“What?” he says.
I push my glasses off my eyes and rub them, my brain still swirling. I feel like I’m stuck in one of those mirror houses they always have at the county fair, where most things are just reflections but one is real, and it’s nearly impossible to tell which one.
“It’s true,” I say again.
Oliver walks to one of his chairs and sinks into it, his hands over his face. He doesn’t say anything for a long, long time.
“You slept with a student?” he finally says, his voice echoing oddly through his fingers. “Jesus, Caleb, when?”
“I still am,” I say.
He goes quiet again.
And then: “You did it more than once?”
I did it yesterday, I think.
“While she was your student?” he goes on. “She was in your class and you slept with her? While she was in your class? While you were grading her papers and her tests and —"
“Yes,” I say, just to get it over with.
“Why?” he asks, looking up at me. “You? You’ve never done anything like that. Have you?”
“Not until now,” I tell him. “Does it help if she’s a senior?”
“I’m personally relieved that at least the student you’re sleeping with isn’t a teenager, but no, it won’t help with your hearing,” he says. “It wouldn’t matter if she were fifty, she’d still be your student. She, right? Or is there more I don’t know?”
“She. Her name’s Thalia,” I say, as if that helps. As if anything helps. “Any advice?” I ask, though I’ve got a bad feeling about advice.
Namely, I’ve got a feeling that there’s not much advice to be given: I did this, and someone found out.
“Say as little as you can in the initial hearing,” Oliver tells me, instantly. “Don’t lie, but don’t give them anything, either. Figure out what they’ve got, if they’ve got anything beyond allegations, and pray that none of this has become public. If there’s one single news story anywhere — even the school paper — about this, you’re screwed, but if you can deny everything and keep it secret you just might survive it.”
I just nod, wondering if I should take notes.
“More than anything, the University wants to come out of this looking good,” he goes on. “They’ve got aspirations of being in the top ten public schools in the US, and perception has everything to do with that.”
“Don’t go on the six o’clock news,” I say. “Got it.”
“Find out who reported you and discredit them,” he goes on.
I raise my eyebrows, and Oliver puts up one hand.
“It’s dirty, I know,” he says. “But I’ve seen people go through the wringer before, justified and not, and it’s how the game is played. Your best-case scenario is that they decide the charges were baseless and dismiss them.”
“They’re not,” I say.
Now Oliver’s just looking at me, his elbow on the arm of the chair, one finger resting on his lips.
“I know I fucked up,” I say, shoving my hands into my pockets. I shut my eyes, lean my head back against the bookshelf behind me. “I knew all along. It was wrong, and it was unethical, and it was immoral, and I did it anyway.”
There’s a long, long silence between us.
“I’d do it again,” I say.
“Even knowing the outcome?” he asks, his voice quiet, serious.
I take a deep breath and think: that this week might be my last week spent teaching. That after this, if I’m lucky, I’ll be teaching calculus to high school students. That my days in this office, on this campus, getting paid to think deep math thoughts, are nearly done.
And I balance that against Thalia, two days ago, lacing her fingers through mine as we walked to dinner in a town two hours away.
“Yes,” I finally say. “Even then.”
Oliver sighs, and even though I’ve got my eyes closed, I know exactly what face he’s making.
“I know a few people on the ethics committee,” he tells me. “I’ll see if I can find out what they’ve got. It might be nothing, and you could do a lot worse than your word against theirs.”
“Thanks,” I say, just as my phone rings. Thalia’s name pops up.
“I have to go,” I say, already worrying. Thalia never calls without texting first. She told me once that she considers it incredibly rude to just interrupt someone’s entire day by calling them out of the blue.
“That the student?” Oliver asks, looking like he already knows the answer. “This is probably obvious, but you shouldn’t talk to her until this is over, and probably not even then if you want it to stick.”
“I see,” I say, looking down at my phone.
“Godspeed,” Oliver calls, and I leave his office, walk toward my own, hit the green button despite his advice.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice down.
On the other end, Thalia takes a deep breath.
“Someone reported us,” she says, her voice shaky. “Dr. Castellano said I shouldn’t be seen with you, but can you meet me somewhere? We have to talk, Caleb, I really need to see you —”