of thermodynamics. There, to her horror, she found an open-ended theoretical question on electromagnetic force.
She had spent the next half hour staring down at the blankpage, hyperventilating and clutching her forehead. She didn’t answer any of the multiple-choice questions. She didn’t even glance at the short-answer computations. Finally, drenched in flop sweat and despair, she had started scratching away with her number 2 pencil: “I realize that this question has nothing to do with the laws of thermodynamics, but that’s the only thing I can intelligently discuss so that’s what I’m going to write about. …”
She’d gotten the exam back via campus mail right after spring break. Written on the final page in a slanted, elegant penmanship was a curt pronouncement that Brooke could recite verbatim even twelve years later:
“Pathetic but bold. D+”
Brooke had gone straight to the registrar’s office and dropped the class. And she’d managed to avoid all contact with the physics department faculty for the rest of her time at Thurwell.
Until now.
The professor was looking at her expectantly, and Brooke realized that Dr. Rutkin must have asked her a question. “I’m sorry, could you please repeat that?”
“I was saying that I admire your moxie in coming to see me today. My door is always open to any student, present or former. I assume that, after all this time, you’re not just popping by to say hello?”
Brooke nodded. “You may have heard that the college sold Henley House? Well, I’m the sucker who bought it. I’m turning it into a bed-and-breakfast.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“Yes, it
sounds
lovely, but in actual fact, it is the opposite of lovely. I just found out I have knob-and-tube wiring.”
Dr. Rutkin adjusted her eyeglasses. “That’s a problem.”
“Yes. And I’m trying to rewire it myself and, as I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, I’m totally incompetent.”
The older woman didn’t argue or agree. She sat silently, her head tilted to one side, waiting for Brooke to finish.
Brooke clasped her hands in front of her. “Word in the theater crowd is that you’re something of an expert in electrical wiring, and I could really use a few pointers. I’ve done some preliminary research online and ordered a few how-to manuals, but honestly, I’m getting tangled up in all the terminology. Circuit breakers, conduits, volts, amps—it’s one thing to read about a theory and quite another to implement it.”
“That it is.” Professor Rutkin sat back in her chair. “And you’re determined to do this by yourself?”
“It’s really my only option.” Brooke addressed the carpet. “I know, I know: pathetic but bold.”
“Very bold,” the professor agreed. “But not pathetic. Because this time you’re going to do more than memorize and recite a few pages of theorems. This time you’re going to have to master the principles at work behind the words.”
“Well. About that. The fact is, I only have a few weeks, so I was kind of hoping for a shortcut.”
“The scientific method wasn’t built on shortcuts. It is, however, comprised of small, discrete steps. And your first step will be to the hardware store. Do you have a pen and paper?”
Brooke rummaged through her briefcase, then wrote down the long list of equipment the professor rattled off.
“All right, so once I buy all this, what then?” Brooke asked.
“Then call me and we’ll take it from there. I’m going to give you my home number. Guard it with your life.” Theinstructor passed a square of scrap paper across the desktop. “This is a chance for you to empower yourself, you know. Scientific literacy is the cornerstone of true education.”
“Hmm,” was Brooke’s only response to that. She glanced up at the diploma hanging behind the desk. “You must have done your graduate work at a time when there weren’t too many female physicists, right?”
“There aren’t many
now
. But yes, I was
She had spent the next half hour staring down at the blankpage, hyperventilating and clutching her forehead. She didn’t answer any of the multiple-choice questions. She didn’t even glance at the short-answer computations. Finally, drenched in flop sweat and despair, she had started scratching away with her number 2 pencil: “I realize that this question has nothing to do with the laws of thermodynamics, but that’s the only thing I can intelligently discuss so that’s what I’m going to write about. …”
She’d gotten the exam back via campus mail right after spring break. Written on the final page in a slanted, elegant penmanship was a curt pronouncement that Brooke could recite verbatim even twelve years later:
“Pathetic but bold. D+”
Brooke had gone straight to the registrar’s office and dropped the class. And she’d managed to avoid all contact with the physics department faculty for the rest of her time at Thurwell.
Until now.
The professor was looking at her expectantly, and Brooke realized that Dr. Rutkin must have asked her a question. “I’m sorry, could you please repeat that?”
“I was saying that I admire your moxie in coming to see me today. My door is always open to any student, present or former. I assume that, after all this time, you’re not just popping by to say hello?”
Brooke nodded. “You may have heard that the college sold Henley House? Well, I’m the sucker who bought it. I’m turning it into a bed-and-breakfast.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“Yes, it
sounds
lovely, but in actual fact, it is the opposite of lovely. I just found out I have knob-and-tube wiring.”
Dr. Rutkin adjusted her eyeglasses. “That’s a problem.”
“Yes. And I’m trying to rewire it myself and, as I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, I’m totally incompetent.”
The older woman didn’t argue or agree. She sat silently, her head tilted to one side, waiting for Brooke to finish.
Brooke clasped her hands in front of her. “Word in the theater crowd is that you’re something of an expert in electrical wiring, and I could really use a few pointers. I’ve done some preliminary research online and ordered a few how-to manuals, but honestly, I’m getting tangled up in all the terminology. Circuit breakers, conduits, volts, amps—it’s one thing to read about a theory and quite another to implement it.”
“That it is.” Professor Rutkin sat back in her chair. “And you’re determined to do this by yourself?”
“It’s really my only option.” Brooke addressed the carpet. “I know, I know: pathetic but bold.”
“Very bold,” the professor agreed. “But not pathetic. Because this time you’re going to do more than memorize and recite a few pages of theorems. This time you’re going to have to master the principles at work behind the words.”
“Well. About that. The fact is, I only have a few weeks, so I was kind of hoping for a shortcut.”
“The scientific method wasn’t built on shortcuts. It is, however, comprised of small, discrete steps. And your first step will be to the hardware store. Do you have a pen and paper?”
Brooke rummaged through her briefcase, then wrote down the long list of equipment the professor rattled off.
“All right, so once I buy all this, what then?” Brooke asked.
“Then call me and we’ll take it from there. I’m going to give you my home number. Guard it with your life.” Theinstructor passed a square of scrap paper across the desktop. “This is a chance for you to empower yourself, you know. Scientific literacy is the cornerstone of true education.”
“Hmm,” was Brooke’s only response to that. She glanced up at the diploma hanging behind the desk. “You must have done your graduate work at a time when there weren’t too many female physicists, right?”
“There aren’t many
now
. But yes, I was
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