Chapter Six
Chapter Six
I
t was early September, orientation week had just ended, and the hustle and bustle of fall semester was in full swing. According to my reenrollment packet, I needed to get final signoff from my academic advisor, Dean Balmer-Collins. The same woman who misguided me my last semester ten years ago, approving my pass/fail credits without warning me about what the trade-off would be. She had hyphenated her name, wore a wedding ring with a diamond the size of a Hershey’s Kiss, and had upgraded her office to one with a window. She’d found good fortune the last ten years.
“Please, come in. Apologies for running late.” She gestured for me to take a seat. Dean Balmer-Collins’s stoic demeanor and chin-length bob had remained the same over the years, as did the slight disdain in her voice.
I sat in the plush, worn guest chair, my hands overlapping on my right crossed knee, and took deep breaths in and out. All I needed from her was a signature. Then I would never see her again. No need to mention that I’d known her in my
previous life, and that she was the main reason I was sitting here in the first place. Bygones, and all that.
“We have a slight problem, Miss Lee.” She took her glasses off and placed them in front of her on her mahogany desk.
Surely the problem couldn’t be worse than you screwing up my college graduation the first time around?
“It appears that your major is no longer one we offer. As such, I’m loath to say that you will need to pick a new major.”
My stomach dropped to my feet. “But . . . Carlthorpe was the first college to offer a combined sociology-anthropology major.”
She nodded. “Yes, and it was popular for a long time, but we phased it out several years ago in favor of streamlining our majors and added ones more technologically forward in thinking. The good thing is, most of your credits apply to either a sociology or anthropology major, and if you choose either of those, you can very well be on your way to finishing your degree in one semester or, depending on your workload, two semesters. I don’t want to say this is bad news necessarily, because I’d like to see this as an exciting learning opportunity more than anything else.”
Learning opportunity? I scoured her face for some kind of sign that she was feeding me a load of bullshit, but she had a good poker face.
The dean rested her hands on her desk. “We’ve added additional STEM requirements to all liberal arts majors, so in addition to your coursework needed to graduate, you’ll need to take calculus, statistics, or computer science, or any of the sciences on the approved list. For the first two, there
are math classes that are more qualitative and designed specifically for the humanities. For example, the stats classes are tailored toward survey implementation, collection, and analysis, and although those classes are currently full, you can try to put yourself on the waitlist. It’s my understanding that the statistics class has one big project assignment plus a final, so it’s a good bet for a late-term admittance. But it looks like the Introductory Computer Science class has an open spot.” She scribbled her signature on my coursework. “So just update your major, add the extra STEM class, and hopefully you’ll be graduating in no time, Liana. Thank you for stopping in.”
Liana?
She scooted the piece of paper over to me and turned her full attention to her laptop, as if I’d instantly turned invisible.
Hello? I’m still here!
My pulse quickened as I considered what to do next. Getting my name wrong warranted a correction, but did I bother telling her what had happened all those years ago, and that her bad advice led me here? Would she even care?
I stood from my chair, then sat back down.
Yes, I need to set her straight.
Then stood again.
She doesn’t care. She can’t even get my name right. And she’s completely ignoring me. In fact, she turned up the volume on her computer and it’s pumping out Debussy.
I sat once more.
Lily, you need to confront her. You can’t let her get away with this.
“Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?” She tipped her head down and raised an eyebrow. “Clearly you’re conflicted about leaving this room, that much is obvious.” The dean let out a bored sigh. “Most kids can’t wait to leave my office.”
No shit, I wonder why.
She tapped her fingers on the desk like she was playing a five-note arpeggio. Over and over. “Liana, what else do you need from me?”
I balled my fists. “It’s Lily, actually. Ten years ago you were Dean Balmer, assistant dean of the Arts and Sciences?”
She pursed her lips and nodded.
“Ten years ago you gave me academic advice that has now come back to haunt me. You were the one who advised me to take more than one class pass/fail. I didn’t graduate that year, based on insufficient credits.”
Her eye twitched. “I beg your pardon? Ten years ago I was just granted tenure, so clearly I was doing my job. Admittedly, I was planning my wedding and had a full plate at that time. If you slipped through the cracks, well, this is just as much your fault. Your generation is always looking to blame others. Accountability for your future, well, that was and is something you need to accept,
especially
an adult.” She squinted at me. “At best, I suppose I could have offered advice that you either misinterpreted or ignored. At worst, you made some bad life choices and are looking to find someone else to blame other than yourself.”
The gall of this lady.
“Look, I accept that this is something I needed to own up to, but I was in a crisis then and you fed
me misinformation. What happened ten years ago can’t be changed and there’s nothing I can do about it now. I’m owning up to that and I’ve grown as a person. What’s done is done. But you gave me shitty advice back then that resulted in me never graduating, and I wanted you to know that I’m here at least partly because of that. I’m not asking for special favors, or for you to be my mentor, no thanks to that. Kids here are depending on you, and you can’t go around ruining lives by not having your eye on the ball.”
I grabbed my laptop bag and turned before I opened the door. “You are a dean of Student Affairs now. Not assistant dean, or associate dean. And you’ve had ten more years of work experience since I last saw you. You’re leading by example and the word
students
is in your title. I’m being accountable for my actions, and you should do the same.”
I slammed the door closed behind me, ending my commentary with an exclamation point. I never wanted to see her judgy, scrunched face again. Had she ruined the lives of anyone else? My well-being did not even seem to register to her, not then, and not now. Ten years ago I was much more lost, and sure, I was still lost now, but one thing I’d learned in my decade of working is that some people really don’t give a rat’s ass about others. I called her out, which younger Lily would have been too scared to do. Honestly, it felt great, like I’d just checked something off my bucket list, but mine was more of a list of grievances and grudges. This probably wasn’t what Mia was raving about when she went on and on about my opportunities for second chances.
I took my final schedule to the registrar and paid my tuition
in full. I had no financial aid, so my bank account took a huge hit. The one bright side was that my return to school didn’t dip into my 401(k). Hopefully I wouldn’t need to take out any of those savings.
I put myself on the waitlist for the statistics class and enrolled in the computer science one, taking the last available slot. Then I added the popular, groundbreaking class I’d read about that only Carlthorpe offered, Building a Global Audience and Influencer Culture, the class my parents thought I was returning to campus for to help me advance at work. With my courses approved and paid for, all I needed to do was attend my sessions, get decent grades, and earn my diploma. And then I could get right back to the life I left in New York.