"What?" I don't know what to say other than that. I'm being accused of cheating because I answered the test questions too perfectly?
"The Professor suspects that during that time you left the room, you looked up course materials," Dean Friar explains, gesturing me to a seat. "Now, this is just a preliminary questioning. Maybe we can clear this up. If so, then no formal paperwork will be started against you. It's also why I called you on Sunday. I hope we can clear this up without any disruption to your academic schedule. I've been doing this for a long time, and I don't like disrupting the lives of good students."
"Thank you, Dean. Professor, I swear to you, I didn't cheat on the test. I studied the night before, and those last questions, I noticed they were lifted almost totally word for word out of the book. Since I had just studied them, I was able to answer them quickly, that's all."
"Is it true that you left the test room with your cellphone?" Dean Friar asks. He's taken a seat at the table, his fingers folded in front of him, and I suspect that somewhere, something is recording what we're saying.
I nod. "Yes. I got a text message from someone, and it seemed important, so I stepped out to call them back. I explained I was still in the middle of a mid-term—they'd forgotten. After saying goodbye, I went back into the test room and went back to work."
"So you deny using the phone to look anything up?”
I nod my head vigorously. "Dean, if there were any benefits I got from that phone call, it was that I was somewhat distracted and got my out of my own way with the answers. I was kinda in another frame of mind after getting the call."
Dean Friar nods, then looks over at Professor Vladisova. "Is there anything else to your suspicions, Professor?"
She nods, and taps the paper in front of her again. "This. I was made aware of Miss Mittel's cheating by another student. I have a written statement from that student saying that she saw Miss Mittel using her phone for cheating purposes during the test time."
"What? No way!" I yell, caught off guard. "Who is making up lies like that?"
"The complaint came from Miss Brown, who was sitting behind you in the test. She says she saw you pull your phone out to access the Internet multiple times."
"No! She's lying! I—" I try to defend myself, but the name just hits me in the gut. Chelsea? Why is she saying I cheated? What the hell is going on? "The phone stayed in my pocket until that message. You even noticed the first time I pulled it out."
"This can be easy to clear up, then. Miss Mittel, does your phone have Internet capability?" Dean Friar asks. "I mean, not everyone has a smartphone, but many do."
"I do, sir," I reply, taking it out. "Here, take a look at my logs. I didn't access the Net the entire time. I only had the one text message, and then a phone call."
Dean Friar nods and turns on my phone. He swipes at the screen for a second, then turns it back around, handing it back to me. "Would you mind unlocking it?"
"Of course, sir. Just a minute."
I enter my password and hand the phone back to him, who taps at my screen. I don’t know what this proves, though. I could’ve easily just erased my browsing history. Instead, the Dean's face goes more pinched a minute or two later, and he sets the phone down to look at me. "Mind explaining this?"
I pick up my phone and see that the Dean's pulled up my data usage statistics for the phone with some app. The log shows . . . data usage during the test? What the fuck? "I . . . I can't explain this, sir. I didn't use the phone during that time, except what I've told you."
"Well, your data logs show that you accessed over twenty megabytes of usage on the day of the test," Dean Friar says. "Did you happen to use the phone to browse the web during that day?"
"No. I have my laptop, and my data plan doesn’t cover anywhere near that much.”
"Well, let's check your browser history then," Dean Friar says, taking the phone back and tapping away. How in the hell does this man know how to pull up all this stuff on my phone? I don't even know how to do that.
"Trust me, there's no—"
"Access of the course notes and lectures in your browser history?" He asks, showing me the phone. His wintry smile has totally disappeared, and Vladisova is looking like she's about to burst a blood vessel, she's so pissed off. "Miss Mittel, you seem to be digging yourself a deeper and deeper hole."
"No. There must be a mistake. I didn't cheat, I—I studied." That sounds pathetic, even to my ears. I might as well have Liar & Cheat on my shirt.
"I hope that’s the case. Miss Mittel, based on this, I still have to notify you of your rights under the Western University Honor Code . . ."