Chapter 14
QUINN
JUNE — EIGHT WEEKS TO WIN OVER THE FACULTY
When I left for Tuscany last Friday, I thought I’d come back relaxed and ready to jump into the work of winning over the last three professors.
Instead, there’s a restlessness underneath my skin that makes me feel like my entire body’s buzzing.
Inez spent the drive back to Rome telling us all about her interview, how kind everyone was and how her old mentor took her to get the best panini of her life after the meeting.
Knowing how much she loved the team at Leonardo da Vinci doubles the pressure of the summer.
If I have any hope of keeping her in Boston with us, I need to show her I can get the professors to play just as nicely.
I’m in one of the shared offices grading journals when a rap sounds on the doorframe, and I look up to find Sydney and Dr. Aguilar.
“Are you busy, Quinn?” Sydney asks, and I’m sure the way my eyes widen in surprise looks ridiculous.
I scramble to cover my shock at her seeking me out. “Just getting some grading done, but I could use a break. How can I help you two?”
The women come into the office, Sydney flipping the second chair away from the other desk to face mine as they settle across from me. “I was telling Andrea about our visit to the Borghese.”
Dr. Aguilar smiles at me, a genuine smile that shocks me even more than them asking to speak with me. “Impressive work.”
I struggle to find my words, but finally settle on, “Thank you, Dr. Aguilar.”
She chuckles. “I think you can call me Andrea. We’re all practically living together this summer.”
“Tell that to Dr. Guarino,” I mumble.
Andrea continues. “Sydney told me you were the one who coached her student through what field she wanted to intern in this summer?”
I shrug. “That’s what I do. There’s a lot more you can do with an art history degree than people think, so we talked through some options to figure out which aligned more with what she likes about her major.”
Andrea’s brows raise. “I’ll be honest. I thought your office mostly maintained a list of internship opportunities for students.
” I physically bite my tongue to keep from making a snippy comment about how my job is a lot more involved than that.
“But after hearing what you did for Catherine, I was thinking we could talk about how to collaborate on internships for the English department.”
“Oh,” I say. “Of course. I don’t know if this class will run in Rome next year since… well, you know. But I can start compiling ideas.”
“I meant for back in Boston. Our students are so bright, but they struggle to figure out what they want to do after graduation. I’d like to change that. Maybe some workshops in our junior seminar on different jobs that you can use an English degree for?”
My mouth opens and closes like a fish. I’ve been trying to get partnerships like this set up for eight years.
“Yes!” I say, too enthusiastic, and both women shift back slightly in their seats. “Sorry, yes, I have a lot of ideas. You can do so much with an English degree. What field are most of your students interested in?”
“Publishing is the most common one, but that may be because it’s the most visible option related to English.”
“It can’t hurt to start there. We could also sit down with the alumni office to identify some alums in the field who can share about their experience and maybe help students get a leg up. We’ve done something similar with the architecture department, and it’s been a huge success.”
Andrea hums. “I never thought about working with the alumni office. I always thought of them as the people who bug old students for money.”
My smile is tight. I get why that’s what she thinks—it’s what the faculty see—but we’re so much more than their limited knowledge. “Well, they’re that, too, but there are so many ways the other departments on campus can support the academics if given the chance.”
My voice is bordering on desperate and both Andrea and Sydney know it, but there’s a spark of interest in their eyes.
Andrea nods. “Great, if you wouldn’t mind setting up a meeting when we get home?”
“Of course not. I’d love to,” I say, and Andrea chuckles at my overly enthusiastic response.
“I look forward to it,” she says, going to stand.
“But Andrea,” I say quickly, and she settles back into her seat. “If the initiative separating faculty and staff on campus passes, this project—and a lot of others that would benefit the students—will be a lot harder to figure out. You do recognize that, right?”
She shares a quick look with Sydney before facing me.
“You have my tentative support. My tenure review is in two years, and I can’t risk losing it after working toward it for so long.
If you get all the Rome professors on board, I’m more than happy to support this, but I’ll be honest. Sticking my neck out alone makes me nervous. ”
I nod, slipping my hands underneath the desk so she can’t see the nervous way my fingers twist around each other. “Then let’s get everyone on board.”
Getting Sydney’s respect at the Borghese was a great step, but this is like an Olympic long jump in comparison.
It’s what I always hoped for our campus, taking all these incredible offices and unique skills to best support our students.
I had given up hope that this type of large-scale collaboration was possible.
I log off the computer, too hyped to sit and read student journals.
This is my shot, and I need to celebrate.
I pull my phone out of my bag, ready to text the group chat that Colton labeled Quinn’s Knights in a fit of unexpected whimsy, but when I open my phone, I have a dozen missed calls and a half dozen texts from Inez.
I read them as I started walking toward the door.
Inez
Hey! Can you give me a call?
Did you see my text? Call me
Where are you? I need to talk to you
Quinn, please call me back as soon as you see this
Are you at the school? I’m on my way to you now
I hear voices from around the corner in the living-room-turned-lounge, one so distinctly recognizable I can’t block it out no matter how many years I’ve spent trying. My legs are moving of their own accord as I walk right into my worst nightmare. I numbly glance down at the last text.
I’m so so so sorry. I didn’t want to text you this but I don’t want you blindsided. Your dad’s university is the other one who rented the space. I swear I had no idea. Call me.
I raise my eyes from the phone to find my father in the middle of the room, the professors from my program and his gathered around while he enthralls them with some story or another. Colton’s there in the middle, Dad’s hand clapped on his shoulder.
“Riley,” Andrea says as she sidles up to the group. “You aren’t related to Quinn by any chance, are you?”
Dad chuckles, but it has a hard edge to it. “Ah, yes, the prodigal daughter.”
The prodigal son returns to his father. Dad needs to work on his analogies. The whole room turns to face me when I step through the doorway, everyone riveted to see what will happen after Dad’s dramatic description of me.
He watches me, his eyes calculating. “Quinn.”
“Dr. Riley,” I say back with equal coldness.
“How’s your class going?” He asks with enough of an emphasis on the word to tell everyone around us he meant the word ironically. He chuckles and sends an amused look around the rest of the professors.
“It's amazing,” I say with a hard smirk. “And Andrea and I were just talking about ways to collaborate when we get back to campus.”
Dr. Guarino scowls at Andrea and she gives him a little, half-apologetic shrug.
Dad smiles that viper’s smile. He walks over and slips his arm around my shoulders, the first physical contact we’ve had in a decade, and my skin crawls. “My daughter here was the most brilliant mind in her year for my field, and she gave it all up.”
“I was not the most brilliant mind. That was Colton, and you know it. He’s the one who won the Harrow Fellowship.”
“Yes, the fellowship. One road block, and she gives up everything. You know how this generation is with a bit of adversity.” He says that last part to Dr. Guarino, who chuckles and nods along, and my blood boils.
My father continues as if he’s a Roman senator addressing us all from the floor. “We were so disappointed when she decided not to go the professor route like the rest of the family. My three boys followed in our footsteps, but Quinn here had to be different.”
“I’m literally teaching,” I say through gritted teeth. “Those comments don’t even make sense anymore.”
“Ah, yes, I heard about the real faculty member backing out and them needing you to step in.”
“How did you hear that?” I ask. I sound like a petulant child and I hate it. “Are you checking up on me?”
He rolls his eyes at Dr. Guarino, who gives him a sympathetic shake of his head, before turning back to me. “I’m your father. Of course I check up on you.”
It takes everything in me not to pop off about how I don’t have a father anymore because he decided the letters after my name were more important than a relationship with me.
“It’s unfortunate,” Dr. Guarino says, “that we couldn’t find an actual professor, but the students seem happy enough and at least we didn’t have to cancel the class.”
“I am an actual professor,” I say, vitriol in my tone.
“I designed this course myself based on years of study. I lead the in-class discussions. I grade their papers and host office hours and field their questions. You want experience? I’ll show you eight years working closely with students and employers to make sure internships are valuable learning experiences.
You need research to consider me worthy?
I’ll email you my graduate thesis. Which, by the way, was published in an academic journal.
What I won’t do is let you stand there and diminish the work I’ve done so you can justify passing a rule on campus that hurts everyone but you. ”
The whole room goes quiet. Even Colton’s stunned into silence. Dad’s colleagues watch with wide eyes, enjoying the college drama that doesn’t affect them. Next time, I’ll bring them popcorn.
“This seems like a peaceful work environment,” my father says with a chuckle, like he isn’t the one who riled all of this up to begin with.
“The joys of staff/faculty interactions,” Dr. Guarino replies, giving my father a long-suffering look. “It shouldn’t be such a problem after this summer.”
Colton steps forward, but I stop him with a shake of my head. I’m done hiding behind him and pretending like I’m less than.
I lift my chin. “Dr. Guarino, if you’d like to review my CV or have a genuine discussion about the future of Billings, I’d be happy to address any concerns you have.
But only if the conversation is approached from a place of learning and openness.
” I turn my back on him and my father, facing Sydney and Andrea.
“Thank you for seeking me out earlier. We’re going to do great things for our students together. ”
Not could do. Going to do.
Their stares burn into my back as I turn without another word. I won’t let Dr. Guarino’s negativity or my father’s disdain steal the victory of my conversation with Andrea.
And I won’t lose this fight.
Hours later, Colton leans in my room’s doorway, rapping lightly on the frame. I meet his eyes in the mirror where I’m removing my makeup.
“Scale of one to ten, how shitty was today?” he asks.
“A solid seven,” I say, running the make-up remover under one eye.
He shrugs in the mirror. “A seven’s pretty damn good.”
“Wait, what's a shit show? A one or a ten?”
His lip quirks. “One is the worst, ten is the best.”
“Then my day was as shitty as the way you phrased your question. Solid three.”
“I’m proud of you,” he says, and I can’t help but scoff.
“Proud of what? That I torpedoed my career because I can’t hold my tongue? That I’m going to bring you down with me?”
“Proud that you stood up for yourself. Nothing you said was untrue, even if it takes a while for it to seep into Giancarlo’s brain.”
Giancarlo. Because I’m the only professor he demands use his title. Because in his mind, I’m nowhere near his equal.
Colton pushes off the frame and walks over until he’s directly behind me in the full-length mirror. He’s a head taller than me, leaving me with a view of his sharp features above me. “Put your makeup back on.”
I raise my eyebrows and cross my arms over my chest. “Excuse me?”
He sighs and rubs his hand over his face, like what he’s about to say is physically painful to him, and a second later I understand why.
“We’re going dancing.”