Wicked Forest (DeBeers 2)

"Yes," I said, and he widened his eyes.

"I read the book mentioned in the article. What a brilliant man he was." he said, moving around to sit at his desk.

"Thank you."

"Well, it will be an honor for me to be the advisor to Dr. De Beers's daughter, Are you a chip off the old block, as they say?"

"Let's call it a shaving," I replied, and he laughed. He had perfectly straight, bright white teeth. I saw that he wore a

Rolex and also a beautiful diamond pinky ring in a gold setting, but no wedding ring.

"I have your transcripts, so you can't tell me you're an average student. You were doing so well there. What made you decide to transfer. if I may ask?"

I smiled to myself, thinking, Imagine if I went into my story in detail.

"My mother lives here with my half brother, and I've decided, since my father's passing, to live with them," I replied. It was a simple and true answer.

He nodded,

"Well, then. UNC's loss is our gain."

"I hope so."

He smiled at my modesty.

"I have your schedule here. I took the liberty of making sure you were in one of my classes, psych social science. You will be surprised at just how many psychiatrists I create in the first three sessions," he joked. "Before the semester ends, the whole class is analyzing itself, and everyone develops one complex or another."

I laughed and told him I was sure it was true.

"Are there any extracurricular activities that interest you? I saw that you didn't do very much in that regard at North Carolina."

"No."

"All work and no play, then, eh?" he asked with what I thought was a flirtatious

"Let's just say I leave my playing for offcampus life," I replied. He lifted his eyebrows and nodded.

Bien. Sometimes. my Spanish inserts itself" he quickly explained. "My family is from Cuba. We came over right before Castro took the island. So I was born and raised here. These two are my parents," he added, turning the picture so I could get a better view, "and this is my sister and her husband the fisherman. He takes it very seriously. It's practically an art form. However, if I say anything about anyone in my family, they all pounce, accusing me of analyzing them. Did that go on in your home. too?"

"Sometimes," I said, smiling now at what had often been bitter moments between my adoptive mother and my father. Eventually. I came to realize he was often analyzing her.

"I assume you were born and raised in South Carolina. then?"

"Yes."

He nodded, a pregnant pause between us for a moment. The speed with which he had become personal at this first meeting impressed me and relaxed me.

"I'm curious." he finally said. "how do you see yourself, say, ten years from now?"

"Excuse me?"

"It's a little game I play with all my students, but a game that has value. It gives me some insight about them, what they expect from their education, their career goals, that sort of thing,"

"I hope only that I will be half the success my father was," I replied.I don't want to work in a clinic, however. I want to have a less structured practice. I am thinking more seriously now of working with young people, specializing in it."

He smiled and nodded as if he had expected that exact answer,

"Thank you," he said. "I feel certain you will like it here. We're all very new, the school being relatively an embryo compared to other universities and colleges in the state, much less the country, so you will find much less pretension. We're all students here."