Her Dirty Professor(25)

“Fine,” he says, and finally releases me from his grip. “But find me later.”

“I’ll see you in class this afternoon.”

The thin smile on his face makes me think there might not be a class this afternoon.



Before my first class starts, I make an appointment to see Dean Meyer. I’m sitting in the waiting area with his secretary, going over a rough argument I prepared. It’s difficult to focus with the clack, clack, clack of acrylic nails on the keyboard as the secretary speed-types.

Every time I look up at the clock, five minutes have passed. I’ve been sitting here twenty minutes so far. I just want to get this over with. Another five and I’ll be late for English. I might even have to miss it. I’ve never missed a class before. Not for illness or any other reason.

The phone rings. His secretary answers it and continues to type at the same time. Finally, she puts down the phone, looks at me, and says, “He’ll see you now.”

I go into the dean’s office. No one else comes out. Twenty minutes. What the hell was he doing in his room alone for twenty minutes? Maybe he heard it was me here to see him and he just wanted to make me squirm. Well, it worked. Blood rushes in my ears and my heart is like a caged animal thrashing in my chest.

This is too much. It’s more grownup than anything I’ve had to deal with since graduating high school. I want to walk away and forget everything. The only thing keeping me grounded is knowing I’m doing this for Loche. I’d do anything for him.

“Shut the door behind you,” Dean Meyer says. He sits behind an imposing desk. On top of it are pictures of his wife and grown children placed in matching gold frames.

He stacks a pile of loose papers in front of him. The task seems more important to him than giving me his full attention. Funny how I used to really admire this guy, but now that my scholarship and Loche’s job are on the line, I’m looking for the horns and pitchfork hiding beneath that very obvious rug on his head.

Folding my hands in my lap, I say, “I wanted to talk to you about what you saw at the restaurant last night.”

Not that what he saw could be misconstrued as anything but what it was. I’m going to tell the truth, for the most part. I think that’s best. But in the hours between when I got back to my dorm this morning and sitting here, I read the entire manual on student conduct. I will inform him that there are no definitive rules stating that a teacher cannot date an adult student. It’s only frowned upon when it comes to ethics and morals. Unfortunately, by me pointing this out, I’ll be saying Loche doesn’t have those qualities that this particular school finds important enough to make as their motto. But, not having those things is not grounds to terminate his job. Especially if that student will no longer be attending that school.

The thought of leaving fills me with such a deep sadness, my vision starts to turn gray. I shake my head and square my shoulders, pulling myself together. I need to stay strong or I will never get through this without breaking down, and I refuse to cry or appear weak in front of this man.

Before I can say another word on the matter, Dean Meyer stops me and says, “There’s no need. Mr. Johnson already came to speak with me this morning.”

“He did . . .” I say, hanging off the edge of my seat.

“He resigned from his position.”

“What?” I say, voice rising. “He can’t do that. This wasn’t his fault.”

The dean stops what he’s doing and looks at me with eyebrows raised. “He did it to save your scholarship. As I’m sure you’ve probably read in the manual of conduct, students on scholarship can be released for any reason that might jeopardize the moral or ethical reputation of this establishment. While it does have to go in front of a board for vote before that can happen, I’m fairly certain having an affair with a teacher will fall under that category. You’re welcome to roll the dice, Georgia, but Mr. Johnson fought to save your scholarship. I think he’d be highly disappointed if he threw himself under the bus for nothing.”

“But—” I start to say when Dean Meyer interrupts.

“I can tell by the look on your face that you’re willing to do whatever it takes to protect him, because he had that same look on his face when he came in here to protect you. I gave him the option to either end his relationship with you or leave his job. He chose to leave. Let it go.”

I close my mouth. It’s been hanging open this whole time.

“Good day,” the dean says. “Please close the door on your way out.”

Unable to get words out, I stand and walk out of his room and close the door. His secretary watches me leave, no doubt hearing everything.