I smile at him. “But, after more consideration, I didn’t think this little experiment got to the root of the issue, so we’re presenting another idea.”
I pause, glancing around the room to catch the eyes of my allies, to draw strength from the knowledge that I’m not alone.
“Right now, the faculty and staff are on opposite sides of a cavern with a rickety bridge between us, technically able to cross over, but no one’s brave enough to do it. We want to fix the bridge, give us something sturdy so that we can reach each other.”
“We’re not here for a poetry competition, Miss Riley,” aprofessor calls from the front row, and I recognize the asshole philosophy professor from the first senate meeting.
Colton steps up next to me. “Enough. If you aren’t here to listen with an open mind, the door is just up the stairs.” He ushers me in front of him with a hand at the small of my back.
“Thank you, Dr. Miller,” I say.
His fingers twist in my dress, and I know he’s going to have me say it again later while I’m on my knees for him.
“As I was saying,” I continue, “none of us can figure out how to move forward. Rather than tying one hand behind our back, we propose another way forward. A new committee, chaired by one staff member and one faculty member, designed to help bridge the gap between the two vital parts of our campus. We’ve spent decades determined the others were helping students in the wrong way. In truth, students learn and develop through different means. We all have the best intentions, but assume the other has the worst.”
The same professor speaks up again. “And, I assume, you believe you’re the best person to lead this.”
I dig one fingernail into my palm to distract myself from the sarcastic reply fighting to leave my tongue and smile. “As someone who has experience on both sides, yes, I do. But, if you all choose someone else, I’ll happily step aside.”
He won’t be deterred. “And the best professor to chair it is a faculty member who has only spent a year at our institution?” He glares at Colton, and there are a few murmurs of assent around the room.
“You make a great point,” Colton says. “Quinn made the same argument. Great minds, I guess. Which is why I won’t be co-chairing the committee. We’ve identified someone more established and infinitely more qualified for that position. He has already agreed, assuming this new initiative passes.”
The group looks around the room, trying to suss out who it is.
I wave my hand. “Giancarlo, will you come up to answer the remaining questions with me?”
The quiet gasps crash through the room like a wave of noise as they rise simultaneously, and Dr. Guarino walks to the stage, only scowling slightly at me using his first name, even though he agreed it would send a message about our equal partnership.
When Colton suggested him as a partner, I did exactly what Colton said I’d do. I jumped off his lap, interrupting his explanation to bitch and moan about everything he’s put us through. But after I’d exhausted myself, Colton made his—unfortunately very valid—points.
I spent all summer trying to convince him that his plan was wrong and that he should throw it all out to switch to the staff’s side. But his issues, the reason he spearheaded this initiative in the first place, are valid. When I presented a logical solution to both of our problems, he was shockingly enthusiastic.
“What would this committee do?” calls one professor from the back.
Giancarlo looks at me and nods, signaling to every person in the room that he’s deferring to me.
“The committee would have two roles. One, we would host sessions with staff members to help them better understand expectations for in-class engagement and create a system to streamline presentation requests so individual professors didn’t have to review them.” Always best to start with what they’ll like the best.
“Two, we’ll work with faculty liaisons for each major to figure out the best ways the academics can be supported without adding more workload to individuals. We already have those liaisons identified in all but three departments. If you all could please stand?”
I watch as a few dozen professors, including Andrea, Sydney, and Lynn, rise from their seats, the physical representation of their support looming over the other faculty members. Inez sitsbeside them, giving me a little thumbs up as we lock eyes. She gave her notice right after she came home, and I’m going to soak up every minute of in-person support I can get before she moves in a month.
Giancarlo speaks for the first time. “This is a chance to fix the rift between the two sections of campus. I’ve seen firsthand the ways we can support each other if both sides are willing to humble themselves. We can continue this power struggle, or we can work to give the students the best experience possible. If helping the students isn’t your top priority, it would seem you’re in the wrong industry.”
We field a handful of questions about logistics and expectations, and the attitude in the room shifts from apprehension to acceptance. I know, even before President Munchen calls for a vote, that it’s going our way.
I turn to Colton as everyone starts filing out of the auditorium. His eyes are shining, and he slips one hand out, twining his pointer finger around my own.
“You did it, Chaos,” he whispers, and I fight to keep from crying. It’s done. I succeeded. All that stress, all that fear. Gone.
A throat clears behind us, and we step away from each other. Colton looks over my shoulder and his eyes grow wide for a second before he clenches his jaw. I turn to find my father, watching Colton with an unreadable look.
My stomach bottoms out. What the hell is he doing here? Did he come to berate me for giving up the fellowship? To tell me in person that I’m a disgrace to the family and more disappointing than he ever imagined?
Colton coughs. “Hello, Dr. Riley.”
“Dr. Miller,” my father says, and reaches out for a handshake that surprises us both. “I’d like a moment with my daughter.”
