An aged caterpillar of an eyebrow flexes upward as he supports himself on his desk to get to his feet. Once this task is complete—and it does look like a task for the sphere of a man—he wobbles his way to the picture window that overlooks campus. As gracefully as one can wobble, I suppose.
Gesturing to the landscape three stories below us, Dean Baker speaks again. “Kennedy,” he uses my name for the first time, “what do you see out here?”
Glued to my seat, I take a shot. “Carter University.”
He snaps his fingers, a mocking smile on his face. “Carter University. Now, what can you tell me about Carter University? About it’s history.” He paces in front of the window, his hands behind his back.
I suppress the sigh so desperate to be heard. “It was founded in 1925 by Jedediah Carter,” I start.
Dean Baker waves his hand and leans against the window. Meanwhile, I pray the glass can support him. “Yes, yes.” He sounds impatient despite my correct answer to his question. Maybe because of. “I mean biblically.”
“I …” My eyes widen, and suddenly it becomes very clear that I’m not here to discuss Joy, or the wrongs done against me, at all.
“Carter University was founded on sound biblical principles. We are a Bible-based university, Miss Sawyer. We follow the words written in that book, and the university was designed around filtering all of its principles into every subject it instructs.”
I nod. “Yes,” I assure him, “I know.”
Dean Baker heaves himself forward and resumes his pacing in front of the oversized window. “What you may or may not know, Ms. Sawyer, is that the university has come under great scrutiny in the last decade.”
No shit.
He continues, pacing. “Some coming from liberal Christians, claiming we’re too exclusive—that we aren’t interpreting Jesus’ words accurately and are hurting millions of self-identified Christians in doing so.” He chuckles a little and I kind of want him to fall. Not out the window, or anything, but just … down. It would be interesting to watch him get up.
“I’m aware of the controversies,” I respond when his silence grows a little too heavy.
“The other camp,” he resumes, “are the Evangelicals. The ones this university was founded to serve.”
I thought it was founded to serve Christ.
Say it.
Shh.
“This group, you see, thinks we’re moving too far to the left. A direction, you see, they believe was most highlighted when New Life hired Roland Abbot as pastor and the university board tapped him to be the spiritual liaison, and gave him a few upper-level classes, to boot.”
“Forgive me for speaking out of turn,” I interrupt through the pounding in my chest. This guy gives me the creeps. “But I’m failing to see what this has to do with Joy spreading vicious, sexualized lies about me.”
A criminal grin spreads through his overstuffed cheeks. “You’re a threat, Miss Sawyer.”
“Excuse me?” I snap, standing with my hands clenched into fists at my sides.
Relax them.
“You, your father, the boy on the football team, and a hundred other students are perceived as threats to the university by some faculty and students. Being threatened can lead people to do all kinds of things they wouldn’t otherwise do.” Dean Jackass moves back to his desk, standing behind it and leaving us at a face-off across his gratuitously wide workspace.
What does Matt have to do with this, other than his association with me?
“Before you knew who my father was, you saw my application to this university, Dean Baker. You didn’t have to admit me if you thought I was a threat.”
He clicks his tongue and looks me straight in the eyes. “It wasn’t my call to make. I’m the Dean of Students. Whichever students they allow in here. I’m not on the Admissions Committee.”
“I thought Christians weren’t supposed to feel threatened,” I challenge.
One of his eyes pinches at the side, like a sudden tic he’s developed. “False prophets have all kinds of ways to break through the armor of undisciplined disciples.”
“Are you suggesting my father is a false prophet?” I can’t believe the direction that this meeting has gone. And I hate that I can’t believe it. Immediate retrospect informs me that six months ago, reading a report that highlighted a meeting like this wouldn’t have shocked me at all.
Dean Baker takes his seat, seemingly out of breath. The room is humid from his exertion around the room. “I would never speak poorly about a member of the faculty.” Didn’t you just … “But what I will tell you, Miss Sawyer, is that you better get yourself in line with the principles of this university. The national spotlight surrounding your paternity won’t die down anytime soon.”
Suddenly, it’s clear. An open door. I can make my move. He has no idea who he’s dealing with. He thinks I’m just some liberal threat against his tenderhearted student body? Well, I was raised by someone who spent a significant portion of her life on Capitol Hill.