He takes the letter from me and reads it over. “You’re Brevan Skeeter?” he asks, raising his eyes to mine.
My hands grip the hem of my shirt as I nod.
The man offers it back to me. “I’m not sure I understand what mistake you’re referring to, Mr. Skeeter.”
I hesitate to take the letter back. “I didn’t apply for this, and… I’m not very smart. I’m probably not a good person for this program.”
He watches me for a minute. “Have a seat, Mr. Skeeter.”
This is far more nerve-wracking than I anticipated it’d be. Inclining my head, I choose a big leather chair in the waiting room to sit in. The office is quiet. The entire building is quiet. Almost disturbingly so. As if I’m all alone. My eyes keep touching on the man at the desk just to assure myself that I’m not, in fact, alone.
There’s art on the wall. They’re all similar in style, so I think they’re by the same artist. It isn’t until I recognize the façade of the athletic department building that I begin recognizing most of the places in the art pieces. They’re all part of RDU.
“Mr. Skeeter?”
My attention snaps to a woman standing beside the desk. “Yes, ma’am,” I say, jumping to my feet. “I’m Brevan Skeeter.”
She smiles. “Come with me, please.”
I give the man at the desk a timid smile and follow the woman. She leads me to an office just as spectacular as the part of the building I’d just been in.
“Please have a seat,” she says, gesturing to the chairs in front of the desk as she closes the door. I do and watch as she walksaround the back of the desk to join me. “Morlan says you think there’s a mistake in your CAP invitation letter.”
I’m guessing Morlan is the man at the desk. Nodding, I hand it over. The woman accepts it. “Provost Keller isn’t in right now, so he can’t speak to you directly; however, I’m his assistant, Byndley Horship.” She talks to me as she reads over the letter. Then she meets my eyes. “What’s your concern, Mr. Skeeter?”
“I didn’t apply for the program,” I say, shrugging. My hands turn up, palms to the ceiling. I feel a little lost. “I also don’t think I was meant to be chosen. I’m not very smart, so I don’t think I should represent Rainbow Dorset.”
Byndley studies me for several minutes before she sets my letter down. There’s a folder in front of her that she opens, and for a minute, I watch as she looks through the papers. “Says here that you have a 3.67 GPA.”
“Yes,” I agree.
“That’s a very good GPA, Mr. Skeeter. That means you do very well in your classes, so I’m unsure why you think you’re not smart.”
“I go to the study center every day,” I admit.
“I’m happy to hear that you’re utilizing the tools available to you on campus, but again, that doesn’t mean you’re not smart. Getting extra assistance in your understanding of a subject matter that you’re less confident in is a very admirable thing.”
“Yeah, but… I’d fail without it.”
“Again, you seek the help necessary to assure that doesn’t happen. Correct?”
“I do.” I’m not sure I’m communicating clearly. “I just… I didn’t apply for the program. I don’t understand how my application was chosen when I didn’t submit one.”
“Nowthatis something I think we should talk about.” Byndley shuffles through the papers in the folder before sliding a stapled stack to me. “Is this you?”
I pick it up and read through the entire four-page application and… yes, it’s totally me. And it’s all accurate. The attached transcript is mine as well, and sure enough, my GPA is 3.67. There are also three attached letters of recommendation—one from Coach Frost, one from my previous Literary History class teacher, and a third from my tutor!
I’m busy chewing the inside of my lip while looking at my application again. I can’t even say it’s not my handwriting since it’s typed. The signature is a digital one, the kind you use when you digitally sign something.
“I swear to you, I didn’t fill this out. I didn’t get these recommendations.” I meet her eyes again. “This is me, but I didn’t fill out the application.”
Byndley continues to study me. I set the application back on her desk and fold my hands together as I wait for her to tell me to get out, and I won’t be attending this ambassador program. I’m surprised when she offers me a smile instead.
“Mr. Skeeter, tell me. Are you interested in being a part of CAP?”
“Yes, but—” I stop talking when she holds up a hand.
“I only asked if you’re interested.”
