“You cannot record my class,” Dr. Clément interrupted, his accent thick. “It is not up for debate.”

I hesitated, wondering exactly what Galloway had put in the email. “Is there any particular reason why I can’t?” I attempted to keep my voice even, avoiding eye contact with the TA. This was stressful enough on its own, but his dark- blue-and-pale-gray eyes, a Pantone-like combination any designer would kill to own, and the way he casually wore that maroon beanie weren’t helping me stay focused. The last thing I needed was to have to ask Dr. Clément to repeat himself.

English was my first language, and that was difficult enough, but throw an accent into the mix and I was lost. Watching Dr. Clément’s mouth wasn’t helping, and I didn’t know if the talk-to-text program would even work with French, but it was something and I had to at least try.

“Because I do not want you to.” He shrugged, looking to Hudson for backup.

I looked to Hudson, too, feeling like Clément and I were silently fighting over him. Battling for his allegiance. Hudson

looked from me to Clément and then back with a small shrug. His eyes lighting up as he scrunched his nose.

“Listen.” I ran a hand through my hair in frustration, wishing again that I had tied it back. Between the light snow- fall and my constant touching, my hair would be a frizzy mess by the end of the day. Clément’s office may have been bigger than Galloway’s, but it wasn’t any less stuffy.

“I have a disability that makes it hard for me to process what I hear. Your accent makes that even harder for me,” I said as I wiggled my fingers near my left ear. “Either I don’t understand a word of what you’re saying or everything just comes out in a garbled mess, and that’s when you speak English. When you speak French, I’m so lost I just . . .” I shook my head; he didn’t need to know how helpless I felt. “My adviser thinks recording the class would help since learning a second language is especially hard for someone with what I have. Sometimes I just don’t understand you, and I don’t know how else to help myself.” I knew at some point there would come a time when I might have to let someone at the college know I had a disability, but I didn’t want it to be now and I didn’t want it to be like this.

“That is not my concern,” he said with a one-shoulder shrug. “If you cannot handle college, then you should not be in college. You made it through my 101 course; I have no doubt you will make it through my 102 course.”

My eyes darted to Hudson’s, and his were already on me, wide in disbelief. How did we go from you shouldn’t be in college if you can’t handle it to don’t worry, you’ll make it through? It wasn’t about just making it through for me. There was more at stake.

“I can handle college. Not everyone is good at everything. This is what I’m not good at—” I squeezed my eyes closed tightly as I pressed my fingers into my forehead. “All I’m asking is that you let me help myself. You don’t have to do anything differently. I just want to record your lessons, that’s all. I spent more time and effort on French 101 than I did on any of my other courses, and that was just studying the vocab and putting all my energy into paying attention in class.”