It started snowing between her first and second classes. She realized only as she was rushing across campus that she’d been in such a rush that she’d forgotten her gloves and scarf. She didn’t even have a hat in her bag. By the time she made it to her second class, her ears were so cold they hurt, and her fingers were so cold, it was hard to type. It took her three tries to correctly input her password into the classroom computer.

And then her lecture bombed. It wasn’t that she didn’t know the material, but something she’d never appreciated as a student was how much a great lecture was the consequence of a sometimes elusive mixture of knowledge, practice, and magic. Deja had the knowledge, but definitely not the practice, and even though she knew she was a good teacher, she always felt like a novice the first time she taught a new class, no matter how well she knew the raw material. Figuring out the perfect combination of visuals and discussion and data to keep students engaged — the magic — didn’t come easy to her, and standing in front of her students feeling like a thawing popsicle didn’t help.

She was happier than her students when that class was over.

She’d just thawed out only to have to bundle up the best she could and trudge back across campus to Mark Hall, freezing again. Her hands felt like ice blocks by the time she stepped onto the Sociology floor. Her steps faltered for a second as she looked down the East hallway toward her office only to see a line of students already lined up outside her door.

Office hours.

She took a deep breath and began to walk toward her students.

“Hey, Doc,” Jerome yelled when she was close.

She put on her work smile and returned his greeting. “Give me five minutes to put my stuff down, okay, y’all,” she said to the queue. She could hear her Texas accent fighting to come out and knew she must be damn tired.

She unlocked her office and slipped inside. She took off her winter coat, turned the heater up, and plopped into her office chair. She signed into her desktop computer and turned gratefully to the kettle she kept in her office for just these occasions. She grabbed a bottle of water from her stash in the bottom left drawer of her desk, filled her kettle, and turned it on before turning back to her office door. She took another deep breath before pulling it open and kicking the doorstop into place.

She leaned out into the hallway. “I hope you all sorted out an order,” she said to the students waiting for her, a mix of Sociology majors and students from her classes. “Whoever’s first, come on in.”