The jugular.
“Interesting you should mention that.” I lean forward and place my hands square on his desk, so we’re eye to eye, even if we are a couple feet apart. “Here I was, nervous that when the Today Show does their in-depth interview with Roland and I in a couple of weeks I wouldn’t have anything to talk about. But, this conversation has been very enlightening.”
Got him.
The red in his face nearly clouds the whites of his eyes and a fresh sheen of sweat blankets his forehead. “Are you threatening me, young lady?”
“Are you threatening me, Dean Baker?” I counter, begging God to keep my nerves steeled. “After all, the nation knows that one of your students was disgustingly blasphemous. Not only against another student, but against one of the most-liked Evangelical pastors in the history of the United States.”
It’s the first time that I’ve verbalized the truth about Roland’s popularity. Everyone freaking knows him. And, those who didn’t before our interview this past Monday do now. His name has spent half the week trending on twitter and Google searches of him have increased something ridiculous like a thousand percent. This is big, and Dean Hershel Baker knows it. What I want to know, then, is why is he doing this. Why is this alleged man of God attempting to intimidate a student—the daughter of the most popular Evangelical pastor—in the privacy of his office?
I sit, maintaining eye contact with him as I cross my legs and fold my hands on my lap.
“You’re correct in asserting the attractive nature of Pastor Abbot,” Dean Baker finally speaks. “And, I think you would be wise not to ruin it for him. He’s skating over patches of thin ice as it is.”
My throat constricts and I desperately want to throw something at this … this …
Breathe, Kennedy.
“What do I have to do with his thin ice?” It’s of no surprise that Dean Baker brings up the tenuous relationship Roland has with CU. Some love him, some hate him, and those on the fence give the illusion that they’re in the latter camp. My guess is to avoid ticking off the likes of the pompous ass in front of me.
Watch your mouth.
The dean leans forward, crossing his arms on his desk. “After his little prayer for you on the Today Show? About God being in charge of your life? That puts your actions as a direct reflection of him. I’d be careful if I were you, Dear.”
Little prayer?
I’m not dealing with a man of God at all.
I’m dealing with a tyrannical coward who is afraid of losing his pull at Carter University as the faculty and staff slowly comes to realize that their old ways are no longer relevant to the student body or the world as a whole. As the school—with Roland’s input—moves to focus more on Jesus’ message of love, the greedy, selfish desires of men like Hershel Baker are at stake.
Yes, I threatened him, but I can go no further. If there’s one thing my mom’s time in policy has taught me: you’ve got to know the size of the giants your dealing with, and the strength of their friends.
“I understand,” I concede confidently, nodding as I uncross my legs. “I’ll do my best, Dean Baker. Thank you for your time.” Extending my hand across the desk, I cringe internally when his warm sausage fingers encase my hand.
“Thank you, Miss Sawyer. I trust that when Ms. Martinez returns to campus after winter break, I’ll hear of no trouble between the two of you.”
Know their size, and the strength of their friends.
I smile a sweet smile that I force to reach my eyes. “You have my word.”
And then, only then, can you take them down.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Bottom Of The River
Kennedy.
Finally. Finally I’m getting back into the swing of things with my first shift at Word since everything blew up. I’m grateful for the patrons, my coworkers, and the noise. The noise is the only thing working to drown out the slithery drawl of Dean Baker’s voice that’s played in my head on repeat today.
You’re a threat, Miss Sawyer.
My teeth grind together while I steam milk for my third latte in a six-latte order.
“Want some help?” Chelsea asks when she’s finished with her customer.
“Please.” I nod and force a smile.
I haven’t told anyone about my conversation with Hershel Baker. I told Maggie that everything went fine, and she seemed placated enough. I haven’t seen any of my friends since the talk, since I left for work straight after the meeting, but I can’t tell them. Not yet, anyway. I don’t know who I can tell that will: A. Believe me. B. Not freak out. C. Keep their mouth shut. I either know too much or too little about the people in my life to tell. My mom would throw a lawsuit at the school—and maybe win depending on whom she wrangled into her corner—and that’s not what I want. I legitimately don’t know what Roland or any of my friends would say or do, so I intend to keep this to myself until it becomes necessary to involve others.