“Sorry,” he replies, holding up his hands in front of himself. “As much as I’d love to, Claire is expecting me. I don’t want to make the wife mad. Which reminds me, she’s been hounding me to have you over. We should schedule something.”
“That’d be nice,” my dad says with a smile.
“I’ll give you a call tomorrow. It was good seeing you.”
They shake hands, and the dean starts to turn away, when he seems to suddenly remember something. “Lieutenant Commander Durant,” he says, meeting my eyes. “May I have a word with you?”
Crap. Crappity, crap, crap, crap. Not again. A word with him is not what any cadet wants, and it’s happening to me much too frequently for my liking.
“Yes, sir,” I reply, standing.
We walk a few feet away for some privacy, and he says, “I’d like to speak to both you and Cadet Evans in the morning. Please come to my office after breakfast.”
“Yes, sir,” I reply around the lump in my throat. I can’t help the small bit of uneasiness working its way into my mind. Has something happened? What could have happened? And why does the dean know about it before me? As Evans’s mentor, I should always know what’s going on with him.
When I return to my seat, my dad says, “I hope there’s not a problem.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I reply, though even I don’t believe myself. The dean doesn’t schedule meetings for nothing. Of course, the last time I was worried, it turned out to be a new assignment. Maybe this is similar. Maybe he wants to commend us on how well we’re doing—me at training Evans and Evans at adjusting to Wallingford.
If I hope to get any sleep tonight, I have to believe that’s what it is.
* * *
“Thanks for joining me,” the dean says the next morning while Evans and I sit in his office. I stifle a yawn. As hard as I tried to convince myself this meeting would be positive, I failed. Which means I got virtually no sleep, just like I anticipated.
“Yes, sir,” we say in unison.
The dean focuses on Evans, who is currently sitting up straight, reported to the meeting almost correctly, and hasn’t been overly disrespectful since entering the office. He’s not behaving perfectly, but it’s a big improvement over last week. “I’m pleased to see the progress you’ve made,” he says.
Evans remains quiet, and I cringe at his silence. “Thank you, sir” would have been much better than saying nothing.
The dean then looks at me. “You’ve done a good job in a short amount of time.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say, before breathing out a sigh of relief. He just wants to commend us.
“However…”
No. No, no, no, no.
“Captain Bell brought to my attention an issue in the computer lab over the weekend. Would you care to tell me what happened?”
I glance between the dean and Evans. Is he talking about the video game? That seems like such a minor issue. Why would he call us in here for that? As soon as I saw the problem, I corrected it. As a student officer, we’re given significant latitude in how we deal with issues. The dean is usually only brought in for major offenses.
“Well,” I start, focusing on the dean, “Evans was able to exploit a glitch in our firewall and access a video game. I noticed and told him it was inappropriate and, if he were to do it again, he would be disciplined.”
“Is there a reason you didn’t discipline him immediately when you found him playing the game?”
“At that point, I had not yet specifically told him it was not allowed. I had to go with the assumption he simply didn’t know and not that he was purposely being insubordinate.”
The dean looks at Evans. “Did you know?”
He shrugs.
I expect the dean to demand an answer, but he just asks another question. “After her warning, did you stop playing the game?”
Evans stares at a spot behind the dean’s head for a long moment.
“I should remind you I know the full story from Captain Bell and by reviewing video footage of the computer lab.”
Evans blows out a breath. “The punishments she mentioned didn’t seem so bad, so I kept playing.”
“Then what?”
“Some of the other cadets saw me and decided they wanted to play, too. I helped them join the game.”
“How many did you help?”
He shrugs again. “I don’t know. Nine or ten maybe.”
I spin to face him. Not only did he not listen to me, he helped ten other cadets break the rules?
“It was eleven actually. How long did you all play?” the dean asks.
“Until we were forced to leave by Captain Bell.”
“At ten thirty—well past lights-out, right?”
He nods.
Logan met me in the library at nine like we had planned and claimed he had spent the whole afternoon doing his workout, reviewing the Honor Code, and then reading. It was all lies. Nothing he told me was true.
My fists clench in my lap.
“Are you aware four of the cadets missed important obligations?” the dean asks.
He shakes his head.
“One cadet missed his court-mandated group session. His probation is now at risk.”
“I didn’t realize,” Evans mumbles.
The dean nods and steeples his fingers on his desk, as he pulls on his lower lip with his teeth while making clicking sounds. After a few moments, he says, “This puts us in an interesting situation. Evans, you will certainly receive disciplinary action for playing video games, missing lights-out, and helping others do the same, not to mention your one-finger salute to Lieutenant Commander Durant as she was exiting the room.”
My head snaps in Evans’s direction. He did not give me the finger again.
He’s wearing a smug expression.
“Thi—” I start to say.
The dean holds up his hand to silence me. I cannot believe Evans. I’m a good mentor—one of the best—and my mentees always show it. Evans, acting like this, is beyond inappropriate. It’s … it’s making me look bad. I narrow my eyes at him.
“Ms. Durant,” the dean says, focusing on me. “Did you have a plan in place to assure Mr. Evans followed your orders?”
“I—I … well, no, I guess not.” I grind my teeth as I say, “I didn’t, sir, because Evans had been doing better the day before. I assumed he would listen to me. I recognize my mishandling of this situation. I should have escorted him from the computer room the moment I knew he had no homework and then supervised him throughout the afternoon to ensure he didn’t get into any more trouble with his free time.”
“Good,” he says with a nod. “I agree Evans needs supervision for a few weeks, which is why the two of you will wax the entire gym floor by hand during your personal time.”
“Yes, sir,” I reply, my back stiffening. Evans just stole my personal time.
“You’ll finish within three weeks. It needs to be ready for basketball season.”
“We’ll start tonight and have it done in two weeks,” I state. Besides getting my personal time back, I have to prove to the dean I’m a good mentor. When the Air Force calls, he needs to tell them I’m among the best leaders in my class, not someone who got duped by a lowly DQ.