THE CLOCK IN THE ADMISSIONS office at Penn hesitates every time the second hand comes around to one. I’ve witnessed it almost twenty times now, but it must have gone through at least ten cycles before I focused on it. Before I had to see it happen to know another minute had passed.
Tick, tick, tick, tick-tick, ONE.
A door opens. The clock stops.
“You may step back in, Sonia,” Dean Gunter says.
I rise, dropping my phone and hastily retrieving it from the carpet. The office of the dean of admissions looks a lot like you might expect a dean of anything’s office to look. Dark wood, shelves of books, diplomas and certificates all over one wall. The woman returning to her seat behind the desk is dressed in a trim skirt and blouse, her short hair a no-nonsense academic gray. A pair of glasses rests on the blotter and she regards me coolly. When I first arrived, all I did was supply documents and facts. This is my second time through her door. I can’t help wondering if it will be my last.
“I’ve reviewed the items you’ve shown me and had a chance to speak at length with my colleagues regarding the letter from your high school’s ethics teacher,” she says.
I stand mute in front of the desk. I can’t form words. It feels like all I can do just to watch everything come apart around me.
She narrows her eyes. “Please, sit down, Sonia.”
I sit.
“As I said earlier, I was extremely concerned once this website was called to my attention.” The dean leans toward me with a stern expression. “I’m sure you’re aware what a rare privilege a scholarship like this is. We don’t tolerate any type of infractions.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I tug at the black pencil skirt I borrowed from Dina. “That’s why I wanted to come in and talk with you personally. Since Gretchen—” My voice breaks. I still can’t believe this is happening. That she’s done this to me.
Dean Gunter shuffles the papers in front of her into a neat stack and looks straight at me. “Tell me, Sonia, why would you have set up a money-scheming website like this?”
“I wouldn’t have.” I sit forward, my voice rising at her choice of words. “I have a good, steady job in my uncle’s diner. The website wasn’t even set up till after I was awarded the scholarship. Why would I risk everything just to make a few bucks on some old essays?”
She shows no trace of emotion as she removes her glasses. “And why do you think your friend, Gretchen Meyer, might have done something like this?”
I press my back into the chair. I’m not sure where she’s going with this now. I’m so used to keeping Gretchen’s secrets, but now I hesitate, weighing how badly I need to tell the truth.
“It was a project for her ethics class . . .” I falter, staring at the hard line of her mouth. “But I think Gretchen put it online intentionally.”
“Is there a reason you believe that?”
I pause. “Will this be going on record?”
The dean sets down her pencil, but doesn’t say anything.
I take a long, deep breath, and close my eyes. “Gretchen wanted me to go with her to Stanford. We were both accepted there, but I chose Penn after I was offered the scholarship.” I open my eyes, looking at the closed office door. “It’s hard to explain, but she was used to getting what she wanted. . . . She could make people change their minds about things. I think, in a backward way, that’s what she was trying to do.”
Dean Gunter raises her eyebrows. “That must have hurt your friendship quite a bit.”
I look away. I’m beginning to understand the layers of our relationship a little better now than I did three weeks ago, though if Gretchen had lived, I can’t help thinking we would’ve been headed to California together in the fall. I try to imagine that, following her to the West Coast like a loyal spaniel—or maybe just one that’s well trained. But my throat tightens with guilt when I think I’m only here because she’s gone.
“Gretchen wasn’t perfect. But she was my best friend. What happened to her—” I close my eyes. “I just don’t want people lingering on her bad choices. What she did with this site caused a huge mess for me, but I’m willing to take responsibility for it. I don’t want her family, or her memory, to end up hurting more.”
The dean sits back to ponder this and I do everything I can to prepare myself for what’s coming. Dina has done well with community college. If Penn and Stanford are out, I could live at home and still take classes. After the last few weeks, I’ll feel lucky if I get to college at all.
“This is a unique situation,” the dean says, leafing through the folder in front of her. “After speaking with you and reading the letter from Mr. Hanover, I feel relatively satisfied you had no intention of profiting financially when you provided the content for the website.”