Help Sessions by Larry Hammersley

 
    Roy Jensen needed help or his college life would be over. As a chemistry major he’d just pulled a D in organic chemistry and been subjected to a bruising lecture from his new advisor, who ripped into him with sarcasm and some poor advice.
    “Jensen, you ought to drop out before you’re dropped. Making anything below a B in chemistry is totally unacceptable for anyone planning a science career. You’re headed for Dr. Hunter’s physical chemistry class, according to this plan you set up at the beginning of the year, but there’s no way you’re capable of passing his class.”
    Those words rang in his ears. He wasn’t about to drop out now, going into the spring semester of his junior year.
    “Professor Baker, do you have the power to force me to drop out of chemistry into a simpler curriculum?”
    The answer he received shocked him. Or rather, it wasn’t so much the “No” answer as it was the string of profanity the professor used to emphasize the “No.”
    As Roy ventured into the brightly lit Union Building, he heard the theme song “Cheyenne, Cheyenne…” Somebody was settling down to watch the Western series on TV. Roy resisted the temptation to watch one of his favorite actors, Clint Walker, and kept his mind determinedly on his goal—finding Willie, the chemical engineering friend he’d sat next to in the physical chemistry lecture. He hoped to study with Willie and get help with the p-chem problems set. The Union had its study cubicles as well as the main room where the TV resided, myriad hallways, snack bars, administrative offices, and an occasional couple in the lounge sitting close, holding hands, staring at each other. As he watched a boy stroke his girl friend’s long brown hair and saw her close her eyes and sigh, he longed to find a wonderful woman who would go for him like that. But such a scenario could never be. Not here and now, anyway. No time for such pursuits, he chided himself. He must concentrate on his studies. He made his way through clusters of students as they talked, shared snacks and soft drinks, made their way to the TV room. Blanchard and Finnigan, the smartest guys in p-chem, were camped in one of the cubicles. They greeted his request to study with them with their usual arrogance, proclaiming, “Get lost, Jensen.” Well, Roy didn’t need their rotten attitude anyway.
    He was about to give up on finding Willie when he spotted the only two women in Doctor Hunter’s p-chem class. He knew better than to ask if he could join them, but maybe they knew Willie’s whereabouts.
    “Excuse me, ladies, do you know where...” Roy began, but the blonde with perfect wavy hair, painted red lips, and a distracting figure accented by her tight-fitting sweater, interrupted him.
    “Did you hear that, Heather? He called us ladies.” Heather, a tall slender redhead, adjusted her steel-rimmed glasses but remained focused on the p-chem problems set, not even looking up when Roy spoke. Her lips, full and sensual, remained curved downward.
    “I’m looking for Willie. He’s the chem E. who sits next to me in lecture. Short, unruly black hair, horn-rimmed glasses—”
    “And buck teeth. Yeah. I just saw him heading for the smart alecks, to join them.” The blonde pointed at the cubicle where Roy had just received his boot.
    “Oh.” That dashed his last hope for help on this problems set.
    The blonde held out her hand, smiling.
    “I’m Greta Pridemore, and this is Heather Kallin.” Roy took Greta’s hand, noting its softness and firm grip. Heather glanced up for a few seconds, then returned her attention to the paperwork in front of her. She ignored his offer of a handshake. Roy, disappointed, started to cast his name out.
    “I’m—” He didn’t have a chance to give his name. Greta interrupted him again.
    “Roy Jensen. Yes, we know. You’re the lab ace.” Greta beamed at him, glancing at the problems set clutched in his hand.
    “Well, I’m holding my own in lab, but