Finding Valor

by Ripley Proserpina

  “You do seem a little young, but what do I know.” Silence descended between them as he waited for her to fill in the blanks.

  “My boyfriend.” She gestured to the building. “He’s meeting with the dean.”

  “Oh.”

  A group of people walked toward the building. Unsure if they were there for the tour or about to bypass the building completely, she stood.

  “Leaving?” Beau stood as well.

  “I think your tour is arriving.” She pointed out the group heading toward them.

  “You should come.” Sliding his arms through the straps of his backpack, he winked. “Even if your boyfriend is the one who’ll attend, can’t hurt to know the campus. You may end up hanging out here.” As the group came closer, he stepped away from the bench to wait on the top steps.

  She remained where she was. It was safer to stay unseen. Surreptitiously, she watched him check his watch and pull his coat down, fingers fumbling with the zipper. His movements made her study him closer. He chewed his lip, as if nervous.

  When he glanced her way, she quickly tugged her bag onto her lap and pulled out her book. It felt like he’d revealed something he hadn’t meant to, and rather than continue to watch him, she chose to pretend she hadn’t noticed. Maybe it wasn’t the right response, but it was the one she’d want.

  Opening her book, she read bits she’d never remember. When Beau began his welcome, she glanced up. “Welcome to Calvin Coolidge School of Law. I’m Beau Rice.” He paused, and she snuck a peek over at the group.

  Some of the parents exchanged glances, which seemed weird until he continued. “I see some of you recognize my name. Yes. I am that guy. The one who went to jail for a crime I didn’t commit. And here I am, giving you a tour of a law school. But”—clapping his hands together, he gave the impression of ease, but she got the feeling he faked it—“I am also a student here.”

  Now she was openly staring, wishing she could join the tour group. His story, so similar to hers, gave her hope. Here was someone who went to jail, was released, and was successful. If he could do this, then why couldn’t she?

  Making a split second decision, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and shot a quick message to Ryan, letting him know she’d joined the tour and would meet him back at admissions in an hour. Maybe Beau could help her, give her a plan to follow or a schedule; wait this many months before applying for a job or counter people’s refusal to hire with this argument.

  She stuffed her book into the bag, keeping an eye on the group. Beau walked backwards, gesturing toward the green. She couldn’t make out his words, so she hurried down the steps.

  “Decided to join us?” he called out.

  She nodded, noting the way he smiled at her, an upturn of lips which seemed bitter, not friendly. Her quick decision smacked of rubbernecking, of trying to get a look at the guy who did jail time before taking a selfie and posting it on social media.

  He stopped, waiting for her to join the pack, and continued to watch her, his smile forced. Without giving herself too much time to think about it, she moved to the front and stuck out her hand. “Nora Leslie,” she said, and from the whispers behind her, at least one person knew who she was. “Nice to meet you.”

  His eyes widened, and his lips split into a smile. “Nora.” His gaze lingered on hers for a moment before he gathered himself. “Okay. As you know, our illustrious school is named after Calvin Coolidge, one of two U.S. presidents born in Vermont…”

  He had the tour guide thing down. Each visitor got eye contact while he pointed out important buildings and cracked jokes that soon had everyone laughing and at ease.

  Keeping an eye on her phone in case Ryan texted her, she found herself relaxing enough to enjoy the sights.

  Beau took them through the law library. It was full of students, all with their heads down, skimming pages of multiple books or typing furiously at their computers. She could easily see Ryan here.

  Pausing in front of a portrait of the late president and speaking in a low voice, he asked, “How many of you know what a morals clause is?”

  She kept her hand down, though based on its title, she could certainly guess.

  “No one?” His eyes settled on her, though her hand wasn’t raised. “Calvin Coolidge had a certain style that some of us might call uptight, while others might label it conservative. In any case, he believed society and public service depended on moral values, and his endowment stated any student who attended CCSL must exemplify those set of values.” Gesturing to the library door, he walked backward to hold it open so the group could pass by him into the sunlight. “‘Enlightenment,’ Cal said, ‘must be accompanied by moral power.’ If there are any hints you have cheated, stolen, or lied, you will be automatically dismissed from our candidate pool. Doesn’t matter how good your LSATs are or who recommends you, you’re out.”

  One of the students stared at her pointedly, but when she refused to look away his shoes suddenly became fascinating. Beau’s speech confirmed what she feared: Ryan was waitlisted because of his association with her. Why would this place be any different from Brownington College, who fired her from her housekeeping job after the shooting? Innocence aside, she represented something far too horrible to have connected to their institution.

  God, what would it do to Ryan when he learned it was her fault?

  As they exited the building and made their way back to admissions, Beau answered questions the students or their parents had. The tone of the tour was much more serious now, but he maintained his composure. He smiled genuinely, hands in his pockets. Every once in a while, he would flip his head, flicking his bangs out of his face. Nora looked on in amazement. All signs of the self-conscious Beau she’d glimpsed earlier were gone. This was a confident man who knew who he was and made no apologies.

  The admissions building came into view, and the group split, most of them choosing to walk back to their cars while others headed to the bookstore to buy a sweatshirt or bumper sticker.

  When the last person left, Beau sauntered up to her. Drawing his hands out of his pockets, he crossed his arms. “So.”

  She pulled her sleeves over her hands and stared at the ground. “Yeah.”

  “Your boyfriend applied here? For real?”

  She looked up, eyebrows drawing together. “What do you mean?”

  “It seems like quite a coincidence: me leading a tour, you taking it.”

  The wind picked up, whipping her hair into her face. It was getting chillier, and she shivered. “Perhaps. But he did.”

  They stared awkwardly at each other for a moment until she started toward admissions again. His footsteps sounded behind her as he hurried to catch up.

  “Hey,” he called, and she paused. “I’m sorry. It’s just—” He laughed, but not with amusement. “I expect the worst. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Especially not you.” Putting a hand on her shoulder, he turned her to meet his gaze. “You probably know better than anyone what it’s like.”

  She bit her lip. If he was holding out an olive branch, she’d take it. “You’re going to be a lawyer, huh?” She forced herself to smile, and he smiled back.

  “Yup.”

  “I’m lucky,” she said, thoughtfully. The admissions building was ahead of them, and no one was waiting for her. “My boyfriend, he was the intern who came with my lawyer from Legal Aid. I’d be in jail if it wasn’t for him. He knew I was innocent. I don’t know why he believed me, but he did. He’s one of the best people I know.”

  “You are lucky. In my case, no one believed me.”

  “How long were you in jail?” She bit at her nail before a gust of wind made her shove her hands in her pockets.

  “Almost two years. Most of what would have been my junior year and then senior year in high school.”

  “Can I ask you something?” She hazarded a glance at him, and he narrowed his eyes.

  “You sort of already have
.”

  “I’m not trying to be nosy,” she answered quickly. “Only—there’s no one else like me, and it’s not like there’s some kind of how-to guide to deal with this. So everyone thinks you’re a murderer, step one.”

  He chuckled. “Fair enough,” he answered before sighing. “Ask away.”

  “How long did it take—once you were out— for people not to judge you. To do things like get a job or an apartment.”

  He rocked back on his heels, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets and squinting toward the horizon. The sun was lower, and when she glanced down at her phone, it was nearly dinner time. Still, there was no message from Ryan.

  “Too long. It’s not as bad as it was. People don’t immediately recognize me or my name. But it never really ends. Something always comes up when you think you’ve moved on…” His features tensed. Whatever it was he referenced, it’d left him bitter and angry. It frightened her. Their stories aligned so closely; life could easily leave her feeling the same.

  No.

  She wanted hope for the future.

  Working with Dr. Murray was the right choice, despite her and the guys’, reservations. His study would give her the chance to move on with her life and not dwell on what had happened to her.

  Beau caught her staring at him and rubbed his hand down his face. “Sorry. It’s ironic you asked me this now when someone from my past… You know what? Never mind. It was nice to meet you, Nora. Good luck. Really. I hope your experience isn’t like mine.”

  When he made a move to leave, she grabbed his coat. “Beau.”

  He stared pointedly at her hand until she removed it. “Sorry.” Her face flushed. “Do you want my phone number? In case you need to talk? You know, to someone who gets it?”

  “Why?” Canting his head to the side, he regarded her warily.

  Squaring her shoulders, she pushed on. “Because everyone needs a friend, and it might be nice, for you and for me, to have someone who understands what this is like.”

  A small smile teased the edge of his mouth, and he pulled out his phone. “What’s your number?”

  She rattled it off, and her phone vibrated in her pocket.

  “I gotta go,” he said, walking away before pausing. “I mean it, Nora. It really was nice to meet you.”

  She lifted her hand, then hurried back toward the admissions building.

  Three

  Ryan’s Answers

  “A MORALS CLAUSE?” Ryan wasn’t sure he’d heard the dean right, so he repeated it.

  He’d waited nearly an hour to see her. The secretary had assured him it wasn’t a good day, but he’d assured her he didn’t mind waiting, so he’d sat his butt in a chair and waited.

  And waited.

  And eventually, maybe because she’d needed to use the bathroom, the dean had ventured out of her office, and he’d pounced.

  After he’d introduced himself, she’d sighed and gestured toward her office, promising him she’d return in a moment. Thirty more minutes he’d waited before she came back smelling a little like curry and coconut.

  The dean, who turned out to be a middle-aged woman with a friendly smile, nodded. “Do you remember the essay portion of your application?”

  Most of the schools he’d applied to had similar essay questions, so he thought back, trying to remember what CCSL asked.

  “We asked you,” she said helpfully, “to describe the importance of moral conviction and the law.”

  “Yes.” Now he remembered.

  “Your answer was well thought out, very insightful. And then at the end of your essay, we ask you to sign something; do you remember?”

  He wanted to be sick. This was his worst fear realized. His relationship with Nora was the reason behind his status.

  “It was brought to our attention, Mr. Valore, that in high school your testimony was responsible for putting an innocent man in prison.”

  All thoughts of Nora disappeared from his mind. Instead, his best friend’s voice echoed through his head, begging Ryan to believe him.

  His response had followed—cold, distant. Like he was speaking to a stranger. In that long-ago moment, they’d never had sleepovers, never played video games, never had each other’s back.

  What was it he’d told his friend? “She died because of you.”

  His fingers curled into the sides of the chair, gripping it tightly. “Yes. I did.” He took a deep breath. “And it was the reason I wanted to become a lawyer.”

  The dean leaned back in her chair, folding her hands in front of her. “You lied.”

  “I made a mistake,” he answered quickly.

  She sighed. “Go on. I’m willing to listen.”

  But he hesitated. After he’d told Nora his story, he’d hoped never to tell it again. Yet his entire future rested on this meeting. “You are aware the guy who went to prison was in a drunk driving accident?”

  She nodded.

  “I was at the party, and while I’d been drinking, I hadn’t believed I was drunk. My friend left. I thought I saw him drive away. Later on, when we learned about the accident and the police asked me what I’d seen, I told them. But what I saw and what I believed I saw were different.”

  “Ah.” She rubbed her forehead.

  “I sent my best friend to prison. I told the police he was driving, even though he swore he wasn't. He begged me to think harder. To believe him. But I didn't. And when I was asked to testify at his trial, I did. I took the stand, and I swore before God and the judge and my family he drove the car that killed his girlfriend.”

  “I believe I know what happened next.”

  Ryan looked down at his lap, clenching his hands together. “Every day I think about the time he lost. About what I stole from him.” The dean watched him with an expression of sympathy. “I would give anything to take back my mistake. I want to be a lawyer because I want to protect people. I want justice to be served, and I never want another innocent man to go to prison.”

  “Mr. Valore,” she began. “Our school's mission may seem antiquated, but it has a purpose. We want to graduate lawyers who are truly guided by a moral and ethical code.”

  “I understand.” He was not the kind of student they were looking for.

  “Any student who may not meet this standard is immediately suspended or waitlisted while an investigation takes place.”

  The irony of a school requiring their students to hold themselves to a higher standard, suspending—or in his case waitlisting—accused students before asking for evidence, was not lost on him.

  “I've spoken to your professor, Erik Bismarck, and he assures me you would be a boon to our program.”

  Some of his tension left him. Was there hope?

  “He told me about your work with Legal Aid and your support of the accused school shooter, Nora Leslie. You apparently went above and beyond your role as intern. You let her live with you when she was evicted and lost her job?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Valore, we will be taking a closer look at your case, but until then, you remain on the waitlist. CCSL has a student committee who will have the final say on your admission. They put you on the waitlist.”

  “Someone on the committee wanted me to be waitlisted?”

  “Your name was brought to the attention of the committee, but the committee is not one person. It is not an entity out to get you, Mr. Valore. I promise.”

  “Of course not... But so I understand, the student committee has the final say on all incoming students?”

  “No,” she clarified. “The student committee is one part of the admissions process. However, they do have the final say on any student who has been waitlisted or might be expelled.”

  “Dean Williams,” he ventured. “The thing I don't understand is, who would have brought me to the attention of the committee?”

  “Vermont is a small state. It isn't hard to run into someone who knows your story.
I can't go to the grocery store without meeting a cousin of a cousin of a cousin.”

  His mind went a mile-a-minute, trying to think of someone who knew of his past, who believed he was a liar, and who knew of the requirements of CCSL.

  Someone had it out for him; someone wanted him to get what he deserved. Because he did deserve to be waitlisted. What right did he have to move on with his life? No matter who he was now, he’d once stolen someone’s future.

  Four

  Ryan’s Heart

  NORA SHIVERED ON the bench, but she didn’t go inside. She needed a moment to herself, and she needed not to do an internet search of Beau. She was dying to know what he’d been accused of, but it wasn’t important. What was important was he understood what it was like to be judged before he’d even been introduced to a person.

  Pulling her hands into her sleeves and jiggling her knees to stay warm, she resisted checking the time again. Her feet were frozen, but the cool air felt good. It cleared her mind somehow, made everything a little sharper.

  So she left her phone in her pocket.

  The door opened and closed, rattling the old windows behind her. Ryan stared down at his phone and then looked around. When he saw her, he smiled, but it was tight. Her hands clenched as she stood. She wanted to hold him but wasn’t sure if it was what he wanted.

  Forget it.

  Walking over to him, she put her arms around his waist. He laid his cheek on her head, arms holding her close and squeezing tightly. “Went on a tour?”

  She nodded against his jacket and the wool scratched her cheek. “I did. It’s a beautiful place.”

  Finally, she gathered the courage to look at him, afraid she’d see disappointment or, worse, blame in his eyes. She didn’t want her first question to be, was it my fault? His meeting hadn’t been about her feelings.

  “I’m still on the waitlist.”

  She squeezed him tighter, and he squeezed back before grasping her hands and gently setting her away. Pushing his dark curls away from his face, his green eyes studied the campus. “It is pretty, isn’t it?”