Page 78 of American Love Story

Had to give it to him, he could spin.

I dipped my head in a nod as my skin tightened from the mention of the stop. “Yes, Sunday night.”

He sighed and shifted in his chair, awkward as fuck.

“First of all, I just want to say we’re glad that you’re all right.” He cleared his throat. “I’d also like to reiterate that the department hired you for your innovative research.Andthatyour interesting perspective on social justice and activism was also a factor.” I could tell, the fact that I was looking straight at him was making him uncomfortable, but I did not care. He wanted to shut me up, he could look me in the eye when he told me.

“And.” He paused there and I wondered just how bad the next part would be, but when he looked at me again, his eyes were friendly. “I can’t speak for the school on this, but I can tell you that personally, I think what you’re doing is great. We need to speak out about what is happening in our community. I will do what I can to support your efforts in town.”

I felt like I’d fallen through a hole and ended up in the upside down. I was sure I had not heard him right. “I’m sorry. Could you say that again?” I asked, genuinely baffled. So much so, I resisted the urge to cup my ear the next time he opened his mouth.

“I said that I think what you’ve been doing is something our community needs and I will gladly support you in any way I can. Mind you, this is just me, not the department.” This time, I was the one having trouble maintaining eye contact. “It’s not easy taking these things on and I know the pressure you’re under to get tenure. I just wanted to tell you, I see your work and howit goes beyond just publications. You’re doing what’s right. I see and respect that. A lot of us here do.”

This conversation was literally going in the complete opposite direction I expected. I came in to be dressed down and warned, not to be offered support.

I had no game plan for this.

“Umm, thank you, sir. I appreciate it,” I said, feeling foolish for doing what I always accused people of doing to me—making assumptions without reason. Which only made me think of Easton. I’d accused him so harshly of being a hypocrite and here I was being confronted by my own hypocrisy. “I’m trying to balance what I say and do—I know that I’m a brand-new hire, so I don’t want to make any enemies—but I can’t not bring attention to this.”

The chair nodded again and leaned in so that his head was only a few feet from mine. “It’s a national issue and one that affects our students of color every day, especially our young men.” He extended a hand at me. “And our faculty even. We are part of this community and we can’t look the other way on this.”

I nodded again, not sure how to act. I was so sure I was going to be disappointed, I had no clue what else to say. “Okay, thank you again, sir. I?—”

I opened my mouth to say some generic, cordial thing and walk out of the office, but instead decided to say what I was thinking. “I walked in here expecting to be told to shut down my Twitter account or else.” I shook my head, needing to get all of this out. “I’m not used to getting this kind of support. I’m not even sure what to say.”

He waved me off with a kind smile and for the first time, I was really seeing him. “We hired you because you were the best candidate we had on this search, Patrice, but also because you were walking the walk. I am tired of hiring faculty that have no interest of ever being in the world they’re trying to figureout.” He paused then and I could tell he was debating whether to say more. “The reason I initially asked you to meet me was because another faculty member seems determined to paint your activism in a negative light.”

Brad.

He pursed his mouth as if he found whatever he was remembering distasteful. “What good are we if we don’t figure out how to use the knowledge we have to challenge ourselves and our communities? Good research is not enough; we have to be good citizens, too.” The fire in his eyes reminded me of my advisor at Columbia, and I wondered how I hadn’t noticed I had an ally in this place all along.

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” I said sincerely.

I looked at his office and saw photos of him and students at different events. Every single one, some old and some more recent, showed him surrounded by diverse groups of kids. His arms usually around a couple of them. His office wasn’t full of fancy leather and wood furniture. It was cluttered and a little dusty. It was a workspace.

I stood up, feeling humbled. It wasn’t like every person in the department was going to be like Dr. Simons, or even close, but he and I were here and that mattered.

I extended my hand to him and he gripped it, with that small smile still on his lips. “Just let me know how I can help.”

“Will do,” I said sincerely. “For now I’ve been helping to plan another peaceful protest that will go from the clock tower down to the commons. I’d appreciate the school not shutting it down.”

“We would never shut down a peaceful protest. The right to gather peacefully by students has a long tradition here.” He pointed at his monitor and looked up at me again. “I’ll make sure to say something about it in my own Twitter account and let other faculty know if they want to end class early or let thestudents who want to participate leave class, that they have my blessing.”

“You’re on Twitter?” I asked before I could help myself, at which he responded with a hearty laugh. “I have three grandchildren in college. I’ve been on Twitter for years. I’ve been following and admiring you for a while now.”

Well, I’d be damned.

I walked out of Dr. Simons’ office and headed to mine with my head swimming, but one thing kept coming up to the surface.

Easton.

The more I thought about that night, the bigger the hole in my stomach got. Because I knew that, just like with Dr. Simons, my own assumptions and my own fear of not being seen, made me put up walls. It helped me protect myself from getting hurt, but I’d also been keeping those who could lift me up, out as well.

Ineededto talk to Easton, but first I had to make sure I hadn’t fucked up things beyond repair. I walked into my office, closing the door behind me, and before I could talk myself out of it, I called Priscilla. I considered Camilo, but he would just curse me out, and I needed someone who could keep a cool head and give me some clue on how Easton was doing.

She picked up after one ring, and before I could say a word, she let me have it. “I’m driving in to work and have ten minutes. I hope you called ready to be read for filth, because I got no time to play with any of you fuckboys today.”

I sighed but didn’t even consider protesting. “How’s Easton doing?”