Loving Kinnick

Hawaiian Island Febreeze Or Regular

The one class I've been dreading more than anything - ethics. I stared at the pale wooden door, looking into the classroom with worry. Here, in the room before me, I would learn the theory of right and wrong and the theory of goodness and badness.

My professor is supposed to help strengthen my intuition. This is all something I struggled most with when I decided to be a prosecutor. What if I have a person step in front of me, and I don't believe they have done anything wrong? I wanted to be a prosecutor to put those in jail who deserved it. How do I know they deserved it?

I looked for my best friend in the occupied seats to not find her. She told me we had ethics together. It made me think she found Tyler before she could attend. When my hands started shaking, I sucked in a few breaths, trying to convince myself to go inside.

My phone sat in my hands as I texted Chrissy over and over, asking her where she was. I didn't get a response. It didn't take long for the hallways to clear, and soon I was alone. I slid down the wall, hoping to steady my breathing enough to function, but my throat began closing. Tears were welling in my eyes as I clutched my chest.

"The most common way people give up their power is by believing they don't have any."

A female voice filled my ears as I heaved. Her heels clicked closer until she was kneeling in front of me. "Don't let your anxiety think you have no power."

Her curly hair was the first thing to catch my eye. Then it was the kind gleam of her eyes that told me she knew I could conquer this panic attack. She stayed knelt in front of me until I caught hold of my breath.

"Good," a large smile spreads across her lips. "You don't happen to be in my class. Do you?"

I nod, standing to my feet. "Thank you."

Her shoulders lifted. "Professor Roberts and you are?"

"Boston Bennett. I'm an aspiring prosecutor."

"I think you're going to make one hell of a prosecutor, Boston Bennett."

My eyebrows knitted together. "I was thinking quite the opposite."

"Hm," she hummed. "Come in, let me change your mind."

I followed her into the classroom, taking a seat in front of her as she walked to the chalkboard. Her heels clicked, and she didn't need to say a word to grab every single student's attention. Professor Roberts was written across the board in cursive.

"A bad semester or one bad grade won't define your future," she turns to the class. "But, remember, everything you do now will affect it. When you leave me in fifteen-weeks, I don't want you to look back and know you could have done better."

She began writing a question on the board. 'Many people aspire to have your dream job. Most already do. What makes you different?'

"Your first essay," she points to the board. "I don't care how well you can write or if half of your words are spelled wrong as long as you can answer this question. The due date is in a week - good luck."

The people around me had their laptops pulled out. Most of them were already typing away. Either they were confident people or cocky. I didn't know the answer to that question, and I don't know how to answer it.

My rape is the only thing motivating me to show up. I'm not the only woman it's happened to, and I can guarantee I won't be the first prosecutor who has a challenging past. I want to change the Criminal Justice System, but I can't do that overnight. How do I know I can do that at all?