Becoming His Muse, Part Three (19 page)

She pats my covers. “Just deal with one thing at a time, Ava. You’ll have to face your mom and the Dean tomorrow, but for now, just rest.”

I try to, after Ruby leaves, but my mind is a swarm of regrets.

I ruminate on all my conversations with Logan. Could we have avoided all this? Maybe if we’d never gone to DnC’s loft. Maybe if I hadn’t said yes to his first kiss… Or if he’d never taken the teaching position in the first place. But I can’t imagine never experiencing all the precious moments since then. My painting would have turned out differently. I would have, too.

But maybe we should have left when he first suggested it weeks ago. Gone back to New York when he wanted to, without my degree, which I won’t get now anyway.

The next morning I’m suffering an emotional hangover when I hear loud banging on my dorm door the next morning.

“Ava, let me in!” booms my father.

Oh no. My mom called him? He drove down?

I drag my snotty nose and puffy eyes to the door. My father stand on the threshold. After a quick look at me, he peers past me into my dorm room.

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

I step back so he can come in if he wants to. It’s a bit of a test. At home, he stopped coming into my bedroom when I turned sixteen. He hasn’t stepped foot in my private space in years. At least not my private physical space. He’s had no problem barging into all the other parts of my life.

I head back to my bed. He lingers in the doorframe for a minute and then he marches in.

“Your mother told me. Is it true?” he demands, standing at the foot of my bed.

“That I had an affair with a professor? Yes.”

He probably wants me to deny it, apologize for it, or regret, but I don’t have the energy for any of that. Enough lying. Enough pretending.

“Listen to me, Ava. You have a meeting with Dean Ascott in one hour. When you see him, you tell him that the worldly writer seduced you and you didn’t know what you were doing. The blame’s on him. They’ll fire him anyway, but you may still have a chance to finish up your degree. Tell him you didn’t know what you were doing, that he manipulated you.”

“He didn’t.”

He clenches fists.

“Of course,
he did
. And you’ll tell the Dean
he did
.”

I shake my head.

“Listen to me, Ava. You have a degree to finish, a reputation to uphold.”

“A reputation as what? Your daughter? A good student?”

He pushes his shoulders back as he looks down at me. “A
good girl
.”

I laugh. “After last night, you think that’s an option?”

“Now is not the time to be stubborn and cheeky, young lady.”

My father, who is a tall man, paces the span of my dorm room in two strides. He looks like a toy soldier going back and forth.

“We’ll make that vile video disappear. No one will ever see it.”

“Mom saw it. My teachers saw it. My friends saw it.”

In a small way, I guess I’m glad my father wasn’t at the opening last night. I really don’t want him to see that video.

“We’ll make it all go away, Ava. It will be like he never existed.”

I sit up in my bed. “What are you saying? Who won’t exist?”

“That creep!” my father sputters. “That
writer
, O’Shane.” He sneers.

“You can’t do that. He’s famous. You can’t make him disappear.”

“From your life, I can.”

I look my father in the eye. “I love him.”

“No you don’t.”

My father’s jaw clenches along with his fists. He’s shaking his head, denying my words, my feelings, and my pretty big, messy, embarrassing mistake.

“Yes, I do.” It’s finally clear to me, not that it matters now that Logan’s run off.

A vein begins to bulge in my father’s forehead and he’s going rather red.

“You know nothing of love, or life. You’re still too young and foolish.”

This is becoming unbearable. He can’t stand to see me growing up. I see now that he will never change. He’ll always see me as a child, never an adult. Not until I take my life in my own hands, and maybe not even then. He sees his role as my protector, and that means I will always be weak and small to him. I see how he treats my mother. He loves her, yes. He loves me, too. But my mother is not autonomous in his eyes. She needs him, can’t function without him, or so she thinks. I am not going to end up like that.

I stand up then, wishing I were showered and dressed and in much better shape to stand up to my father.

“Are you finished now?” I say.

We happen to be in my dorm room, where he looks as out of place as an oak tree in an aquarium, but in my mind I imagine us in his home office, the place where I used to hide out and read as a little girl, a place I felt privileged to be invited into, a safe sanctuary, where I always felt
protected
— as I stand and face my father, I feel myself turning away from my childhood, from my father’s veil of protection and his limited perspective on what my life should be.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To shower and get ready to meet Dean Ascott.”

“I’m not finished yet. Tell him you were too weak to stand up to this writer’s ploys. Tell him you’re sorry, that you respect the rules, and that won’t make the same mistake again.”

But I know I would. Over and over again.

I shut the door to the bathroom. I notice I’m shaking.

Before I turn on the water for the shower, I hear my dorm door open and close. My father has left.

***

As I head over to the Faculty Building for my meeting, the words,“Sorry, please forgive me, Dean Ascott,” are not foremost on my mind.

At the appointed hour, he invites me into his office, and asks me to sit down in a chair across from his desk, which sits in front of floor to ceiling windows. The long drapes are open and I stare out at the narrow balcony. My mind floods with memories of the first night I kissed Logan.

Dean Ascott sits down behind his imposing desk. He is polite yet firm and gets straight to the point.

“Allegedly, you’ve broken a serious code of conduct, Miss Nichols. You’ve breached the College Board’s policy governing relationships between students and professors. A decision has to be made about whether or not to expel you and what you say here today will have an influence on that decision and its consequences.”

I nod. He pauses. Perhaps he wants me to say I’m sorry. I’m not going to. I wait for him to proceed. He shuffles the papers on his desk then looks up at me and asks,

“Is it true or not true that you conducted an affair with a professor at this university?”

I’m surprised he’s even asking. “You saw the video footage last night. Aren’t you—”

He holds up a hand to silence me. “Derrick Mackey and Casey Aston are on probation for breaking various other policies. At this point, their outlandish art project is not considered evidence. Please just answer the question.”

“Yes. It’s true. I had an affair with Logan O’Shane, a visiting professor, or a temporary one, since he was officially the writer-in-residence for the English department.”

Dean Ascott frowns, as if he’s disappointed by my confession, as if he actually wants me to deny what he clearly saw with his own eyes last night.

“Miss Nichols, are you saying you weren’t
clear
on whether Mr. O’Shane was considered a professor or not?”

Is he trying to find some way to lighten the charge?My father wants me to feign innocence and ignorance but I know I’m neither of those things. I knew perfectly well the risk I was taking.

“I was pretty sure he was considered a professor and the policy applied to him.”

Dean Ascott frowns again but presses on.

“Mr. O’Shane has taken all the blame.”

I lean forward. “You’ve talked to him? When?”

He looks up from his papers. “He called me this morning. He left campus last night, which I think was appropriate.”

“Oh.” Appropriate for what, I wonder. Not my troubled heart.

“He’s trying to convince me it was all his doing, that he seduced you against your better judgment, that you protested, and that he convinced you not to report him. That you would have reported him if he hadn’t used his power of persuasion and the authority of his position.”

So Logan’s trying to protect me, too. But I don’t want his protection.

“It always takes two to tango, Dean Ascott. I was reluctant for a short while, it’s true…”

Dean Ascott raises an eyebrow hopefully as I continue.

“But I knew what I was getting myself into.” Actually, I didn’t realize fully what I was getting into with Logan, but… “I mean I was aware I was breaking the school’s rules.”

Dean Ascott sighs heavily. I am not taking the tack he was expecting. My guess is that he and my father have already had a lengthy discussion. Turns out I’m right.

“Your father’s been in here pleading a blue streak on your behalf, despite his shock and disappointment in your actions. He wants to see you graduate, Ava. These allegations that have come to light, and your admission of their veracity, threaten that possibility. You do know that, don’t you?”

“I do. And I imagine my father does too.”

“Of course he doesn’t want that to happen. Off the record, neither do I. You’ve always been a good student. So if you could just phrase things in such a way as to—”

“—My father put you up to this, didn’t he?”

He stops short, searching for words. Finally, he sighs. “He carries a lot of weight on our board, as you know, and he’s a generous supporter of this school.”

I lean forward. “My father is a bully. I know he’s trying his best to protect me and he’s willing to step on toes to do it. But it’s not fair. Expel me if you have to. I’ll redo my fourth year somewhere else. Or maybe I’ll just not finish my degree. I don’t know what I’ll do…”

He pauses thoughtfully for a few moments before he says,

“I’ve also heard a heartfelt argument on your behalf from Dr Tennenbaum. He believes the creative work you’ve accomplished must be taken into consideration.”

Dr. T who looked so stricken when he discovered us?
He
spoke up on my behalf? I feel another wave of shame wash over me for having disappointed him.

Dean Ascott continues, “He admits he practically drove you and Professor O’Shane together. Unwittingly, of course. Nonetheless, even he is trying to bear some of the responsibility on your behalf. You must at least be impressed with the number of people rushing to your rescue? I haven’t even addressed the list of students who’ve insisted on speaking to me.”

He shakes his head as he looks down at a list in front of him. I’m guessing Ruby’s on that list, and Jonathan. Probably Ronnie and Owen as well.

“Most compelling, however, is Professor Hare’s argument against the policy itself.”

“Madeleine?”

“Technically, that isn’t part of your case, but Professor Hare has been opposed to the policy since it’s inception. She’s using this situation to fight it again. She has shared her personal experience this time. You’d think she of all people would be
for
the policy. It might have protected her in her day.”

“Policies like this don’t protect people,” I say. “Not when emotional chemistry is in play. The forbidden nature of it even adds to its appeal.”

Dean Ascott raises his eyebrows.

I add, “I’m not saying that teachers and students should be getting it on, not at all. We’re here to study, that’s the main point. But people connect in all kinds of ways. Ways that policies can’t predict or enforce.”

“You don’t regret your actions?”

“Not the actions you’re thinking of. Though I do regret some things. It just isn’t what you’d think.”

He leans forward, listening, as I try to explain.

“I learned more from Logan O’Shane in these past seven months than I have in all my years of study here, because what I learned wasn’t stuff from books, it had to do with what’s really inside of me — the good, the bad, and the ugly. I regret that I’ve embarrassed myself, disappointed certain people, hurt others I care about, gotten someone fired, and will likely get expelled, but I certainly don’t regret discovering parts of myself I never knew existed. Because of that my creative work has evolved, and how I see the world has changed, and I feel, finally, like I’ve grown up in a way I never have before. Which is why I don’t want to say ‘I’m sorry’, or pretend Logan was in control and made me do his bidding, or plead with you to let me finish my degree. I’m finally grown up enough to take responsibility for my actions, to stand by my choices, and to trust that, eventually, I’ll get where I need to go even if the path deviates from the conventional route. I arrived at this school an art student but I’m leaving, with or without my degree, as an
artist
. I may be a bit wobbly on my feet but at least my feet are under me and they know the path they are following.”

Dean Ascott leans back in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin as he appraises me. I know I just dug my own grave. My own convictions have expelled me. I sigh heavily. I can live with that. I can move on.

I stand up even though he hasn’t excused me officially. I’m not really a student here anymore so I figure the rules don’t really apply to me anymore either. Before I turn to leave, I say,

“As the Dean of Arts, you need to make the best decision for the school, for the future that you believe in. Forget my father. Forget Logan O’Shane. And even forget me. You’ve got a school to run and a board to satisfy. I’ll accept your decision.”

I already have. In my mind I’m running through the things I have to clean up in the studio, the contents of my dorm room, whether or not to go home and lick my wounds or call up my cousin Tess and hide out with her for a while.

“That’s all you have to say, Miss Nichols?”

I nod, but then think of one more thing. “I guess I’d also like to thank you, and all the teachers here. It’s not easy to do what you all do. I appreciate the effort of educated people trying to educate other people. One thing I’ve learned is that sometimes the really important lessons come at a cost. And that’s a lesson that will serve me for the rest of my life.”