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“Don’t remind me,” I said.
Beth Throckmorton spun around and grabbed my arm. “Oh Taylor, I’m so happy for you! A football player. Who would have imagined? He’s so dreamy!”
Behind her, John Conningsworth cleared his throat.
“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Beth said dismissively. “He is dreamy. And I’m happy for Taylor.”
“Thank you, Beth,” I said. “But I just want to sit down and get some work done.”
The other faculty looked like they wanted to ask me more questions, but they let me go to my office in peace. I had unpacked my laptop and was typing in my password when Dean Armbruster knocked on my door.
“Quite the commotion outside,” he said with a grimace.
“Tell me about it,” I said.
He stood straight and looked at his watch pointedly. “It is nine-fifteen. Office hours are supposed to begin at eight for students in the upcoming semester. I believe I sent out a department-wide email to that regard…”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” I said. “Our flight got back from Buffalo late last night, and I forgot to set an alarm. It won’t happen again, Dean. And I will be happy to stay late today to accommodate the missed time.”
And to avoid walking through the gauntlet again.
“Flight from Buffalo…” His lips pursed together like he’d taken a bite out of a lemon. “Professor Fox, when we extended the Associate Professorship to you, it was our understanding that this would be your primary concern. Your primary priority.”
“You’re right, Dean,” I said. “I—”
“And I must admit I am quite flustered by the attention our department is currently receiving. If I had known my photograph would be taken a thousand times before breakfast, I would have dressed more appropriately.”
The Dean was wearing a full suit and bow-tie, so I didn’t understand what he meant. So all I said was, “I can’t help the paparazzi. I don’t know how long it will last, but I expect it to be brief.”
The Dean stiffened. “Professor Fox. Taylor. I was supportive of you being on the faculty in spite of your… hobby. But this is an elite academic establishment. We do not need this kind of negative attention.”
“Surely the attention isn’t negative…”
“It is negative for me,” he snapped. “We are already receiving calls from alumni. And from donors. They are not pleased with having a member of the faculty who is drawing such public attention.”
Anger bubbled up inside of me, and I managed to keep most of it out of my voice. “Professor Conningsworth plays guitar in a Rush cover band. Why is that okay but my hobby is not?”
“I have never received calls from donors about John’s hobbies,” he replied curtly. “Perhaps it would be best if you took a sabbatical for the spring semester.”
My brain required a few extra moments to process his suggestion.
“A sabba—no!” I said. “Why would I do that?”
“It would relieve a significant amount of pressure.”
“My classes for the spring are already set,” I replied. “We begin next Monday. I’ve already finished most of the syllabus work…”
“Things can be changed.” The Dean cleared his throat and said, “In fact, perhaps it would be best if your fourth class was given to a different professor. We do not need to subject all of your students to this… this… circus.”
I almost choked on my tongue. “Dean Armbruster, this feels like a rash decision. By the time classes begin next week, nobody will care about me anymore. There won’t be a circus.”
The Dean frowned slightly, like he was considering my argument. But then he collected himself and went on.
“We shall see. In the meantime, my decision has been made and contingency plans have been put into place. Please give Professor Masters your course information at your earliest convenience so he can prepare his own lectures.”
“Masters… no.”
The Dean left my office and was replaced by Eric. A smiling, smug-looking Eric.
