Quick Study by Gretchen Galway Read Free Book Online

sharing?”
    “He wasn’t non-consenting.”
    Prof. Alice, her advisor, pursed her lips. “I can imagine, but that’s not the kind of consent I meant and you know it.”
    “I was going to pass it off as creative non-fiction. Like a tweaked memoir. Art, not science. Interdisciplinary.”
    “Then find an advisor in Creative Writing. Or Oprah. Gender Studies has enough bad press without this sort of unethical. . . research.”
    Bonnie felt crushed, but knew she was right. She sagged into her chair and fiddled with a loose thread on her jacket. “I had the consent forms printed up,” she said. “But the moment never really. . . came.”
    Prof. Alice snorted. “I bet.”
    “If I get the next subjects to sign their consent, is it legit?”
    “Bonnie, look,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “The way you’re going about this is problematic on many levels. With you as part of the experiment, vulnerable to emotional involvement and with no control group, the results are objectively useless.” She leaned forward over the desk. “You told me you were conducting interviews. Why not do that?”
    Bonnie sighed. “I just couldn’t get excited about that.” She realized how that sounded and felt her face get hot. “Intellectually speaking, I mean. It’s been done.”
    “I liked it, though. Each generation is different. I was looking forward to reading something current.” She leaned back in her desk chair. “The mating habits of the young is a nice distraction from wage inequality.”
    “A trivial one, though. That’s what people will say.”
    “So what?”
    “I wanted to do something important.”
    “Then go back to painting.”
    Bonnie drew back in shock, blinking. “How did you know about my painting?”
    “Your father talked about it.”
    She nodded and looked down at her hands. “They weren’t unsupportive, you know.”
    “Your mother showed me one of the wildflower paintings. A poppy.”
    Three years were enough to control her grief, and she looked up into her advisor’s face with a sad smile. “She thought they were too small.”
    “Like their subject.”
    Nodding, Bonnie reached down for her backpack to change the subject. “Anyway, painting is no career. And I wouldn’t want it to be.”
    “But do you need a career? Forgive me, Bonnie, but you must have inherited enough to live on for the rest of your life. Even after giving away as much as you were allowed to.”
    Surprised Prof. Alice knew so much about her private life, Bonnie stared at her. “Do I need a career?” She looked around the office. “Isn’t this where all the feminists hang out?”
    “Don’t be simplistic. You have economic freedom—so use it wisely. Pretending to be a career academic when you’re anything but is dishonest and unfair to those around you who don’t have your opportunities.”
    Bonnie swallowed, reeling. “You think I’m dishonest and unfair?”
    Prof. Alice took off her reading glasses. “I think you’re avoiding what makes you happy,” she said, then added softly, “to please someone who isn’t around anymore to appreciate it.”
    Then Bonnie did have to fight back tears, there in her advisor’s office with her unfinished draft saved useless in her laptop and her life falling apart. Again. “I should go.” She stood up, fumbled for her backpack. “We’ve gone way over. You probably have people waiting outside—”
    “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have spoken so freely.”
    But that was why everybody liked Prof. Alice. She was the kind of woman who told the truth, to anybody, big or small. Bonnie stopped at the door and forced herself to turn around and face her. “No, I’m glad you did. But I need to think about it.”
    Prof. Alice nodded and put her glasses back on. “Good. I trust you.” When Bonnie stepped into the hallway, she called out, “Send in my next victim!”
     
     
    He had to see her again. Little things were nagging at him, like when she said there was something he