The department sponsors weekly cookies for the undergraduate students to "foster camaraderie." You used to go with Darcy and Manish because, hey, free carbs. One time Desmond hogged all the cookies, only to make himself sick by eating too many. Good times.
"It's helpful to know other students in your class," you say as you and Gabriel climb the stairs to the second floor meeting room. "The world of practitioners is a small one. You may end up working with them time and time again."
Gabriel walks as if you're leading him to be hanged. "I already know them."
"I can tell this isn't your favorite thing to do. Still, interacting with other practitioners is a good skill to have."
The second floor meeting room is a small classroom where they removed the chairs and student tables and brought in a large rectangular meeting table. Even from the hall outside, you can hear the buzz of conversations bouncing off of the room's wood paneling. Good, there are lots of students in attendance.
The shades on the windows are up, letting afternoon light filter into the room. All of the furniture is the same from when you were a student, from the cabinet at the back where the department admin assistant stocks cookies to the scarred dark wood table. Countless students have carved the tabletop, sometimes leaving patterns that maintenance staff have had to erase with wood filler. Right now, instead of patterns, generic store-brand cookies fill the table.
Students occupy half of the twelve chairs. They glance at Gabriel as he enters, but when you come in, conversations trail off. The student at the foot of the table had been leaning back, feet on the table, trusting the chair's hefty square legs to hold him. When he sees you, he sits forward with a thump.
Glad This Isn't Awkward