by Claire Adams
"Alright." Ford dropped my hand. "No more trying to stop you. It's time I start helping." He paced a semi-circle around his small living room. "We should start by cornering the football coach."
"He's not going to tell us anything," I said. I shivered in the cool vacuum his absent body had created. "But I'm sure we wouldn't have to look very far to find more of his team members that have cheated on tests and plagiarized papers."
"Already planning to put the screws to someone else to get at the truth?" Ford asked. "I like it, but I think you're right. The football coach won't talk easily. Maybe we should start with the professor that filed the complaint."
"Wait," I said. "Does this mean that you are planning to go after the story? I know it seems ridiculous for me to flip roles so soon, but don't you think the worst thing you could do right now is get involved in a story like this?"
"Maybe I should take up painting so I can join your father," Ford joked.
"I'm serious! If you're attached to this story at all, then Michael Tailor is going to come after you too. You might lose your job. I don't want you to lose your professorship because I needed help," I cried.
"I'm not along to help," Ford said with a wide smile. "I've seen your killer instinct and heard your plans. I'm just along for the ride."
I smothered my smile with a serious look. "This isn't like that train you've always wanted to catch," I said. I held my breath and wondered if he would remember.
Ford's eyes twinkled, and he stepped forward to capture my hand again. "That's right. We talked about just wanting to pack a bag and get a change of scenery."
My eyes misted. "Only this change of scenery isn't so fun."
"That's okay," Ford said. "There's only one view I'm really attached to."
His eyes swept over my face and made me dizzy. I wanted to ask him thousands of questions, questions I would never dare voice, but that look seemed to answer them all. I slipped my hand free and looked around the room for anything that could ground me again.
"So, we've already decided to leave the football coach out of it, right?" I asked. "Brian's not talking, and we can't really blame him about that because it's family. That leaves the professor. He's gotta be innocent, don't you think?"
Ford watched me with a cryptic smile then his brow cleared. "The professor that turned in the paper? Why do you think he's innocent?"
I paced to the kitchen and back, hoping the air flow would cool my cheeks and clear my thoughts. It was hard to keep my mind on the details of our complicated story when Ford smiled at me like that. My heart wouldn't stick to a regular rhythm, and my thoughts spun out of order.
"The professor's innocent because..." I avoided looking at Ford, but felt his smile instead. "The professor's innocent because he wouldn't need to be pressured to turn in a plagiarized paper," I said.
Ford's eyebrows flew up in surprise. "True. I didn't think of that. But, that means we're stuck."
"No, there's one more piece of evidence we haven't looked at from every angle," I said. I retrieved my purse from the floor by the sagging sofa and tossed the long strap over my shoulder. "I'm going to make sure we get it. Maybe there's a way to trace it back to Michael Tailor."
"What are you talking about?" Ford asked. He followed me to the door and put the flat of his hand against it to stop me from leaving.
The position left me between the door and Ford's leaning body. My ordered thoughts scattered again. While I tried to piece them back together, my eyes traced up Ford's body. My hands itched to test out the contours I saw. He was fit and muscled for a journalist that had been languishing in academia for years.
"What piece of evidence are you after, Clarity?" Ford asked.
My eyes flew to his, and I laughed when I managed to remember. "The plagiarized essay, of course!"
His brow furrowed. "You think the writing can somehow tie Michael Tailor to this?"
"Sure, why not? If we're right, then Michael Tailor himself created the plagiarized essay. Do you think he actually sat down and wrote it?" I asked. "I'm guessing he just cut and pasted from the internet."
"Fine, alright, it's a long shot, but it makes sense," Ford said. He tugged me away from the door and stood in between me and the exit. "You can stay here while I go and get a copy of it."
"You?" I snapped. "How do you suppose you're going to get into my father's files? As his daughter, I've gone into his office to pick something up for him dozens of times."
Ford crossed his arms. "How do you think you're going to when your father's files are under review?"
"I'll figure it out." I tried dragging Ford away from the door, but he was too solid.
"No," he said. "You haven't thought this all the way through. People are going to stop you all over campus to ask about what happened with your father. The president of Landsman is still looking for you too. Let me go for you."
It was too much. I couldn't leave it alone and pretend it meant nothing. "Why do you care so much?" I cried.
"You don't need to be bombarded with questions or good wishes or whatever. You should call your father and tell him that everything's alright. At least tell him we've been talking it out. He's probably worried sick about where you are," Ford said.
"So you're doing all of this because you like my father? I know you chatted, and he invited you over for Thanksgiving, but now you're willing to risk your job and run all over campus just so I can call him and he won't have to worry."
Ford leaned back against the door and let his hands fall loose at his sides. "I like your father. It's been a while since I've had anyone like him to talk to. He's a good man, and he doesn't deserve to be routed for a mistake. Especially when he only made the mistake in order to help you."
"Are you sure that's it?" I asked.
I couldn't believe I was so bold. The heat and the connection had been surging between us since he answered the door, but I had no idea if I was reading any of the signs right. Ford wasn't just a college boy with underdeveloped conversation and over-eager hands. Just one glance from him could tumble my heart while I couldn't be sure what I read in his fathomless eyes.
Ford stood up and rolled his shoulders back. "No. There's more to it than that," he said.
I crossed my arms and eyed the door. I couldn't back down because behind him was the only exit to his apartment.
He saw my nervous glance and took a deep breath. "There's more to my feelings for this, for you, than the honor code allows. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if I got a new job. One less complication to something that seems so obvious."
I readjusted my purse on my shoulder and then dug through the contents to find my keys even though my car was blocks away.
"Clarity, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Ford said. He stepped aside and open his front door.
"No, it's not that," I said. My cheeks flared, but I raised my eyes to meet his. "This is just a little detour. They don't have those on trains, you know."
"Who knows," Ford smiled, "maybe I like road trips better."
Chapter Fifteen
Ford
By the third inspirational quote, I lost my patience. Jackson's students took a long time to leave his classroom. The smaller, more intimate room featured two rectangular tables of dark wood pushed together and ringed with chairs. Jackson sat at the head of the immense table, and the students filtered by and asked for feedback. I prowled the far wall of the classroom and ground my teeth, but it didn't hurry them along.
I paced back and forth at the foot of the tables as the last student asked if she should change the tense of her story. "Readers are most comfortable in past tense, but if you feel the need to highlight urgency, go ahead and try present tense," Jackson said.
"Oh, yeah, I hadn't thought of the readers," the student blinked a few times, then walked into the hallway in a daze.
Jackson shuffled the papers in front of him into one large, neat stack. Then he began perusing the first one, his hand reaching for a red pen.
Jackson didn't even look up. "The students like them," he said.
I paced to the narrow, lancet window and back. My students were taught to research the full motivational quip and read the quote in context. I wondered what would happen if my students did that with Jackson's literary gems.
"You know, you could put all that nervous energy to good use," Jackson said.
Clarity's image jumped to mind, her long arms bare in the formal dress. "What? What do you mean?"
He looked up and gave a dry laugh. "Obviously not what you were thinking about. I just thought you could run down the hall and get us some coffee. Make yours a decaf."
"Very funny," I said. Then I whirled around and hammered both hands onto the end of the tables. "How can this not bother you?"
"I don't know. I think it's disgusting, but people of privilege have always secured the education of their offspring no matter if they are deserving or not," Jackson said.
I growled. "It's obvious corruption. It drags down the student population. What if you have Junior in your class and the only thing he can contribute is juvenile heckling?"
"Then I follow protocol," Jackson leaned back in his chair. "Once this kid is at Landsman, his father won't be able to save him from academic probation."
I stalked around the long tables but stopped before I left the classroom. "Dean Dunkirk isn't totally innocent, but he doesn't deserve to be used just to get some unmotivated student into a good school," I said.
Jackson hooked his hands behind his head and leaned back farther. "Can you imagine what it must be like to be Junior? Being an unmotivated student is the least of his worries. Living the rest of your adult life knowing that daddy had to buy your place in college is going to leave some damage. Ugh, and imagine if his peer group found out."
"Are you done feeling sorry for this over-privileged, spoiled, and most likely uncaring kid?" I snapped.
"You want me to worry about Dean Dunkirk," Jackson said. He loosened his hands and sat up. "I do feel bad for the guy. He's between the figurative rock and hard place."
"I am literally going to punch you," I said.
"That's not the right usage," Jackson said. He faked a flinch before I even moved. "So, when are you going to tell me what's really bothering you about all of this?" he asked.
I unclenched my fists and let my hands drop to my sides. "What do you mean? You know exactly why casual corruption like this bothers me." I yanked out a chair and threw myself in it.
"You don't have to get involved," Jackson advised.
I glowered at him. "Macken's got my termination letter all ready to go, so what's the point of playing it safe?" I asked.
"You could keep your job. She can't just fire you without her decision getting reviewed. I, for one, would be willing to stand up and admit you're a good professor."
The air rushed out of me. "Thanks." I slumped in my chair and drummed my fingers on the dark polished table. "I just think this is a story that's worth pursuing. And what kind of newspaper editor and example would I be if I didn't pursue it? I am trying to inspire future journalists, right?"
"Future journalists or just one?" Jackson asked.
His question was like the shadow of a shark in the waters of our conversation. I froze and willed my heart rate to slow back down. "What do you mean?" I asked.
Jackson laughed and gathered up his papers. "Nothing, I don't mean anything. I mean, what could I, one of your best and only friends, know about your behavior?" Jackson stood up and swung his leather messenger bag onto his shoulder. "What could I, as a newly married and madly in love man, possibly know about the way you are acting?"
I stood up and shoved my chair back into place. "I'm just trying to help," I snapped.
"Couldn't you just be a confidential source? Isn't it enough that you're helping Clarity connect the dots? Let her get all the glory and keep your job. I'd call that a win-win," Jackson said.
I followed him to the door and slapped the lights off. "That doesn't feel good enough. I want to do more; I feel like I should."
Jackson paused in the hallway, trapping me in the classroom door. "The dean's a nice man, and he cooks a tasty turkey. I guess those count as good reasons."
I rubbed the back of my neck and groaned. "Fine. I feel like I'm already involved, and I want to help because of that. And I'm not doing it for the dean. His turkey wasn't that good."
Jackson grinned. "Alice is going to be so happy. All she could talk about on the way home from Thanksgiving was how happy you looked in love."
"Whoa, slow down. Who said anything about love?" I asked.
"Alice. She said that you and Clarity make a great couple." Jackson strode down the hallway with a jaunty smile.
"Shhh, what are you nuts? You can't say things like that."
"Oh, come on, Ford. We both know we're not talking about some tawdry fantasy or some cheap affair. As consenting adults, you two are a great match," Jackson said. "Are you coming?"
I was rooted to the hallway floor far behind him. My heart beat slowly under an onslaught of feelings. The way Jackson dismissed our student-professor problem gave me wild surges of hope. He also approved, and I suddenly realized that meant a lot to me.
When I caught up with Jackson, I tried to tell him thank you. He watched me unable to form words, then he slapped me on the shoulder. "So you're going full bore on the corruption story. I like it; you're a knight tilting at windmills."
I rolled my eyes. "I thought it didn't end so well for the knight in your stories."
Jackson sighed. "Yeah, well, this just seems like something you have to do." We walked out onto the Landsman campus and braced ourselves against the chill. Jackson wrapped a scarf around his neck.
I popped my collar up and pulled it tighter around me. "I've felt sick for years about not standing up to Barton."
"Yeah, I know. I seem to recall stopping you from lunging at the man more than once," Jackson said into his scarf. "You gotta stop beating yourself up for that. You didn't pursue the story then because you didn't want it to affect Liz. You backed down for your sister's sake."
I ground my teeth. "That's just an excuse. I could have pushed hard enough that he couldn't touch Liz without the whole world knowing, but I backed down. I let him take away my career without a fight."
"So maybe this little detour to Landsman College has turned out to be the right route to getting your career back," Jackson said. He dug out his keys and unlocked his car. "You want a lift?"
"Detour?" The conversation with Clarity came back to me. The thought of driving with her off into the sunset made everything worth it. "Nah, I gotta call Liz and tell her what I'm about to do."
"Good. You know, she's tougher and smarter than you. I bet she'll be glad to get off your dime and prove what she can do," Jackson said. He ducked into his car, then called out the window. "I don't mind waiting to give you a lift. Tell her I say 'hi.'"
"Ford! I'm so glad you called," Liz answered her phone on the second ring.
I could hear laughter and clinking glasses in the background. "Are you at a party? Is this a bad time? No, scratch that, if you're at a party, get outside, we need to talk."
"Whoa, big brother, slow down." Liz laughed. "I'm a bar, but it's a study group." She creaked open a door, and the bar sounds faded. "Alright, I'm outside. Are you alright? What do we need to talk about?"
I took a deep breath. "I'm going after a big story, and it's not going to be pretty. Most likely I'll be jobless by Christmas," I said.
"A big story? This sounds just like what happened at Wire Communications. I swear to god, you were better off in the Army," Liz talked fast when she was excited. "I'm glad you're going for it, though. Enough playing it safe for my sake."
The bubble of anxiety burst out in a chuckle. "So you're fine with me tanking my respectable career for a story? I won't be able to cover your rent anymore."
"For god's sake, For
d, you do know how old I am, right?" Liz snapped. "I've been working two jobs anyway, and I've probably saved as much as your yearly salary. You did it, big brother, you got me on my way. Now let me take care of the rest."
"But I don't want you to work two jobs—"
"Everyone is. It's what the really motivated doctors all did. I'd feel like a cheat if I didn't put in my time too," Liz said.
I grabbed the phone closer. "But, what if this reflects badly on you, Lizzy? I don't want to smudge your record or reputation."
"Please," Liz groaned. "You don't think my skills speak for me? I haven't just been sitting around over here."
"I'm still going to send you money," I snapped. "I still need to know that you have everything you need. Sorry, but it's still just you and me, so that's still the deal."
"You need to find someone, Ford," Liz chided. "But first, spend some of your money on a better sofa. There's no way you're going to romance anyone on that thing."
"I am not taking romantic advice from my younger sister. Though, now that you're all ready to take care of yourself, I might go buy myself a car," I said.
Liz's voice was tinged with curiosity. "A car? You got somewhere you want to be? Or someone you want to take for a ride?"
I groaned. "I'm hanging up now, Liz. Be safe. I love you."
"Love you too, big bro."
I hung up my phone and climbed into Jackson's car. I couldn't sit still. The cold vinyl seat cover creaked, and I shifted. Liz had happily released me, and now I was free to do what I wanted. My first thought was Clarity. I wanted to show Clarity that I could be what she believed in.
"Liz told you to go for it, didn't she?" Jackson asked.
I chuckled. "In no uncertain terms."
"So, where to?" Jackson asked.
"The nearest windmill," I joked.
Jackson grinned and turned his car towards the city. "I know you think I'm just going to drop you off at your apartment, but you're wrong. If you're going to see Barton now, then I'm coming with you."
"What?" I yelped. "Why would I be going to see Barton right now? And, why would I need you to chaperone?"