Playing Favourites

Professor Terrance Caldwell did not often accept invitations to students' homes. The reasons were numerous and, in his mind, entirely justified. Boundaries mattered. Optics mattered. A professor who blurred those lines too easily risked undermining both authority and fairness. Years of teaching had reinforced that principle, watching colleagues stumble when familiarity crept too far into professionalism.

And yet there he sat, in the living room of one Evan Mercer. Notebook open. Pen poised. A second glass of wine resting untouched at his elbow.

The exception, it seemed, had a name.

Stacy.

A quiet murmur of voices filled the room as pages shuffled and chairs creaked. Marcus leaned forward over his notes, brow furrowed in concentration that came and went in uneven bursts. Liam lounged more casually, though his eyes tracked the material with a sharper focus than his posture suggested.

And Evan...

Caldwell's gaze lingered there for a fraction longer.

"Let us try this again," he said, tapping the edge of his notebook with measured precision. "You are all conflating two very different positions. Mr. Hume's skepticism is not the same as outright denial."

A pause. Three sets of eyes turned toward him.

"Mr. Mercer," Caldwell continued, voice calm but expectant, "perhaps you can articulate the distinction."

Evan hesitated. Just briefly. Then:

"Hume isn't saying cause and effect don't exist, just that we can't actually prove the connection. We only assume it because we've seen patterns repeat."

A faint nod.

"Better," Caldwell said. "Though I would caution against reducing it to mere assumption. There is a psychological component; habit, expectation, the mind's inclination toward order." His pen lifted, gesturing lightly. "We believe in causation not because we can prove it, but because we are conditioned to expect it."

Marcus made a face. "So... we're basically tricking ourselves into thinking the world makes sense?"

"In a manner of speaking," Caldwell replied dryly. "Though I would advise against phrasing it that way on the exam."

A ripple of quiet amusement passed through the group. Caldwell allowed it, just for a moment. Then his gaze shifted again.

Evan.

There was something there. Something he had missed before. Or perhaps something that had only recently come into focus.

The first time Stacy Mercer had entered his office, Caldwell had assumed it would be brief. A polite inquiry, perhaps a misplaced concern. Most spouses did not involve themselves in undergraduate coursework, and certainly not with the level of initiative she had displayed.

He had been prepared to dismiss it. Prepared to assure her, calmly and efficiently, that her husband's performance was within acceptable parameters. Prepared to move on.

Instead, she had sat. And had spoken. Eloquent. Composed. Engaging in a way that was difficult to interrupt without seeming deliberately rude. Not pleading, not demanding. Simply persuasive.

Concern, yes, but not panic. Belief, but not blindness.

It had been compelling. More than that, it had been convincing. Because beneath the charm, beneath the warmth, there had been something else: certainty.

She believed in Evan.

Not casually. Not optimistically. Completely. And that, more than anything, had unsettled him.

"Mr. Davis," Caldwell said, drawing himself back to the present, "your notes suggest that you believe Descartes' method of doubt leads to nihilism. Would you care to defend that position?"

Liam straightened slightly, caught mid-thought.

"Well... if you doubt everything, then nothing's real, right?"

Caldwell's expression remained neutral, though a flicker of impatience passed behind his eyes.

"No," he said simply.

A beat, waiting for an argument, waiting for insight. But none presented itself.

"Descartes does not arrive at nothing. He arrives at the one thing he cannot doubt. Cogito, ergo sum. I think, therefore I am." His tone sharpened slightly. "Doubt, in this case, is not destructive. It is foundational."

Liam nodded, a little sheepishly. "Right. Yeah. That makes sense."

"See that it continues to do so," Caldwell replied.

A soft sound at the doorway drew his attention.

Stacy.

She moved into the room with quiet grace, a tray balanced easily in her hands. Glasses. Fresh drinks. Something small and sweet arranged neatly beside them. The effect was distracting. Not in a crude sense, Caldwell would not have allowed himself that indulgence, but in a way that drew the eye. The mind. The attention.

The dress suited her. The way she carried herself suited her more.

Effortless.

Natural.

"Thought you boys might need a bit of a break," she said, voice warm, composed.

Evan looked up at her, and something shifted in his expression. Subtle, but unmistakable. Gratitude. Affection.

Caldwell watched as her hand came to rest lightly on her husband's shoulder. Watched as she leaned in, brushing a quick kiss against his cheek. A faint flush touched her features. Evan murmured something in return, too quiet to fully catch.

But the meaning was clear. Connection. Ease. Something genuine. Caldwell felt admiration in the boy begin to grow.

It was quite remarkable to observe. Because whatever else might be said of the young man, whatever deficiencies he had previously displayed in class, this was not something one stumbled into by accident. A woman like that did not give herself lightly.

And she had chosen Evan.

"Sir?"

Marcus's voice broke through his thoughts.

Caldwell blinked once, refocusing.

"Yes?"

"You were saying something about... Kant? And like, moral law or something?"

"Indeed," Caldwell said, straightening slightly. "Kant posits that morality is not derived from consequence, but from duty. The categorical imperative: one must act only according to that maxim which one would will to become universal law."

Marcus grimaced. "So... no lying. Ever."

"In principle, yes."

"That seems... rough."

"It is not meant to be comfortable," Caldwell replied. "It is meant to be consistent."

His gaze flicked briefly toward Evan again. Consistent. That was the word. There was a consistency in the boy now. A steadiness that had not been there before. Or perhaps Caldwell had simply failed to see it.

A regrettable oversight.

One that would be corrected.

Stacy lingered only a moment longer before stepping away, leaving the tray within reach. As she exited, Caldwell allowed himself a small, satisfied breath.

Yes.

That explained it. The belief. The conviction. The potential. Students like Evan Mercer did not appear frequently. When they did, it was the responsibility of those in positions such as his to recognize them. To cultivate them. To ensure they were not squandered.

"Mr. Mercer," Caldwell said, tone shifting almost imperceptibly, "walk me through Kant's distinction between hypothetical and categorical imperatives."

Evan leaned forward, engaged.

"One depends on what you want... the other doesn’t."

"Elaborate."

And he did. Not perfectly. Not yet. But well enough. Promising.

Very promising.

Later, when the discussion eased into a quieter rhythm, notes reviewed, questions answered, concepts reinforced, Caldwell allowed his pen to rest.

A plan had already begun to take shape. There was no reason to allow unnecessary obstacles to impede progress. Academic evaluation, while structured, was not without flexibility. Participation. Engagement. Effort. All valid considerations. And Evan had demonstrated all three. Tonight, if nothing else, had proven that.

A faint smile touched Caldwell’s lips.

Yes. A slight adjustment here. A modest recalibration there. Nothing improper. Nothing indefensible. Merely... appropriate for the raw talent and potential the young man possessed. There was no need to worry his favourite student with pedestrian concepts like passing and failing. No, Evan Mercer would guaranteed a grade worthy of his soon-to-be realized aptitude.

Because the young man sitting across from him was not merely passing through an introductory course. He was something more. Something worth investing in. Caldwell closed his notebook with quiet finality.

"That will do for now," he said, rising smoothly to his feet. "Review what we've discussed. I expect marked improvement."

Three nods. But it was Evan's that held his attention.

"Thank you, sir," the young man said.

Caldwell inclined his head.

"Of course."

As he reached for his coat, his gaze drifted once more toward the kitchen, where Stacy moved just out of sight.

Everything about this evening had confirmed it. Some students required guidance. Others... only recognition.

And Professor Terrance Caldwell prided himself on knowing the difference.