a novelty to have a professor who isn’t irritated by, well, me. “I was thinking through your concerns over TAing that sports psychology class, and I don’t think you’re going to get over your apprehension until you rip the Band-Aid off.”
I do not like the sound of that. “Band-Aid?”
“Sure. After the lecture on Monday I’ll allocate twenty minutes for you to talk through the first assignment and answer any questions.”
“Oh.”
He chuckles. “Stage fright?”
“Not at all.” I adjust my glasses as I lean back into the wall. “I’m more concerned about the answering questions part.”
“Zach …”
“Yes?”
“You’ll do fine. I’ll send through all the information on the assignment, and I’ll be right there if you need additional input. Just have fun with it.”
“Of course. Yes. I can do that.”
I thank him and we hang up, but I already feel sick.
That unsettled feeling doesn’t shift all weekend even as I pour over Professor Lawrence’s notes. I read them so many times I have them practically memorized, but I also add points to a little card just in case I get stuck. I read through the class’s assigned reading and some articles on the intranet until I feel like I’m bleeding team dynamics.
I almost feel vaguely confident when I walk into class on Monday and remember one key piece of information I’d forgotten.
Foster is in this class.
He watches me from his seat as Professor Lawrence takes them through the lecture, and it makes me more determined than ever to get this right. Need help. I’ll show him.
When Professor Lawrence rounds up the lecture and hands it over to me, I tuck my card into my pocket and stand. I’m a little jittery but nothing beyond the normal amount of nerves public speaking brings.
Even with the wall of people looking back at me, I can’t stop my gaze from flicking to Foster. His friend nudges him, and I immediately look away again.
“Uh, hello. For those of you I haven’t met yet, I’m Zach. In case you haven’t checked through the course material and set work for the semester, there’s an essay on team dynamics due in week four.” I pause and force myself to take a breath. As I talk them through the framework for the essay and the criteria that will be assessed, my nerves start to lessen.
I know this. I know the material and I know the work, and everything I spent the weekend reading is still in my brain. This isn’t so bad.
I manage to smile and slow down my words because when it comes to talking about research, the words come fast and easy.
I’m on a roll, sure I’m impressing even Foster with my prowess …
And then I ask if there are any questions.
A guy in the fourth row raises his hand. “The essay wants us to focus on how the individual works within team dynamics. Can you explain that a bit more?”
My nerves come flooding back. I take a deep breath and remind myself I know this. “Yes. When an individual joins a team, they become compelled to comply due to a common goal.”
“Where do the conflicting goals come into it?” a girl near the front asks.
I pause. “What do you mean?”
The first guy takes over. “Okay, so my football team, we want to win our games, yeah?”
“Of course,” I say, despite the feeling I’m walking into a trap.
“Except, I want to be the one who wins them. And so does our QB, and every other guy on our team. We all want to impress scouts … or girls.” He winks at the girl in the front. “I have people competing for my place on the field. We might all want to win the game, but we also want our individual wins.”
Ah … what he’s saying isn’t a complex theory, and I understand the words, but the motivations behind that mentality escape me. I subtly wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. “Umm … was there a question?”
“Yeah, how do they fit together?”
Okay, I can do this. I start to regurgitate the textbook to them. “It’s much simpler if you look at humanity’s tribe mentality in general. We seek out the strong to secure survival and focus on basic needs. Food, water, shelter—”
“Sex?” Foster’s friend cuts in.
My thoughts stall, my heart pounds, and that’s when the stammering starts. “W-well … I’m not so sure s-sex is essential to survival.”
“You’ve clearly been doing it wrong, then,” someone else says.
Or not at all.
My throat clogs up. “Moving on!”
“It’s a good question though,”