Good Intentions

Exercise #2: Character. For this 2-3 page exercise, take a character and put him/her in a situation where they are faced with a decision or a solution that isn't easy to make.

This is the same character I used from the last exercise. I got an A on this one, and I haven't changed anything in it from the version I submitted since I can't think of a way to do it easily and I'm lazy.

“Good Intentions”

The tutoring center is nearly empty of tutees. It’s nine AM, the beginning of the semester, and most of the athletes are in their dorms or in class. Would that I were so lucky. I find the appropriate table and toss my bag down, rooting through notebooks and syllabi until I find my academic death certificate. Professor Kalugdan, Chemistry for Science Majors. The girl to my left smiles and asks what she can do for me. What kind of a stupid question is that? I am obviously a student, she and the bespectacled mute staring at me are clearly tutors, and a paper standee labels this the chemistry table. The possible scenarios are kind of limited, but I humor her anyway.

            “I’m here for help with chemistry?” I say it like it’s a question to keep the peevishness out of my voice. It kind of works.

            “Great!” she beams, “We can help you with that!”

            Fantastic, a bubbly type. I adore bubbly types. “I need a B in this class, minimum,” I grouch, sliding the syllabus out to the middle of the table.

The guy pulls the sheet closer. “Why’d you pick Kalugdan?” he asks.

That’s a good question. Kalugdan’s one of those professors who openly begrudges every minute outside of his research lab, and admits to reading teacher evaluations only for the comedic value. I’m teetering on the edge of academic disqualification, so I should be in any class but his. However, I’ve been avoiding chem for five semesters and my scholarship is about to expire. Of course, this would be the semester that my training schedule conflicts with every class except K’s MWF 3:30-4:30. But that would take a while to explain, so I just shrug.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry,” the girl says, skimming over the course requirements, “Professor K is really nice, and chem’s not that hard. Do you have your online homework account set up yet?”

Seriously? The worst kind of tutor is the one that thinks their subject is easy. I can almost hear the collegiate gods’ mocking laughter as they stack the deck against me.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to keep the fatalism out of my tone.

            “Awesome! This first assignment’s a snap, let’s get you started.”

            The following half hour is predictably tedious and exasperating. The girl doesn’t explain any of the homework questions. She simply rephrases them, so I mentally nickname her Roget. I stare blankly at the screen and make wild guesses until she gives me the answers. Meanwhile the guy just stares at me, except for question four.

            “Rocky Road is a hete-Rogenous mixture,” he emphasizes the Rs. “That’s a good way to remember.” I thank him for the advice and try to encourage more involvement from him, but he doesn’t say anything after that.

 I will get a perfect score on my first homework, but I have learned practically nothing. I want to get away, go back to my dorm room and cry. I am going to fail for sure. I will lose my scholarship, drop out of college and become a bag lady.

Walking out of the tutoring center I enter the living stream of students, weaving my way around slower people when I hear someone shout my name. It’s the glasses guy. Did I leave something in the center? How does he know my name?

He catches up, breathless, and flashes a nervous grin. “There’s another way,” he says.

             “Excuse me?” I say, hoping for clarification.

            He looks all around, then drops his voice so low I can hardly hear him. “You’re doomed,” he says. “I could try to teach you everything you need to know, but with a full class load and a training schedule, there’s no way you’re going to pull anything higher than a C.”

            Of course I knew that, but it doesn’t make me feel any better to hear him say it.

            “But there’s another way,” he presses. “I can take care of your homework, and I have copies of Kalugdan’s tests.”

            It takes me a minute to process what he’s just said, and when I do I’m repulsed. I’m not the best student but I’ve always been an honest one, and what he’s suggesting is not exactly ethically gray. If I’m caught I’ll be thrown out of track, out of school, I won’t even be able to get into a community college.

            On the other hand, this is one of those ridiculous filler classes, unnecessarily difficult and since it has no real world application or contribution to my major, it’s kind of pointless. The only reason it exists is so they can collect tuition off of unsuspecting students. Well, not me specifically. I’m on scholarship, but that’s not the point…

            I’m rationalizing, and I know it. I should just walk away out of principle, but the guy is right. Without his help I am doomed. Whether I get kicked out for cheating or lose my scholarship for failure to maintain academic standards, I’m still screwed. At least this way I have a chance of getting through. The guy is looking at me, chewing his lip and nervously shifting his weight from side to side. I realize that he’s put himself out on a limb, offering me this out. I could report him. But I know I won’t. Instead I take a breath and ask, “What about the weekly quizzes?”