Teacher's Pet

I let my hands fall and Clarity pushed past me. "It's probably nothing," I said. "It's not what it looks like."

She glanced at the computer screen first. "Why is he retyping the essay?" She popped her mouth closed as she saw the acceptance letter, and then she picked up the original essay.

"We're not going to jump to any conclusions," I said.

Clarity flinched away as I tried to put my hands on her shoulders. "His test scores are terrible. I mean, really subpar. Landsman College doesn't discriminate against people of different abilities, but this shows a complete lack of effort."

"Maybe your father is giving him feedback so he can try again and be successful in the future."

Clarity's eyes were glass hard. "So how do you explain the acceptance letter?" Then she stumbled and gripped the leather chair for support. "Oh, god. That explains the sudden friendship and all the nice gifts. My father only just met Michael Tailor."

I leaned on the desk and tried to get Clarity to look at me, but she was lost in a whirlwind of worry. "Don't jump to any conclusions."

She looked up at me, and I saw the first wash of tears. "Do you think that's why I got the internship?"

I tugged her away from the desk, but Clarity wouldn't leave the office. We stood on the plush rug in the center of the room, and I squeezed her fingers. "You got the internship on your own merit. How could you possibly compare yourself to Junior? All your father did was mail in your application, and you did the rest. Never doubt that, Clarity."

She shook her head. "You heard my father. His friend Michael Tailor has an 'in' at Wire Communications. I may never have been considered if someone didn't put my application on the top of a pile."

I rattled her hands gently. "You don't think I would have told you if you didn't qualify for the internship? You're probably the best candidate they've ever had."

Clarity sniffled. "How can I believe you? How can I believe you if I can't even believe my own father?"

The look of grief on her face fizzed like acid in my stomach. "A good journalist doesn't jump to conclusions. You need hard evidence to be corroborated."

She tugged her hands free of my grip and headed for the door. "I have to turn it down. I can't take that internship."

I followed her to the door and jumped back as she wheeled around to face me. "What? What did I say?" I asked.

Clarity clapped both hands to her mouth and struggled to get a deep breath. Her eyes were wide with fear. "A good journalist. You're a good journalist."

"No one ever said that. Just calm down, we can figure this out."

"That's it, don't you see?" Clarity cried. "You uncovered corruption at Landsman College. It's your journalistic duty to pursue the story and find the truth."

"Clarity, I didn't see anything. Your father invited me to his office to smoke a cigar," I said.

Her tears overflowed. "You didn't do anything wrong. He invited you into his office, he left the test scores and essay in plain view, and his computer was still on. You can't just walk away from a story like this, no matter who’s involved."

"I'm not a journalist anymore, I'm a professor," I said.

Clarity shook her head. "The first principle of journalistic ethics is to seek truth and report it. And you're the editor of the Landsman College newspaper. You have to report it."

I took her by both shoulders and pulled her close, then I leaned down and made sure she saw me. "Clarity, I will have seen nothing, and I will do nothing, if that is what you want."

Her shoulders shook with suppressed sobs. "My father may be guilty of corruption; please don't make me doubt your integrity too."

Chapter Eleven

Clarity

I took items at random from the cafeteria line. It didn't matter as long as I wasn't having breakfast across from my father. He was acting as if nothing was wrong, but not in a normal way. My father's school spirit seemed strained for the first time ever. At least I knew he wasn't comfortable with what he'd done.

I stared blankly at the dry cereal choices. Had my father really ignored an applicant's test results? Michael Tailor Junior's scores were not only poor; they were deliberately bad. How could my father doctor an entrance essay in order to justify letting such a determinedly defiant student in to Landsman College?

The most logical explanation made me sick. Despite the sweet smell of the buttermilk pancakes, I knew I wasn't going to be able to eat a thing on my tray. I had only come to the cafeteria to avoid my father.

At least my misery did not stand out. Everywhere, students were struggling to adjust to classes as usual. The first day back after break and most students shuffled through in pajama pants and collegiate sweatshirts. Messy hair and blurry eyes were everywhere.