“In tandem with our licensed psychologist, yes. It’s my understanding you’ll write up case notes for every session you participate in. At the end of your eighty hours, the managing counselor will write a letter recommending whether you pass or fail the practicum. The university determines the final passing or failing grade based on a sample of the case notes.”
Grace’s hand automatically pressed against her stomach. “Don’t say fail. I can’t afford to fail.”
“I imagine you’ll do just fine. Let’s get that paperwork done so we can get you started, okay? You’ll be paid at the end of your last day, so I have to get your information in the system as soon as possible.”
“I’m your minion, Ms. Johnson. Where you go, I follow.”
The woman laughed. “Nice. I just mentioned to someone I could use a minion. I think I referenced a Sherpa, though. Too bad you’re not an HR intern. I could definitely use one right now.”
“I couldn’t do your job.”
“And I couldn’t do yours, Grace.” She gestured down the hall. “I’m down here. Ignore the mess in my office. It’s temporary.”
They spent forty-five minutes going over the necessary forms. The entire process intimidated Grace. It wasn’t that she’d never filled out the forms—she’d worked through high school and part of college. It was that this made her graduation very real. No longer was she a student working toward a diploma or degree. This job was the last thing that stood between her and autonomy, her and the real world, her and life. She could truly taste freedom for the first time, and she wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything before.
As much as I want Justin? The unbidden question crashed into her hard enough she faltered in filling out her citizenship form, the pen skidding across the page. Acknowledging she wanted him but only now realizing how much she really wanted him shocked her. That she would compare him to her craving for independence blew a few mental fuses.
“Problem?”
Grace’s head snapped up and a blush burned across her cheeks. “Yes. No. I mean, yes. I screwed up this form. Do you have another?” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Sorry.”
“No problem. I’ll admit I’m curious what changed your signature into a random ink slash across the paper. You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Just an epiphany. You know, the kind that makes your hand convulse.”
“I hate those.” The woman handed Grace a clean form. “Better that it happened here than, say, on the road or something.”
“No doubt.” Grace started on the new form, chewing her bottom lip and belatedly realizing she was massacring her lip gloss. Forcing herself to stop, she met the other woman’s frank stare. “Thanks for not pressing.”
Ms. Johnson smiled. “It’s not my place. Though I’m curious. In spite of the profession’s reputation, I’m human.”
Grace laughed. “You guys get a bad rap?”
“Human Resources is all too often not about the human but rather about the bottom dollar. It makes it hard to do what I want to do most, which is nurture our employees, or resources. But now I’m talking too much.”
Tucking a loose curl behind one ear, Grace offered a small smile. “I have that effect on people.”