fifty
When morning arrived, it felt as if I hadn't gotten a lick of sleep, and I can almost guarantee that is because I couldn't stop thinking about the look on my Dad's face once he realized I wouldn't be there. As much as I wish this debacle with me and Trevor was the only reason for my absence—I couldn't help the sense of relief not going brought. I was petrified of what might be left of him. I couldn't bare to see the look in his eyes once he realized his attempt to end his life had failed. The thought of carrying the guilt that came with it wouldn't be easy to recover from. He'd need a lot of support to get through this recovery period.
After an intense mental battle of turning over, I notice Taylor's empty bed. Since today was the last official day of classes, I knew she'd be up early to attend. Without her here to spark conversation, I'm left to continue spiraling in my mind. I was still left to think over what would come of that email Wyatt sent the Dean. Surely he had read it by now. It was only a matter of time. That's why I couldn't sleep last night. I've rubbed the slither of sleep from my eyes in reach of my phone. If my calculations were correct—which they usually are—and Christian only stopped a few times along the way, they should've made it to Dreycott by now or not too far out.
I'm bothered by the blank screen staring back at me. Was Chris upset enough to keep my father's recovery to himself? Whether he agreed or not was the least of my concerns. There was no time to dwell on the semantics with Christian when more important things were on my mind like how I'd make it up to my father once my situation was under control. For the time being, I have a shower then change into a pair of leggings, a cropped tee, and a pair of gym shoes to start moving boxes to the new dorm room. Since Taylor had to be in a lecture, and I had time to kill, I load both of our things on the bellman cart and down the hall. Luckily by the time I've made it down with our things, Presley is already waiting with the keys. It takes three trips to get everything moved over.
Presley sticks around for roughly fifteen minutes helping me move boxes into the room. It takes me thirty minutes to transfer everything from our old space to the new one, and once I'm done, I collapse on the bed and wipe the thin layer of sweat from my forehead. My break lasts two minutes before I've risen to my feet to marvel at the dorm, which unlike the last, has a proper bathroom—shower, toilet, sink. A microwave, a mini fridge, and a single stove burner. I've almost made my way into the bathroom when my phone rings.
Waiting for a call from my brother has left me on the edge, so I race to the countertop where I set it. My heart syncopates at the caller ID—Winchester University Administration. My mouth runs dry instantly, and the excitement coursing through me seconds ago dissipates as my finger hovers over the answer button.
"Hello, May I speak to Ms. Alexandrea Castillo, please?" The person pronounces my name wrong, but I'm too frightened by the masculine voice on the other end of the receiver that I refrain from correcting them. There was no need to speculate who it might've been calling from the Admins office trying to contact me.
"Speaking," I say, but the dryness in my throat barely manages to choke it out. I clear my voice immediately after.
Sure enough, the man announced his identity as Dean Pensky and requested my presents at his office, ending the call once I'd obliged. I didn't bother taking my car to the administration's office—because my emotions were eating me alive. A four-minute drive seemed too short to compose myself. Whichever form of transportation got me there with the longest traveling time appeared to be the only way I'd be able to prepare a speech to plead my case.
Yet, I'm amazed by how quickly my preparation during the journey here means nothing. Every word I'd rehearsed vanished when I wrapped my hand around the door handle. This was it. The Dean's secretary greets me with a smile that spreads from ear to ear as she motions me forward with her hand waving. The strength to return the gesture paralyzes me once we reach the Dean's waiting room. India—Dean Pensky's secretary points to the only vacant chair of the two outside his office. The other one sat Trevor.
"He'll be right with you," she finalizes, shooting her attention to the both of us, before turning on the heels of her four-inch Louboutin, which decrescendo as they clank down the linoleum corridor.
I turn to him, unable to speak, as tears fill my eyes. His face softens, and for a second, he lays a gentle hand on my own. If this would be the last time we saw each other, I wanted him to know the extent of my love for him. One day, out of the blue, he became the first person on my mind when my eyes opened in the morning, but I know at the stage we're in now, that's pointless. Here I was, moments from being expelled, and all I could think about was how in love I was with the man across from me. Before my tears have a chance to fall, I wipe my eyes and turn forward in my chair.
"My Dad woke from his coma last night," I feel the empathy of his touch once his hand latches to my arm to gain my attention, but the feeling last all of a moment until Dean Pensky's door opens, and he exits from his office in fetch of one of us; Trevor.
I glimpse his face before he's closed into the room. His eyes were sympathetic—but I could tell by the furrow in his brow that my presence here shocked him too. Maybe Dreycott is where I should've been. He mouths the words, "Remember last night," and then Dean Pensky's door latch clicks.
Twenty minutes. That's how long my eyes dart back and forth between the Dean's office and my phone. Twenty minutes of refreshing my screen for a single update from Christian and waiting for the inevitable. Despite that, I knew I had to change my perspective of the situation if I wanted this plan to work. What could fear and uncertainty get me in this situation? Nothing but expulsion. Our plan with Sawyer was solid. Sawyer! I'm caught off guard by the unlatching of the Dean's door as Trevor exits with bloodshot eyes and a straight-lip frown. Instead of leaving the office as I expect Trevor to, he plops back in his seat and hangs his head between his legs, face to the ground.
"Ms. Castillo," Says Dean Pensky as he motions me in his office. I quickly found Sawyers's contact and sent him a brief message before I sat in the chair across from the Dean.
911. Admin's office.
"Ms. Castillo," he begins again. His breath reeks of coffee, and I see the cup of steaming liquid on a coaster on his desk alongside a trail of crumbs from the oatmeal cookie he'd been eating. "Are you aware why I've called you to my office today?" I lie—shaking my head before pushing my back firmly against the chair and latching on to each arm, or else I wouldn't have been able to hide the tremor in my hands. "I received a very concerning email from your peer claiming serious accusations. I understood from this peer that Trevor Thornton behaved inappropriately with you in the campus theater on the day of the play. Now, I ask you to be honest with your answers from here on out because my conversation with Mr. Thornton painted an entirely different picture. What happened on that day?"
I'm stunned by the gentle nature of his tone and can't imagine why there was defeat on Trevor's face if he went along with the plan we devised at his apartment the night prior. Nonetheless, I recount the events of the day to him. Packing up the dorm with Taylor, then getting lunch in the dining hall. I tell him about Taylor and me walking to the theater and almost mention her spontaneous kiss on my lips from our bucket list, but refrain. After mentioning rehearsing with Chessie, I don't say anything more until meeting back up with the class to assemble the stage. Everything in between was incriminating—which Sawyer urged us to keep quiet about.
"Is that how you remember the events of that day? As far as my knowledge goes, the story continues from there. You and Trevor Thornton were alone in a building hours before you were supposed to be. I did some digging to corroborate you and Chessie Campbell's use of the theater. I need to know what happened once she left. Campus Security is on its way. Say the word, and he's gone. Unable to harm any more of my students."
It's clear there's bad blood between the Dean and Trevor, and there's no doubt what the reason might be, especially if Dean Pensky feels Trevor is harming his students. There's no longer time to procrastinate an answer without Sawyer on post to defend us. Because Trevor and Meghan were together before they were involved with Winchester, there were no grounds to question the nature of their relationship around campus. That didn't mean it made the sight any less daunting through the eyes of the Dean. However, there was no way to spend a story claiming Trevor, and I knew each other before being at Winchester.
"Sir," I pause, feeling the ramifications of my actions slowly consume my once stellar reputation. "What Wyatt saw in the theater was consensual."
His face turns up immediately, almost as if all his niceties had flown directly from the window behind him. I watch in silence as he picks the steaming cup of coffee to his mouth to take a sip before adjusting himself in his seat. Once our eyes meet again, I notice his expression has changed, and then he begins to speak again. He goes on about how there is no need to try to defend Trevor because he is aware of his history of inappropriate behaviors with his students. No matter what is said, the allegations and his history are enough reasonable doubt to have him terminated and removed from the premises immediately. He's about to continue when the door swings open, and in walks Sawyer as he pushes Trevor into the office with us before shutting the office door.
"What are you doing here, son?"
"Helping a few friends," he says, nodding to Trevor with his head to sit in the seat beside me. He does, and after, Sawyer begins. "Tell me, what punishment did you have in mind for them? And please tell me it's much less than the slap on the wrist you gave Rachel Geraldo." Dean Pensky shakes his head and rises from his chair before directing Sawyer to the door out of his office. All that resides on his face is anger—possibly confusion- as he silently tries to understand the reason for Sawyers's unannounced visit. Sawyer stands near the door with his arms locked firmly in front of his chest—protesting his right to stay. The Dean's face doesn't falter, and I could only imagine the reason being that he was used to Sawyer finding a way to manipulate his father into doing everything he wanted him to do. They both stand there in silence, edging the other to back down, but once the Dean's head turns toward Trevor and me, he slams the door and returns to his swivel chair.
That's when he says everything Trevor and I were terrified to hear. Trevor would be blacklisted as a professor and forbidden to teach anywhere in the US. Being blacklisted by an education system made getting a job anywhere else nearly impossible. I would be expelled—unable to return to Winchester, and a letter in my permanent file disclosing the reason for my expulsion. It would make getting a transfer to a different school impossible. All the other colleges I had gotten accepted into would know. The looming thought of my worldwide reputation disaster continued to haunt me.
Sawyer's voice pulls me from the depths of a self-destructive spiral. He doesn't allow his father another word after mentioning our behavior.
"It's crazy to see how seriously you take a consensual relationship but how little you care about your students being harassed, stolen from and called racial slurs. It's disgusting. I wonder what you'd do if you found out I was selling weed out of the library with the universal key you gave me. Who's to say someone wouldn't assume you knew what I was up to?"
"What are you saying, Sawyer?"
Their argument was quickly bubbling over, and all Trevor and I could do was look at each other, hoping Sawyer didn't cause more harm than good.
"I'm saying that If the board were to stumble upon this news, what would that mean for you and me? I doubt the board keeps you in charge after learning about a stunt like this."
Dean Pensky is livid. The evidence is all over the exposed skin on his neck, which flushes crimson as his vein visibly pulses. He eyes Sawyer with an unwavering look of disgust as he contemplates his subsequent response.
"If you expect me to turn a blind eye and allow him to stay at this university after involving himself with another student, you're mistaken. Consensual or not, it's unethical. Unlike the situation before, this time, that is enough ground for termination according to the school handbook; everyone was given upon arrival. If they did not make themselves aware of the rules and regulations, that is a mistake on their part."
Trevor parts his lips to speak, he even manages to get a few words off of them out, but they go unnoticed in the feud between Sawyer and his father. Instead of saying anything more, I placed a hand on Trevor's thigh—urging him to let them finish whatever they were talking about before he tried inserting his two cents. Before, the possibility of Sawyer getting us out of this problem seemed far-fetched. Now as Dean Pensky speaks, it's in defeat. I know he'd reached his limit by going back and forth with Sawyer.
"Drop whatever it is that you were going to make happen to them, and I won't mention whose idea it was for me to start making my own tuition money in the first place. Don't, and the four of us will all be out of a job or position at this school. It's up to you."
Another heavy silence sweeps over the room, but Dean Pensky finally breaks his attention from Sawyer and darts his eyes between Trevor and me. My throat is still dry, so I don't attempt to budge in with the stipulations I had for myself, but there's no need to because Trevor speaks up. He demands a clean record for both of us: no expulsion or blacklisting. The news of our relationship will remain in the knowledge of the four people in this room (give or take a few outside this room) and won't go any further. Regarding our relationship, we keep it private—and by private, Trevor specifies that we will refrain from any public display of affection on campus, but everywhere else is free rein.
I watch Dean Pensky vigorously tap the end of his pen against his desk as he weighs Trevor's options. There was no doubt in my mind that Sawyer had managed to convince his Dad to change his mind because he pressed his back against his chair in defeat, though his facial expression didn't change from the straight-lipped one he'd been wearing the entire time we all joined him in this office. To me, it's a no-brainer. Anyone quick enough to forgive someone for harassment and theft should've had no problems concluding this decision. Not to mention what could happen if Sawyer made his dealing public knowledge at his father's expense? When the consequences of not obligating meant expulsion and possible jail time for my son and definite termination as the Dean, I'd keep it a secret.
"You're little stunt will still find its way around campus and not in the way you assume. I will not have my faculty and the student body believe I allowed someone who allegedly assaulted a student to stay without a single consequence." I can feel my blood boil at his incompetence, and I am seconds from allowing my anger to take me over, but he begins again. "And yet, you pose an interesting rebuttal."
Dean Pensky takes the cap off his pen, writes something down on a notepad, and continues speaking. Trevor and I will remain at Winchester with our respective places intact. However, I am no longer allowed to take any classes he teaches. Regarding Trevor's punishment, the Dean insists that if Trevor is serious about remaining at this school, he must present as a united front with Meghan Van Houten enough so that he wants the commitment legally binding. Marriage—he clarifies. Not only that, but if I remain at Hinkhouse, Trevor must quit, and vice versa. We are to have no involvement with each other in a public setting anywhere on or near the school premises.
The punishment feels like an even more significant weight on my chest, but judging by the smirk on Sawyer's face, I know this is the only outcome of this situation and it's a good one, just not the one I expected. Sawyer turns to Trevor and me with a smile, and Dean Pensky slides over the notepad, first to Trevor, who skims through the written contract and then turns to me with defeat on every inch of his face. I want to tell him not to sign it. That giving his life away to someone he wasn't in love with anymore and possibly having to give up his passion for teaching or cooking if we even remotely had any contact on campus wasn't worth it.
What would that mean for me and my career in acting or my passion for writing? Professor Thornton was the best on campus for majoring in that field, and giving up the future of my job didn't suit me at all—even if that meant getting to stay at Winchester. I wish Sawyer and Trevor could've realized that, but I know that reality is far from me once Trevor signs his name on the notepad and then slides it over to me.
I know our futures were on the line, but was selling our soul the way out of this? I couldn't stomach the thought of seeing Trevor marry Meghan, and it wasn't only because she knew how and always managed to hurt him but because she was starting a family with my brother. What would that mean for my nephew on the way? Where would my brother fall into this picture of lies other than thrown to the side just as I had been? It's no secret that I always knew Meghan was desperate to get Trevor back to herself. I just never imagined it would be me handing him over to her.
The notepad in front of me silently taunts me as a scam over the requirements for our stay, ending at the perfect penmanship of Trevor's signature. My hand shakes once I've gripped the pen. I don't try to hide the tears in my eyes that fall with every pen stroke against the paper until my name is written in completion and I've slid the notepad back to the Dean.
"So, it is decided," says Dean Pensky before rising from his chair to motion us all to the door.