Mind Games

“Good. Normally I might ask a student who turned in a project such as yours if they employed outside help. But you’re correct, your work this term has been excellent. You can expect, when the grade for your final is added, that average to rise to a ninety-eight.

“I assume you can do the math.”

“Oh.” The air went out of her lungs, then filled them again. “Oh.”

“Succinct. It’s a rare thing for me to grade a final at a hundred. I questioned doing so here, debating with myself on doing so because I enjoyed playing the game.”

His chair creaked as he sat back, tapped his fingers together.

“But then, that would be one of the points of a game. Enjoyment. The graphics are clean, crisp, and creative. The narrative flows, the dialogue is clever and suited to the characters. You developed the characters well.”

“Thank you.”

“Your coding is solid, not a single glitch. You’re careful and you’re thorough.”

“When I started here, I thought I’d aim for a job in IT.”

“No doubt you’d find one. But now you hope, think, hope to make a career in game design and development.”

“I know it’s a competitive industry, one that demands—”

He held up a finger again to stop her.

“Are you afraid of competition or hard work, long hours, Ms. Fox?”

“No.”

“Then I might be able to help you. I have a connection at Milken. I assume you’re familiar?”

“Sure. Yes. They’re one of the top video game companies, globally.”

“I’d like to send my connection, who happens to be my cousin, your game.”

Her mind went completely blank. “I’m sorry?”

“Why?”

“I … You want to send Endon to Milken?”

“With your permission. And this is a first. I have provided students who earned them with references and recommendations. I would certainly do so for you. But this is the first time in my ten years at the university I will have offered to send a student’s project to my cousin. I would never do so unless I believed in that project. My cousin is fully aware I would never take advantage of our family relationship, so he will give the game his personal attention, and give it his honest and professional review.”

“I—”

“There’s no crying in my office, Ms. Fox.”

So she squeezed her eyes tight on the tears, nodded, kept nodding until she managed to control them. “Yes, thank you. You have my permission.”

“Good. I’ll send him your contact information. I imagine it will take time before someone lets you know, one way or the other. That’s all, Ms. Fox.”

Though her knees wobbled, she rose.

“I can’t thank you enough, Professor Cheng. I—”

“There’s no guarantee.”

“No, but it’s an opportunity. I’m very grateful.”

She walked out on a cloud of shock, joy, and disbelief. Because her eyes teared up again, she pulled out her sunglasses.