“However.”
Long pause.
However what? That is not a sentence. Is she going to let that word hang here forever? Is there actually an echo in the room?
Finally, finally she speaks again. “It is clear to me that neither of you has all the skills or experience we need to make the arts chair an integral part of the Chamberlain Council.”
My heart drops. I hear Joey sigh. That’s it then? They’ll just wait to fill the arts seat until someone better than us shows up? They’ll relegate our department back to the inessentials? I want to stand up and walk out right now, but Joey is still holding my hand, and I don’t want to let go any more than I want to force her to leave the office with me.
Moreau picks up a tiny cup on her desk and sips from it. She’s definitely trying to kill us. I want to take that thimble-sized espresso and shove it up her nose.
I do not act on this desire. Life is full of surprises.
I sit. I watch the chancellor swallow. I remember to breathe.
She clasps her hands together on the huge desk between us. “I wish to know your opinions on the matter.”
I think I’m staring.
Joey seems prepared to respond to this, and I’m still sitting here, stunned. Joey clears her throat. “Our opinions on the matter of the council position?” she asks.
Moreau nods once.
“Why?” I ask. If it comes out sounding a bit exasperated, I guess I can’t help it. I’m exasperated. Did she really bring us here to tell us we’re no good and then ask us how we feel about it?
Dr. Moreau raises her eyebrows. “Why?” she repeats, as if unsure what I meant.
I try to clarify without sounding like I’m whining. “Why does our opinion matter if you’ve already decided neither of us is good enough?”
“I shared my estimation of the situation with you. Now I am asking you to do the same.”
Joey sits up a little taller. “I think that you’ve given us tremendous responsibility already,” she says, “and I think we have proven that we are an excellent team. Mr. Kaplan and I work well together. We have complimentary leadership styles, and we learn well from each other.” She turns to smile at me. “We have strengths that raise each other up.”
Moreau nods. “I have noticed this, as have other council members.”
Other members? They’ve been talking about us? The two of us? As a pair? I want to know what they said.
At least, I think I want to know.
Maybe not.
Is Moreau staring at our still-clasped hands?
Not anymore. Now she’s staring directly at me. I remember something she said at our first meeting. “I believe you told us at the beginning of the year that the council thought we could do this together. Co-chair.”
She shakes her head and waves her hand in front of her face dismissively, as if the idea itself is nonsense. “Did I also mention the unreasonableness of a second salary increase? Or the imbalance of two arts teachers when there is only one representative from each of the other departments?”
I shake my head. “I don’t mean to contradict you, Dr. Moreau, but the school has gone years with no arts representation on the council. Some may argue that we’re owed something. Among those of us who teach the arts classes, we have at least twenty courses. That is a lot of classes. And a lot of years of missed opportunity to have our voices heard on policy and procedure.”
Moreau interrupts me. “Thirty-two.”
“Pardon?”
“There are thirty-two arts classes currently on offer at Chamberlain Academy.”
She’s a walking course list.
“Right. Thirty-two. As I was saying, we arts teachers cover a lot of territory. And Ms. Harker and I have shown that we can also raise significant funds for the school.”