The Wilson Mooney Box Set

by Gretchen de La O

  The letter I got from the Dean was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. It was the one thing that, if you were going to pile shit upon shit, was the last turd to hit the fan.

  “J, I don’t think I can go in there with a straight face and not give away everything that I know. I can’t fake it this time,” I said, trying to keep the fear from resurfacing.

  “Wilson, you can, and you must. I’ll be there with you, I promise. I will not let Dean McCallous or anyone else separate us.” Joanie picked up a brush and started brushing my hair smooth. “You’ve gotta go in there confident and put together. Don’t let them win anything. Now get your phone and call the Dean’s office. You can do it,” Joanie’s words rolled off her tongue like she’d given this type of pep talk a hundred times before.

  I felt my heart thunder in my chest. My ears immediately clogged with the pressure of regret, and the back of my throat felt like the Mohave Desert.

  Holy shit, Wilson, face your fears and call. Stop being a frickin’ baby and take care of your business. After all that I have been through this week, this is really nothing more than a hiccup in the breath of my life. I can do this, I can do this, I can do this. I chanted that mantra in my head as I picked up my phone and read the phone number off the letter.

  It didn’t take long for the phone to start ringing. With every subsequent ring, my heart beat faster and my mind tried to talk me into hanging up. It wasn’t until the fourth ring was abruptly cut short that I realized I was about to seal my fate with the dean of Wesley Academy.

  “Good afternoon, this is Dean McCallous, with whom am I speaking?” Her voice was cold and calculated. I just held my cell phone to my mouth and continued to breathe. It was awkwardly silent until Joanie kicked me in the leg.

  “Ouch,” I growled as I pulled the phone away from my face.

  “Talk,” Joanie whispered demandingly.

  I gave her a dirty, scrunched-up face before I cleared my throat.

  “Hello? Who is this?” Dean McCallous broke the noisy silence I tried to create.

  “Umm, hi, Dean McCallous, ahhh, you left me a letter? Oh, this is Wilson…Wilson Mooney. In room—”

  “Oh yes, Wilson, don’t be silly I know what room you’re in,” she interrupted me.

  “Well, umm, I just got, I mean, I just received the letter you wrote to me about meeting you in your office, today?” I felt like I was tripping over my thoughts and struggling to find educated words to make me sound like my three and three quarter years at Wesley weren’t just a huge waste of money and time.

  “Miss Mooney. Why, yes, we need to meet today. We have some serious business to discuss. And I think the quicker we rectify this situation, the better for all parties involved. I am on my way out to lunch. Be in my office at 12:45; I should be back from lunch by then. And for your information, it will just be me. The head mistress along with the active executive board feel this would be better handled without a room full of people.” She didn’t wait for me to respond; she just hung up her end of the line and assumed I would show up at her office at a quarter to one.

  It was 12:43 when Joanie pulled me by my hair out the door to meet with Dean McCallous. She looped her arm through mine and basically pulled me the whole way there. Okay, so maybe all the way there was less than 200 steps in any direction. Nevertheless, it was 12:45. Time to face the wrath of judgment coming from the dragon herself.

  I grabbed the door handle to the main entry to the administrative building. My hands were damp and I could feel how the chill of the outside clung to the knob. I pulled, hoping the muscles in my arms wouldn’t betray me and slam the door against my body as I tried to slip inside. Fortunately Joanie was behind me, strong as ever. She caught the edge and pulled it open for me. I didn’t remember the door being that heavy. My insides felt like Jell-O, and no amount of tightening my stomach muscles or wrapping my arms around my gut made the feelings go away. It was 59 degrees outside, which made it feel like 105 inside as J and I shuffled our way into the main office. I was freezing with chills rippling through my body. I felt everything in my stomach churn, and my mouth water. God…please don’t throw up, I chanted in my head.

  I stopped just inside the front door of the building. I couldn’t make my legs move. The room that always seemed comfortable and safe became cold and scary. Joanie pushed against me from behind as she leaned in and whispered something about having my back and to move my ass out of people’s way. Finally, once she pushed me forward and knocked me off balance, I shuffled toward the front desk. In my three and three quarter years at Wesley, I’ve never been so uncomfortable in that building.

  The subtle gray carpet with small, dark blue diamonds, plush under my feet, gave way as I trundled across to an oversized warm oak desk. On the pale, almond-colored wall behind the beautiful middle aged woman who sat at the desk were plastered accolades of how wonderful Wesley was to the academic world. Multiple diplomas from Harvard, Stanford, and Yale, joined by certificates of recognition from senators, diplomats, and governmental officials hung prominently in the traditional eye-catching Z format.

  My eyes scanned across the woman’s desk, as if I needed to find something to make me feel comfortable, or give me a reason to approach her. There was a white orchid standing erect, held up by a bamboo pole, next to a wire basket stacked full with papers that needed her attention. To the right of her, a big desk phone that had several lines blinking and more buttons than she needed, or so I assumed. A small, plain white coffee cup with a gold rim stood thick yet comfortably on a circular pad plugged into the wall behind her. I didn’t notice a pencil holder, yet she had a couple of pens resting diagonally across a note pad with Wesley’s letterhead centered at the top. She had some scribbled notes on it, illegible to me, but most likely perfectly clear to her. Finally, I saw a rectangular black plaque with white block lettering sitting noticeably on the right front corner of her desk, informing me of how to address her—Deborah Mae Schoonover.

  She had strawberry blonde wavy hair courtesy of L’Oreal. Her face, overly populated with red freckles, made her thin lips redder than any other part of her skin. Her delicately rounded light blue eyes greeted me with a calm attentiveness that allowed me to relax in her presence. Impeccably dressed, as all staff was required to be at Wesley, she wore a light blue button-up blouse with a navy blue cardigan.

  “Well, hi there, Wilson, Joanie. Nice to see you girls back from winter break,” she said, greeting us in a comfortable tone.

  “Hi, Ms. Schoonover,” I answered back, still trying to calm the storm swirling in my stomach.

  “Glad to be back, Ms. Schoonover,” Joanie said out of pure necessity to acknowledge that an adult addressed her.

  “Well, tell me, what brings you ladies here this afternoon?” she asked inquisitively.

  Didn’t she know? She had to have known that the dean wanted to see me. I assumed everyone in the administrative offices knew why I was here. I looked around the room, ready for everyone to be staring, waiting for me to say the humiliating words that lingered so purposefully on my lips; but nobody seemed to have given us a second look.

  “Umm, well, I have an appointment at 12:45 with Dean McCallous,” I rambled in a hushed whisper. Leaning closer to her so nobody who walked by could hear that I had to meet with the dean of Wesley. Because let’s face it, history had proven with Dean McCallous, the only time she wanted to sit across the desk from a student was if she absolutely had to.

  Leaning closer to me and mirroring my hushed whisper, Ms. Schoonover replied, “Well, then, I will let Dean McCallous know you are here. In the meantime, why don’t you ladies make your way on over toward her office. There are a couple of chairs just outside her door.” She pointed to the administrative offices to her right.

  “Thank you,” Joanie answered for both of us.

  “You are more than welcome,” she sang back as Joanie prompted me to follow her. I heard Ms. Schoonover from behind as she answered a call. Good afternoon, thank you
for calling Wesley…

  Her voice trailed off as we made our way to the dean’s office. Right in front of us was a modern, long black lacquered counter, partitioned into three different stations for students who needed to get career advice, discuss financial payments, or ask general questions about Wesley. To the right of the counter and down at the end of the hall was the dean’s office. On the left side of the hall hung Dean McCallous’s doctorate of education in a colossal, ornate gold leaf frame. Across on the right were four oversized, high-back, hand-carved mahogany chairs. Dean McCallous’s office had the most intimidating, gigantic door I’d ever seen. The thing had to have been eight feet high. Tall, thin windows on either side with dark venetian blinds lay open just enough for me to recognize her shadow as she moved and sat behind an enormous desk. Joanie and I decided to sit in the chairs farthest from her door. As I sat there I began to tap the outsides of my ankles nervously against the thick wooden legs of the chair, something I found soothing in moments when I didn’t know what to do.

  Most people who sat in these chairs were being called in for discipline issues; people who were here at Wesley one day and then gone the next. Was I going to join the ones whose history would be one of humiliation and disgrace? God, I hope not.

  I heard the huge, dark door open slowly with a creak. Dean McCallous was speaking in a stern voice. It sounded like she was reprimanding someone on one level and thanking them on another.

  “I can’t discuss with you what actions the board has decided to take. It is a private matter. Now if you’ll excuse me, my scheduled appointment is waiting,” Dean McCallous said firmly and impatiently. I didn’t expect to recognize the next voice that echoed through the hall.

  “Dean McCallous, I will trust you and the board will handle this situation swiftly. As we all know, my father holds a very powerful position on the board of directors.” The high-pitched, syrupy snarkiness was beyond distinguishable. As if nails on a chalkboard weren’t enough, I knew that voice…it was Cindy’s. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. It was like someone balled up their fist and socked me as hard as they could in my gut, knocking the wind out of me.

  Cindy stepped out from behind the dark mahogany door. Her hair was pulled back in a studious bun, and she was dressed in conservative neutral browns and blues, with her shirt buttoned up to her chin and long tailored pants down to her ankles.

  “And Miss Browler, next time you will make an appointment to meet with me,” Dean McCallous barked.

  I stood up, my mouth agape, my heart clogging my throat, my head swimming somewhere between shock and utter fear. Cindy turned to me, her eyes narrowed, her lips pulled across her face in contempt. She huffed as she brushed past Joanie and me. I just stood there, breathless and defeated.

  “Miss Mooney, come in,” Dean McCallous stated with the same succinct tone she’d just used with Cindy.

  I couldn’t make my vocal chords vibrate any sound. I just stared at the door. I avoided making eye contact as she slipped her hands down the front of her business suit and turned toward her desk, leaving the door ajar as she waited for me to walk into her office.

  I looked over at Joanie. Her face was as white as I could imagine mine must have been. We both heard the words Cindy had used as she left; words that would scrape, bruise, and leave marks on even the most moral of people.

  “J,” I sighed as I held out my hand to her.

  “Don’t worry, I’m right behind you. You’re not alone,” she whispered as she grabbed my hand and pushed me toward Dean McCallous’s huge door…the same door that separated us from the dragon’s lair.

  I cautiously ambled into Dean McCollous’s office, Joanie following and squeezing my hand behind me, and looked toward the dean behind her desk. Her actions were very methodical and precise as she shuffled papers from one pile to the other. I stood frozen in front of her thinking that maybe if I didn’t move she wouldn’t see how deathly terrified I was. Like if I kept my distance, the flames that shot from her nostrils and mouth wouldn’t sear my skin.

  When she finally looked up from her desk and noticed Joanie was next to me, her eyes narrowed.

  “Miss Emerson, I am sorry but this is a private meeting between Miss Mooney and me. Shut the door behind you,” the dean stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Dean McCallous continued to rearrange papers before she sat in her executive rolling chair and pulled herself up to her desk. As Joanie and I looked at one another, our eyes held a private conversation only we could understand. I didn’t want J to leave, and she read my expression perfectly. Joanie didn’t move. The dean looked up, clearly missing the sound of a door closing.

  “Joanie,” the dean huffed.

  “Wilson wants me here. Dean McCallous, I’m the only family she has,” Joanie said, trying to argue for representation. A moment of control hung between the three of us; thick enough to drown any hope I had of J staying. The dean tapped her hands across the papers on her desk before clearing her voice.

  “Well, then, take a seat, Miss Emerson. The first thing I want to make very clear with you girls: here at Wesley we have a reputation we must uphold. Other institutions look to us for leadership and guidance. We have zero tolerance for malevolence, slander, or inappropriate behavior from anyone associated with our academy.” Dean McCallous’s eyes bounced between Joanie and me, never losing the intensity in their stare. “Not to mention the legal repercussions that you and Ma— er, Mr. Goldstein could potentially cause for Wesley due to this unfortunate state of affairs. With that being said, it is my responsibility to keep our integrity and not deviate from what Wesley has established within the moral codes of conduct it expects of its students and staff. Miss Mooney, I have looked over your transcripts. It appears you have earned enough credits to graduate—immediately. With the circumstances as they are, you will not be coming back to Wesley once school commences in January. Unfortunately, you will also lose the distinction of graduating with honors. You should know, Miss Mooney, it took a lot of convincing on my part, to influence the board to agree to waive their denial of any reimbursements for your education. Are you clear on the actions the board has taken?” she asked as she leaned back in her chair and waited for me to say something.

  I didn’t even know where to begin. Part of me was heartbroken to be pushed out of the place I’d known as home for the last three plus years of my life, and the other part of me was completely relieved to have every secret I’d been harboring out in the open. My throat dry, my eyes watering, I tried to swallow and respond to her explanation of the disciplinary action Wesley had decided to take. Her words were lofty yet understandable. I asked the only thing that wasn’t addressed.

  “Will there be any legal action taken against Ma—”

  “It is my understanding that Mr. Goldstein has resigned from his position due to the passing of his father.”

  “How soon does Wilson have to leave the dorms?” Joanie asked, filling the silence that crowded the room.

  Dean McCallous took a long, deep breath, most likely trying to erase the distaste she had at this unpalatable situation.

  “Protocol for someone who has been asked to vacate the premises is 24 hours. However, the board is recognizing you as an emancipated adult who has requested to graduate early. Miss Mooney, you will have until January 7th to vacate your dormitory. Do you see a problem with that?”

  “No,” I answered quickly.

  “Well, then, if we are clear about the circumstances of your early graduation, and if you have no more questions, the board is requesting that you sign this confidentiality agreement…Miss Emerson, I will have you sign as well.”

  “Well, I do have one more question. If I have to sign a confidentiality agreement and so does Joanie, can I assume that everyone involved or who knows about the situation will be signing one as well? Including Cindy Browler?” I asked these questions in rapid succession. I’ll be damned if I have to sign one of these papers gagging me on what I can and can’t say while Cindy has every right to d
isparage Max and my relationship to anyone she damn well pleases.

  “Miss Mooney, all parties who wish to remain associated with Wesley Academy will be required to sign a confidentiality agreement, whether they were intimately involved or not,” Dean McCallous said. She pushed out her chair, stood up, and slid two contracts across her desk before she held out a pen to me. I looked at the paper, skimming the words binding me to never speak of why I truly graduated from Wesley early, and scribbled my signature at the bottom of the page. I handed the pen to Joanie and listened to it scratch across the page.

  That moment marked the death of my childhood and the birth of my new life as an adult with Max. I couldn’t wait to get out of the dean’s office, I just wanted to call Max and tell him it looked like everything was going to be okay.

  The dean turned to Joanie then. Her face was stoic and serious, but it softened a little when she looked into her eyes. “Classes resume January 10th. Would you like me to relocate you to a new dormitory for the remainder of your senior year?”

  Joanie looked over at me, her eyes filled with tears, before she gave me a shaky smile. I nodded, knowing our lives had changed more than either of us could have expected.

  “Yes, please,” she answered.

  Dean McCallous nodded to both of us before walking out from behind the enormous desk that separated our lives from hers. She made her way to the massive door, pulled it open, and with the lowest of vocal intention, she whispered…“Done.”

  “Wilson, congratulations, you are officially graduated from Wesley Academy for Girls. I truly hope you will further your education, and if there is anything I can do for you please don’t hesitate to ask. I am sorry to see you go, but wish you much luck in the future.” Dean McCallous held out her hand, we shook, and that was it. My career at Wesley Academy for Girls was over.