South Side Academia

by CalzonaForever4

Chapter 1 : New York University School of Medicine

Arizona POV

Fuck. I can't believe I'm 10 minutes late to this class. Ugh, who the hell wants to take a class on Critical Theory anyways? Researching complex and fucked up theories about female oppression from a white males stale perspective is not really something I want to have to spend my time on. But - it's the only elective available so I guess I'll have to suck it up and get through the semester.

Putting out my cigarette on the side of the building wall, I reach into my very used Jansport backpack and pull out my second last piece of icy fresh mint gum. Damnt, my last piece. I better not smell of smoke.

Looking up at the sky, it looks like it is about to rain. I hate riding the subway in the rain. It smells like wet boots, dirty mud, and drenched hair from the homeless men who sleep on the subway overnight.

Not that I'm judging, I know almost everyone on the southside of town. That's where I grew up, South Side of Manhattan, New York. If it doesn't sound familiar, that is because the South Side isn't very memorable. A lot of drugs and gang violence, but also a lot of community and support. My brother Tim and I grew up with some of the roughest looking people in the city, but we were also supported and protected, that's all we needed.

A lot of people see me and think, "How the hell did some blonde from the southside make it to NYU School of Medicine?" Honestly, I have no fucking clue either.

I guess I have a photogenic memory, and also I just really understand a lot of things. I like absorbing information. Knowledge is power and when you know a lot of things, well some people see that as potential.

As I make my way through the halls of New York University School of Medicine, I finally come to the door of room 205. Peaking through the rectangle window, I can only see about 10 more students in the class. Great. So much for being subtly late.

After not so subtly opening the door and revealing my presence, I notice that everyone including the professor stops and stares my way. I can't help but notice the pencil skirt the professor is wearing and the dark emerald green pumps that contrast perfectly against olive skin.

Clearing my throat from the sudden itch, I introduce myself to the most likely Latina professor a few feet away from me. "Hey, sorry. I thought I'd just slip in. I uh, didn't realize the class was so small."

"You're late." Was all the professor said, raising her eyebrow.

"Uh yeah, I couldn't find the building." I shrug my shoulders, trying to give myself the best excuse I could think of.

"It's the third class, so you're a week and ten minutes late." she stood her ground, not easily letting me off the hook. Whatever.

"Well, what'd I miss?" I casually say. Not trying to be a smart ass but at this point I don't think there's no going back.

The brown haired professor tilts her head slightly, obviously annoyed at the situation. She looks me over once and sighs under her breath. "Your name?" she asks as she makes her way to her desk at the front of the class.

"Its, uh, Arizona."

"Arizona?" She questions as if there's a need for correction.

"Mhm, Robbins." I nod. Still standing awkwardly at the door of the class with my grey rain jacket and backpack.

Looking on the list of names, the professor sighs and says "There is no Arizona Robbins on my class list." Putting her right hand on her perfectly sculptured hip, she looks at me as if I'm pulling some stupid prank on her.

"Right, no, yeah, there was a slight hiccup with um, financial aid." I state. "Uh, but you know, I wanted to hit the ground running for when it gets sorted out." I nod, smiling awkwardly.

I couldn't help but notice how nicely fit her blouse is to her chest.

Before I could think anything else about the woman in front of me, I hear the Latina scoff slightly, "and you're interested in Critical Theory and Postmodern Thought?"

Answering quickly and confidently, "Absolutely, yeah, yeah. You know, and also a lot of the other classes were already full, so it was between this and Environmental Studies. Which you know, hippies don't use deodorant, so.." I finish, hoping that was a good enough answer.

Crossing her arms, my professor questioned me once again, "Do you even know what Critical Theory is?" she asked, squinting slightly.

And there it is, the automatic judgement.

"Is.. that a trick question?" I responded as quickly as she asked.

"You don't, do you?" She nods confirming her head. Obviously not caring that there are 10 other students in this class listening to this conversation.

Tilting my head slightly, I tighten the grip on my jacket. "Question everything.." I say, looking over to some of the student's that are also silently judging me. "You know, that's it in a nutshell. Uh, Questioning why things are the way they are.. why they should be different. Um, you know, if there's anything I'm good at, it's that." I finish by nodding, "otherwise known as, calling bullshit" looking at the professor, trying to read her face for any hint that she is about to kick me out.

Uncrossing her arms, my Latin professor slightly smiles while continuing to walk over to the blackboard, "You've hijacked enough of the class' time. Sit and listen. Come to my office later, and I'll decide whether or not you can take my class."

"Sure. Yeah." I nod as I quickly take a seat near the entrance of the class. Just so happens that from the angle I was sitting, I was able to fully pay attention to the professor's body while listening to her speak about Horkheimer's Theory of feminism.

I guess this could be worse.