“Please, Grace,” I say. “Believe me. Trust me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. For all of this. Let me at least help you up. It’s the least I can do.”
PART THREE
CHAPTER 22
BRIGHT BLUE AFTERNOON. The day of my trial by fire. The sun shines in the windows of the dean’s office. Shines down on me where I recline upon the chair where once I could barely sit. My legs crossed daintily at the ankle, swinging. My hair sitting lightly on my shoulders in the shape of an S. My heart drumming steadily behind my ribs. Panicked? Maybe a little panicked. But my face is serene. I gaze serenely at the three empty chairs soon to be occupied by Briana and her parents. Who will surely point their fingers, accuse me. But I am the picture of reason.
Puffy Nips sits behind his desk, smiling idiotically, twiddling his thumbs. “Should be here any minute now.” He taps his watch with a hairy-knuckled finger.
“Please,” I say, my crossed legs swinging to and fro under my seat. “I’m happy to wait.” And I realize it’s true. I am happy. My heart is filled this afternoon with a kind of impossible lightness.
“We’re so glad you could meet on such short notice like this, Miranda. On a Saturday too,” the dean says. Referring to his hasty email. Which I received this morning, just hours after I left Grace. He needed to meet with me in his office today regarding a somewhat concerning accusation from a student. A Ms. Briana Valentine? An accusation concerning you, Ms. Fitch, I’m afraid.
His email tone was firm but apologetic. He knows it’s my busiest time of year. But Ms. Valentine, he continued, was being quite insistent, as were her parents. And the nature of Ms. Valentine’s accusations was um… troubling, to say the least. Her parents would also be present at this meeting, the dean informed me in the email. If Grace and I could attend this afternoon, it would be much appreciated by all.
I wrote back: Of course! Count me in! Like he’d asked me to join a picnic. Then I added: I’m so sorry to hear about the concern . I’m sure we can sort it all out .
Xoxo Miranda.
Now the dean makes light, stupid chatter. The weather. So warm today. “Unseasonably, am I right?”
“I like it.”
Did I catch the game?
“I never catch the game.”
“I should apologize,” the dean says in a low voice now. To his credit, he is embarrassed for me that I even have to endure this. “It’s a crazy accusation, of course. Troubling, very troubling, but crazy, am I right?” He can’t quite make sense of it, truth be told. Throwing up of his hands. Helpless laughter. But Briana’s kicked up quite a fuss, apparently. Making quite the scene. And her parents have been so supportive.
“Such good people,” Fauve adds. Fauve’s here, did I mention that? I look at her sitting in the corner like a caftaned spider. Dressed like a knockoff Stevie Nicks. Hair freshly feathered. Tears hover in her silver-lined eyes at the goodness of Briana’s parents. Of course she managed to snag a front-row seat to this. She’s claiming to be a witness.
Witness to what exactly? I asked her.
I think it’s better to discuss it when all the parties involved arrive, she said gravely, face positively shining with the drama of it all. The blue felt notebook sits in her lap. Thick with her detailed accounts of my many sins. She can’t wait to open it up. She could turn to any page, really, and point to such damning evidence, all documented in her tight, tilted script. Her silver pen necklace is gleaming around her throat along with her usual jangle of pendants. It’s served her so well.
“How is the play going, by the way?” the dean asks me now.
“All’s well,” I say. “We’re in great shape.”
“Oh, good. Well, we really do appreciate you taking the time today, Miranda.”
“Of course. I’m happy to address any concern.”
And I am happy. I’m so, so happy. My lips smile so wide they stretch my face. They don’t even need lipstick today, they’re a natural rose color. The color transfixed me in the mirror this morning. As did the sight of my black hair, which seemed to shine all by itself, shine with an interior light, the lick of red highlights from my youth back with a vengeance. Face lines gone. My skin looked literally dipped in dew. Like I’d gone out into the early morning, pushed my hands into the damp grass, gathered dew into the bowl of my palms, and pressed it into my cheeks. I’m still wearing my poppy dress. Probably should have changed, but poppies are just so cheering. I smell of sex. I smell of the sea. I smell of the starry sky I skipped under all the way home. There’s that tune on my lips. I really should figure out its name.