She flipped it open.
As she studied the pages, I said, “I feel passionately about the generation of girls growing up playing games and I’d love to help provide positive representation for them.”
“What do you mean by positive representation?”
“I mean games that feature strong women as leads.”
“So are you saying you have a problem with the representation that exists now?”
“No…Well, I mean, some of it, but I think it would help to have more women creators so that women can be represented in a realistic way. There are some great women comic creators that I love. And some animators and developers, but not nearly enough.”
Her furrowed brow made me wonder if she disagreed with that idea, but she didn’t look up, just continued to flip pages.
“There are a ton of male creators that I love as well,” I said. “I just think the industry could benefit from a more diverse creative team.”
“You’d like to shake things up? Come up with ideas that have never been thought of before?”
“No, I’m not trying to change things. I want to contribute to the already amazing canon that exists.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“What?” I returned, confused.
“Why aren’t you trying to change things? You said there is not enough representation but in almost the same breath you said you don’t want to change things. You said you feel passionately about providing positive role models for girls and yet the moment I gave you a little bit of pushback on your ideas, you backed down. Is that the positive example you were referringto?”
My cheeks were red. I could feel the heat practically radiating off them. “No,” I said. “That’s not.” I pointed at the book she still had in front of her. “That is.”
“Your art and ideas are good,” she said, closing the book. “This industry can be brutal for women.”
“I know.”
“I’m looking for women who know who they are so we really can shake things up. I’m not sure you’re there yet.” She slid my book across her desk until it rested in front of me.
I swallowed hard and nodded. “I understand.” The words came out barely audible.
“Everyone has room to grow,” she said.
“Yes, for sure.” I felt the panic set in. She was all but rejecting me. “Seattle is beautiful,” I spit out, remembering what Mom had said about people loving a good hype of their city. “We went to the Space Needle yesterday. And Pike Place Market is super unique.”
“I’m not from here,” she said. “But, yes, there are some great touristy places. Have you been to the Chihuly Museum?”
“No.”
“It’s an artist’s heaven. You should check it out.”
“Right. I…yeah…We…Probably later today.”
She clasped her hands together. “We’ll be in touch, Norah. It was great to meet you.”
She stood and extended her hand, dismissing me. That was it? She knew everything she needed to know about me in less than ten minutes? I jolted to my feet, scooped up my book, shook her hand, and practically rushed the door.
I grabbed hold of the handle. It was cold in my palm, which must’ve been a thousand degrees. Then something came over me and I couldn’t stop myself. I turned around and said, “You’reholding me to a higher standard than every guy in every one of those classrooms out there. You’re expecting me to come to college fully formed, overflowing with grit and fight, when I’m only seventeen years old? I’m good. I have good ideas and I will only get better. I had hoped this place would teach me things I could use. This industry is going to stay just as one-sided as it is if you force women to jump through hoops to prove themselves but men only have to have basic skills and balls.”
I left the room on shaking legs and didn’t look back. If I looked back, it would be confirmed that I had said that out loud. I had said the wordballsto the dean of admissions.