I’d never have pegged him as the jealous type. Where does he even get off with that attitude? He’s always surrounded by girls, but I can’t have a coffee with another guy?
I do feel bad that I hadn’t texted him like I said I would, but I know his overblown reaction isn’t over a missed text. He stormed out of the café last night like a big jerk, without giving me a chance to explain. And the main thing that pisses me off is that he won’t return my texts now.
I think about sending him an explanation about who Eric is and what I was doing with him, but I don’t owe him that. He doesn’t deserve it.
And it’s not even as if we have any kind of commitment. I just don’t get it. I thought he was different. More mature.
From time to time, my anger fades and gives way to sadness. Things had been going so well between us, and now it’s just blown up in my face. Deep inside I feel like Aidan must not have cared that much about me if he’s so quick to cut me loose. Maybe he’s just using Eric as an excuse to drop me.
Between the anger and the sadness, I’m filled with a deep, deep ache that just won’t go away.
I really wish I could talk with Megan. She was such a comfort to me before. But I can’t figure out how to tell her what happened without also telling her about my conversation with Eric. So in addition to feeling as low as I’ve ever felt, I have to put on a happy face and act like nothing’s wrong.
I think things are about as bad as they can get, but I turn out to be very wrong about that.
On Sunday night, I receive a message from Professor Carmichael, my chemistry professor. Why on earth would he be sending me a message? Especially one that tells me to report to the office of the Vice Provost for Academic Affairs at eight the next morning to discuss my test. What the hell?
There are no other details given, but I know this can’t be good. I can’t have failed; can I?
My first impulse is to contact Aidan, and knowing I can’t do that just adds to the sick feeling in my stomach.
I barely get any sleep at all, and the next morning I’m dragging, but I get myself up and arrive at the Vice Provost’s office twenty minutes earlier than requested. When I’m finally summoned into the office forty minutes later, my stomach is tied up and twisted so tight from worry and nerves that I feel like I could split in two.
Professor Carmichael is there, along with the VP, and a woman who turns out to be from the Office of Academic Integrity. Before I can wonder about the meaning of her title and its relationship to my situation, my professor very bluntly gets to the point.
“Miss Paulson, we’ve called you in because you are suspected of cheating on your chemistry final. As you know, the school has a zero tolerance policy on cheating, and if you are found to be guilty of the accusation, disciplinary actions will lead to your expulsion.”
His words don’t register for several long moments. Cheating? Expulsion? I had no idea what to expect this morning, and an accusation of cheating never entered my mind.
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand,” I say, looking from my professor to the two women, and back.
“Your test score was a 95,” he says. “Your quiz and test scores earlier in the semester were dismal. It’s simply not plausible that you could have improved that much and achieved that score on your final through honest means.”
I have one quick flash of jubilation at hearing my score before terror and outrage fight inside me. Indignation quickly gets the upper hand; I’m ice cold with fear, but hot anger flares.
“I have been studying my —” I almost say ass and catch myself. “Studying my butt off all semester. You can verify my sessions at the tutoring center. I’ve worked hard to bring up my grade, and the reward for my work is to be called a cheater? I can’t believe you would accuse me —”
The VP interrupts. “You said you went to the tutoring center?”
“Yes, and I had a really good tutor.” I’m trembling with adrenaline pulsing through me from my anger and anxiety. My voice cracks because thinking about Aidan, even now, makes me more emotional.
“We can try to contact your tutor through the registrar’s office to verify the sessions,” the VP says.
There is no way I want this hanging over my head for days while they try to sort it out. “I have his number. You can call him directly,” I say.
Their eyebrows shoot up, and I realize that if they get any hint of a personal relationship between me and Aidan, they’ll think he helped me cheat. The twisted knot that is my stomach tightens further.
Sure enough, the academic integrity woman pipes in. “Are you and your tutor friends?”
The question hurts, even in the midst of cheating accusations, and I’m not sure exactly how to answer it. I don’t know what Aidan and I are to each other now. Nothing, really. “We spent a lot of hours together in the last few weeks. We weren’t friends before he started tutoring me, though.”
That’s all true enough, and it leaves out the part of us meeting at the concert, which doesn’t matter anyway.
“So you didn’t request that he tutor you?” she says.
“No, we didn’t know each other before this.” It’s a little bit of a fib, but essentially true for their purposes.
“Students don’t typically have the contact information for someone they only know as a tutor,” the woman says gravely.
I let out a big sigh, not caring how it looks to them. This situation is pissing me off. I worked so hard, and now I have to deal with accusations like I’m some kind of criminal.
“I’m here on scholarship, and my scholarship was in jeopardy because of my chemistry grade. Chemistry has always been a challenge for me, but after I had my first tutoring session, things started to make sense for the first time.” I stop and take a deep breath. “My tutor’s a nice guy, and he could see that I was really stressed about it all, so he gave me his number so I could confirm when he’d be available at the tutoring center and continue working with him.”
“What’s your tutor’s name?” the VP asks.
Again, I get that twist of pain in my chest. “Aidan.”
“Aidan?” Professor Carmichael comes to attention. “Aidan Holt?”
“Yes.”
The three of them exchange glances and the professor says quietly, “He’s an excellent student.”
“Miss Paulson, would you step outside for a moment?” The Vice Provost opens the door for me and I go back into the waiting area, but I’m too agitated to sit down. I pace back and forth, listening to the murmur of voices behind the closed door. The VP’s admin keeps looking at me, probably wishing I’d take a seat, but I can’t.
After several long minutes, the professor opens the door just long enough to tell me that Aidan will be coming in. I picture him in his bedroom, barely awake, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his hair even messier than usual, and the knot in my stomach gives way to a dull ache in my chest.