Honor Court

Honor Court

Summer tried to think of the author who wrote a half truth was the worse kind of deception. She re read the quote someone had scribbled in her note book. “Falsehood flies, and truth comes limping after it, so that when men come to be undeceived, it is too late; the jest is over, and the tale hath had its effect: like a man, who hath thought of a good repartee when the discourse is changed, or the company parted; or like a physician, who hath found out an infallible medicine, after the patient is dead,’ Jonathan Swift.

Who was trying to screw with her? And what was too late? Did the person leaving messages in her notebook have anything to do with the witch-hunt? Some of the messages seemed like clues, and it was up to her to figure out what was really happening.

She tried to keep her composure while she waited in the student center for the Honor Court meeting.

Her lawyer furrowed his brow when the Dickerson’s entered the room.

Summer suppressed a giggle when Mr. Dickerson had difficulty opening  the door to the room where the Honor Court would be held. Summer’s mama tried not to laugh and turned away.

“I thought we’d all be in there together,” Summer said.

Her attorney glanced at his watch.

“I’m not sure how things are supposed to work around here, but you should be able to face your accusers. “

After about over an hour of waiting, the Dickerson’s walked out of the room. Sue looked down and Mr.

Dickerson gave Summer’s stepfather a stern look.  Mr. Dickerson had been her stepfather’s stockbroker. It always amazed Summer how everyone in her town was connected in some way, but it made it impossible for one to escape the prison of reputation.

A young man who represented the student government called Summer and her lawyer into the room.

“You’ll do fine,” her mother said. 

Summer sat down at the end of the long table.  She looked up at the portrait of a former chancellor who appeared to be watching her.  The picture was both intriguing and menacing. The current dean sat at the head of the table. He lowered his glasses and tapped on the table.   

The dean read the charges against her. The members of the Honor court consisted of two student representatives  and four professors. They all had folders in front of them. Her attorney slammed his fist on the table.

“You’re violating her right to due process,” her attorney said. “She can’t discuss the case until the hearing.”

The dean bit his lip.

“You can withdrawal for a semester,” the dean said.

“Why should I?” Summer said. She tried to control the fear and anger in her voice. The professors were tight lipped.

“May we review the evidence in the folders?”

The dean shrugged.

“This is a kangaroo court,” the lawyer said. “We have the right to review the evidence.”

The dean looked at one of the female professors. She slid the file towards Summer.   The attorney scanned it and passed it to Summer. Sue Dickerson claimed that in addition to threatening her Summer had submitted satanic poetry to the literary magazine. Dr. Steen wrote that she felt uncomfortable having Summer in her class and the new assistant professor wrote a long letter about receiving hang up calls. Summer looked down and clinched her fists. She felt betrayed by the system that was supposed to be a way towards a better life. She had trusted her professors who had written the letters about her and had lost faith in all of them. Who could she trust? She always respected her professors for their knowledge and intelligence, but none of that seemed to matter in a situation that could affect her entire future.

“There is no evidence that I made any phone calls or submitted satanic poetry. This is all based on hypotheticals,” Summer said.  She took a deep breath.

Her attorney patted her on the back.

“You’re trampling all over her civil rights.”

The dean looked down at the folder in front of him.

“We will vote on whether or not your client may continue to attend her classes.”

Summer and her attorney were asked to leave while the Honor Court voted. 

Summer ran and hugged her mother.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” the attorney said. “But she did well.”

Summer bit her lip to prevent herself from bawling. She could hear Granny’s voice telling her not to cry or show any weakness. You’re a strong Lancaster woman. NO crying for you.

After convening for less than fifty minutes Summer and her attorney were called back into the room.

Summer looked up at Dean Wilde searching for clues in his face.

“After a discussion, the Honor Court has decided to suspend you for a week pending a meeting with the chancellor. You may appeal to him and he will decide whether or not you can continue your studies here.”

Summer’s face turned bright red.   So she would be expelled if the chancellor turned out to be a dick. But there was a chance he might have a modicum of common sense and a sense of equity. The professors were obviously just trying to save their own asses. She wanted to just walk away, but she couldn’t give up.   And maybe the mystery writer was trying to help her in some way. Her instincts told her that the cryptic messages were from a male.

“Well, how did it go?” her mother asked.

“I’ve got to meet with the Chancellor and he will decide my fate.”

The attorney rolled his eyes.

“It was a kangaroo court for sure.”

“Thank you so much for helping,” Summer’s mother said.  The attorney nodded and said he felt like Summer had a good chance of winning her case.

Summer’s family followed the attorney out of the administration building. Summer’s mother invited her to go to Wades, but Summer had no appetite. She’d probably dropped five pounds sense the arrest and she was tiny to begin with. Granny was the only person who managed to get her to eat.

“I want to see Granny,” Summer said.

What would she do without Granny? She contemplated the same cliché questions about truth. Would the truth set her free? What was it anyway? People believed what they wanted to believe. And now she was constantly questioning her own reality. Was she really who she thought she was? When she walked around the fine arts building, sometimes it felt as though she were having a forbidden conversation. Granny could help her figure things out. She suspected Granny knew more about whatever was happening than she let on. 

Summer cranked her Toyota Camry and went to her grandmother’s. Her grandmother lived right around the corner from the University. She rolled down her window and took a deep breath of air. There was a slant change of light and a hint of Autumn in the breeze.  She thought about what Granny always said. Yes, “the truth will out.”