwinn had a reputation for being the most exacting professor in the entire department. Having had her as a professor three times in the last three years, I could say with no uncertainty that the reputation that was absolutely deserved.

  So much so that Jules, who was an English major but a business minor, had switched his schedule no less than three times to avoid taking one of her courses.

  She was also the best teacher in our college, maybe even the best teacher on our campus, and for that reason she was as beloved as she was feared. I was admittedly biased; I’d learned more from her than anyone else in my collegiate career and the depth to which she cared for her students couldn’t be faked.

  We’d had a rocky start with her initial reluctance to allow me to double major, but now she was one of my favorite people. I was honored to call her my mentor, prouder still that as one of the youngest professors at Fisk she’d come out the front runner for interim dean. Dr. Gwinn was one of the few people that never asked me to tamp down my career ambitions—at least not after I’d proven I could handle the work.

  President Young turned to Dr. Gwinn with a hopeful smile. He joined the clapping before dismissing the aides to greet the professor they’d support or chat with classmates. It was the first time most of us had seen one another since last year.

  I hadn’t checked the assignment roster. I knew I’d be assigned back to Dr.—well, now Dean Gwinn. I’d often tried to get her to admit that I was her favorite student and I was never successful. She’d evenly state, “Trevor, I love my students equally.” But then with a bit of mirth in her eyes she’d add, “But I’m keeping you as an aide because you’re the only student who has bigger ambitions than me. I have to keep my eye on you to make sure you don’t try to take my job!”