Help Sessions by Larry Hammersley Page A

I’m in big trouble with this.” Roy waved the papers, unable to hide the despair in his expression and voice.
    “You’re too modest,” Greta said, then turned to her friend. “Heather, Roy needs help on those problems. Let him study with us.” Heather remained fixed on a problem, slipping the hairline on her K&E slide rule, zipping the C scale, flipping the rule over, and recording the answer in her notebook.
    “You always want to be a social animal, Greta, and Roy, maybe you ought to drop chemistry as your major. It doesn’t look like you can handle it.” Heather’s hateful expression and tone emphasized her words.
    “You sound like my advisor, Professor Baker, especially after the D in organic chemistry,” Roy said, smarting from Heather’s acid remarks but masking his hurt feelings.
    “I rest my case,” Heather concluded.
    “You’re always throwing darts at me, Heather, and I’ll love you despite that, but you don’t have any call to gouge Roy,” Greta said, with a sour look. Her support gave Roy the relief of a cool wind in August.
    Heather looked at Roy, swallowed, and took a deep breath, her lips parting. Roy wondered if she was showing a trace of remorse at what she’d just said. Dejected, he remarked with a bit more iciness than he intended, “I’ll leave you to studying.” He turned to leave.
    “Wait, Roy,” Greta called out. Roy stopped, turned back, and fought for control in his next words.
    “I’ve got a ton of homework besides this problems set.” He drew a deep breath, smiling at Greta’s continued politeness that quenched his impatience.
    “Permit me a few questions before you leave,” Greta said.
    While Roy nodded his agreement, Heather looked at Greta and rolled her eyes. “Oh, boy, here we go again. Greta rescuing somebody she thinks has been insulted.”
    “Hush!” Greta said, casting a subduing look toward Heather and then proceeding.
    “What did you pull in freshmen chemistry?”
    “B’s both semesters, but it was a struggle.”
    “You had a semester of qualitative analysis, didn’t you?” Greta asked. Roy could see she was familiar with the chemistry major program despite her own major being in chemical engineering.
    “Why, yes. First semester sophomore year. Doctor Kobayashi taught that course. I really liked him.” Roy’s memories of the polite, supportive oriental professor came flooding back.
    “And two semesters of quant?” Greta asked.
    “Yes. Doctor Mellon taught that. He is a true gentleman in every sense.” More good memories came for the elderly professor whose red hair was streaked with gray.
    “Your grades?”
    “A’s in all three courses.” As he answered, Roy thought of how inconsistent he was in his chemistry grades. He just couldn’t master the rote memorization it took in organic chemistry to deal with all those synthesis problems. It didn’t seem to matter to Dr. Baker that his good grades showed his ability in analytical chemistry. Roy watched Greta look at Heather with a “How about that?” expression. Several seconds of silence followed as Greta raised her eyebrows even higher at Heather, silently demanding a remark from her.
    “Well, maybe I’ve misjudged you, Roy,” Heather’s expression remained neutral, her attention drawn to the problems set and her slide rule again.
    “See you in lecture tomorrow.” Roy gave them a smile and turned on his heel, feeling better that Heather had almost given him the benefit of the doubt. He bounded quickly toward the front door.
    The p-chem test was in two days, and if he didn’t find help with the problems set he’d be sunk. The lab instructor, Mr. Cortessis, was booked solid by other students needing help. Professor Hunter was unreachable, Blanchard and Finnigan had kicked him out, and Heather called the shots for Greta, so there would be no help there. He thought Heather and Greta were not far behind Blanchard and Finnigan in smarts.
    ****
    Out of breath after his run from Baylor