“Well, hi there, Wilson, Joanie. Nice to see you girls back from winter break,” she said, greeting us in a comfortable tone.
“Hi, Ms. Schoonover,” I answered back, still trying to calm the storm swirling in my stomach.
“Glad to be back, Ms. Schoonover,” Joanie said out of pure necessity to acknowledge that an adult addressed her.
“Well, tell me, what brings you ladies here this afternoon?” she asked inquisitively.
Didn’t she know? She had to have known that the dean wanted to see me. I assumed everyone in the administrative offices knew why I was here. I looked around the room, ready for everyone to be staring, waiting for me to say the humiliating words that lingered so purposefully on my lips; but nobody seemed to have given us a second look.
“Umm, well, I have an appointment at 12:45 with Dean McCallous,” I rambled in a hushed whisper. Leaning closer to her so nobody who walked by could hear that I had to meet with the dean of Wesley. Because let’s face it, history had proven with Dean McCallous, the only time she wanted to sit across the desk from a student was if she absolutely had to.
Leaning closer to me and mirroring my hushed whisper, Ms. Schoonover replied, “Well, then, I will let Dean McCallous know you are here. In the meantime, why don’t you ladies make your way on over toward her office. There are a couple of chairs just outside her door.” She pointed to the administrative offices to her right.
“Thank you,” Joanie answered for both of us.
“You are more than welcome,” she sang back as Joanie prompted me to follow her. I heard Ms. Schoonover from behind as she answered a call. Good afternoon, thank you for calling Wesley…
Her voice trailed off as we made our way to the dean’s office. Right in front of us was a modern, long black lacquered counter, partitioned into three different stations for students who needed to get career advice, discuss financial payments, or ask general questions about Wesley. To the right of the counter and down at the end of the hall was the dean’s office. On the left side of the hall hung Dean McCallous’s doctorate of education in a colossal, ornate gold leaf frame. Across on the right were four oversized, high-back, hand-carved mahogany chairs. Dean McCallous’s office had the most intimidating, gigantic door I’d ever seen. The thing had to have been eight feet high. Tall, thin windows on either side with dark venetian blinds lay open just enough for me to recognize her shadow as she moved and sat behind an enormous desk. Joanie and I decided to sit in the chairs farthest from her door. As I sat there I began to tap the outsides of my ankles nervously against the thick wooden legs of the chair, something I found soothing in moments when I didn’t know what to do.
Most people who sat in these chairs were being called in for discipline issues; people who were here at Wesley one day and then gone the next. Was I going to join the ones whose history would be one of humiliation and disgrace? God, I hope not.
I heard the huge, dark door open slowly with a creak. Dean McCallous was speaking in a stern voice. It sounded like she was reprimanding someone on one level and thanking them on another.
“I can’t discuss with you what actions the board has decided to take. It is a private matter. Now if you’ll excuse me, my scheduled appointment is waiting,” Dean McCallous said firmly and impatiently. I didn’t expect to recognize the next voice that echoed through the hall.
“Dean McCallous, I will trust you and the board will handle this situation swiftly. As we all know, my father holds a very powerful position on the board of directors.” The high-pitched, syrupy snarkiness was beyond distinguishable. As if nails on a chalkboard weren’t enough, I knew that voice…it was Cindy’s. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. It was like someone balled up their fist and socked me as hard as they could in my gut, knocking the wind out of me.
Cindy stepped out from behind the dark mahogany door. Her hair was pulled back in a studious bun, and she was dressed in conservative neutral browns and blues, with her shirt buttoned up to her chin and long tailored pants down to her ankles.
“And Miss Browler, next time you will make an appointment to meet with me,” Dean McCallous barked.
I stood up, my mouth agape, my heart clogging my throat, my head swimming somewhere between shock and utter fear. Cindy turned to me, her eyes narrowed, her lips pulled across her face in contempt. She huffed as she brushed past Joanie and me. I just stood there, breathless and defeated.
“Miss Mooney, come in,” Dean McCallous stated with the same succinct tone she’d just used with Cindy.
I couldn’t make my vocal chords vibrate any sound. I just stared at the door. I avoided making eye contact as she slipped her hands down the front of her business suit and turned toward her desk, leaving the door ajar as she waited for me to walk into her office.