by Frankie Bow
“Give me a break. I’m an English major, remember?”
“How come you’re so late anyways? The good stuff’s all gone.”
Sadly, Emma was right. Only one crumb-strewn platter with a few slices of sticky banana bread remained. At least there was some coffee left, and it was real Kona, not the ten-percent blend.
Linda materialized next to us.
“So glad you could join us, Molly.” This seemed less like a friendly greeting than an assurance that my late arrival did not go unnoticed.
“So where’s the front of the room again, Linda?” Emma asked innocently. “Molly needs to know where she should stand when she gives her long, complicated lectures.”
“Emma, what are you talking about? I don’t—”
“There is no front of the room, Emma. This is a learner-centered layout. The teacher isn’t the Sage on the Stage anymore.”
“Okay, wait a minute now. Is there really no desk or lectern for the professor?” And would it kill Linda to call us professors, instead of teachers?
“You can probably rearrange things if you need,” Emma said. She grabbed the edge of a table and tried to move it, but it was fastened in place. “Oh, wait. No you can’t. Sorry, Molly, guess you don’t get to decide how your classroom is set up.”
This wasn’t funny. In a few weeks, I would actually have to start teaching in this classroom.
“The students are all facing in different directions,” I said to Linda. “I don’t see how—”
“The teacher can walk around among the student groups,” Linda said, “or join a student group at their table. But the focus remains on the students. The teacher is no longer the star of the show.”
“So Molly,” Emma said, “you’re gonna have to walk around the room when you sing ‘Wheels on the Bus.’”
“What about student presentations?” I asked. “Or what if we have a guest speaker?”
“Some teachers ‘get it’ quicker than others. Molly, if you give up your need to control everything, and adapt to this new classroom design, I think you’ll really be able to improve your teaching.”
“Well, I guess everyone wants that to happen,” I said.
“Excuse me.” Linda disappeared into the crowd.
“Guess she has to go suck up to the vice president,” Emma said, and sure enough, Linda had scurried over to Marshall Dixon, who had just arrived.
“It’s not even worth it to get angry.” I gazed sadly around kindergarten-ified classroom. “They’re like Daniel Webster’s Jury of the Damned. Our anger only makes them more powerful. They can use it as evidence of our obstructionism and obsolescence.”
“You know the SRO doesn’t like it when you use those big words,” Emma said.
“I know. We have to meet everyone where they are, even if where they are is a third-grade reading level. Where’s Betty Jackson? I’d love to get her psychologist’s perspective on this.”
“She already came and went,” Emma said. “She had to leave early to go film our new recruiting video. You know how we gotta showcase our ‘diverse’ faculty every chance we get. Cause we got so few of ’em.”
“Why aren’t you in that video, Emma? Doesn’t the same thing happen to you? Native Hawaiian, woman in science? How come you’re not trotted out at every opportunity?”
“I did one legislator visit,” Emma said. “Didn’t work out too good. Our marketing office is so hung up on all this image stuff. ‘Dress professionally.’ ‘Use your indoor voice.’ ‘You can’t use that kind of language with the senator.’ Pfft. Who needs it? Oh look, there’s Bob Wilson.”
The little bald man in the brown plaid shirt turned toward the sound of his name.
“Eh, Bob, good job getting off our search committee.” Emma dealt him an approving shoulder punch. “It’s one way to do it, ah? Apply for the job yourself.”
“Hello Emma. Molly. Do you believe this?” He swept his hand around the classroom. “This is why I’m applying for the Associate Dean of Learning Process Improvement position. We need some sanity around here.”
“I was just chatting with one of your majors,” I said. “Ashleigh Ueda. I guess she’s a product of your new history program?”
“Oh, Ashleigh.” Bob visibly crumpled. “A product? More like a casualty. If all the Student Retention Office did was to print up those silly booklets, I wouldn’t mind them so much. But look at the damage they’re doing to our students.”
Bob produced an issue of Island Confidential.
“Look at this. A complete expose on the student-directed-learning initiative. Just in time for the new school year. I don’t know where the reporter got his information, but he really gets it right.”
“I thought Island Confidential was anonymous,” Emma said. “How do you know it’s a him?”
“Trophies for everyone,” I read. “Interesting headline.”
“And do you know about the off-island degree requirement? It’s been showing up in the want ads. Employers don’t want our graduates now.”
“I have heard about it,” I said. “It’s awful. I hope we can fix it.”
Bob Wilson spotted Linda.
“Excuse me,” he said. He went over to Linda, placed his hand on her arm, and launched into what looked like an impassioned speech. She absently ran her hand over his bald head.
“Hard to believe those two are married,” I said.
“Maybe the conflict spices things up.”
“I’ll never understand people. Hey, Iker just came in.”
“Does he ever not wear a tie? Eh, you guys ever get hold of the Student Retention Office financials?”
“Not yet,” I said. “Iker was worried about annoying Marshall. But at least he finally acknowledged we should keep trying. Come on, let’s go talk to him.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
“I don’t want to talk to Iker Legazpi,” Emma said. “He thinks I killed Kent Lovely.”
“No he doesn’t. He just thinks you’re embezzling from the Biology Department.”
“You go talk to him. I’ll just stand here by myself.”
“She can hang out with me,” said a voice from somewhere over my head.
“Pat. When did you get here?”
“You shoulda come sooner,” Emma said. “All the good food’s gone.”
“Didn’t you get an invitation?” I asked.
“Nah. I was walking by and thought I’d crash the party. What is this place anyway? A daycare center?”
“No. It’s supposed to be a classroom for the College of Commerce.”
“Yeah, this just screams Future Titans of Industry,” Pat snickered. “What’s the thing hanging down from the middle of the ceiling? Some kind of panopticon so they can keep you under full time surveillance?”
“Oh, Linda was telling everyone about it before Molly got here. It’s the multimedia projector.”
“Where is it supposed to project?” I looked around the room again. “There’s no front of the room.”
“There’s a screen on each wall,” Emma said. “It projects in four directions at once.”
“It sounds kinda cool,” Pat said.
“And you’re not getting the remote, ’cause there’s no secure place to keep it. You gotta use the controls right on the thing itself, so you gotta reach up to turn it on. Glad we don’t have it in my classroom. I’d have to stand on a chair.”
“Oh, how interesting. I wonder if Linda would demonstrate it for me.”
“Good work,” Pat said. “You’re finally learning to suck up.”
“Maybe. I’ll go ask her now.”
“Well, sounds like you’ve got business to attend to,” Pat said. “I’ll just—hey, is that banana bread?”
“It’s not very good,” I said.
“That’s okay. I don’t drink, I don’t eat meat, and I’m celibate. So even mediocre banana bread is a pleasure for me.”
Emma and I watched Pat head to the refreshment table.
“Dang,” I said. Emma
placed a sympathetic hand on my shoulder.
“What were we doing now?”
“Linda,” Emma said grimly. “You wanted to ask her about the projector, for some reason.”
“Right. Let’s go.”
Emma and I sidled through the crowd to the other side of the room. We found Linda straightening out a length of brown yarn stretched between two thumbtacks. It was part of a yarn tree on an orange construction paper background. I wondered what possible educational purpose it served. Maybe to illustrate what trees would look like if they were made of yarn? We waited as she pressed the last thumbtack in.
“Emma just told me you demonstrated the projector earlier,” I said. “I’m sorry to bother you, but do you think you could just quickly show me how it works? I’m going to be teaching in this classroom, I should know how to use the technology.”
“Well, Molly, you should have arrived on time. A teacher has to model personal responsibility.”
“Yes, I do realize that. I was on my way down from my office when I had an unexpected visit from a student. Ashleigh Ueda. I believe you know her. She wanted to talk about her Business Planning class, and I didn’t want to brush her off.”
“Oh, Ashleigh. Yes, you made a good choice. The students come first.”
“So would you mind doing a demo for me? Oh, Iker came in after I did. I imagine he could use a review too.”
I walked over to where Iker was talking to Marshall Dixon, next to a bulletin board decorated with construction-paper autumn leaves.
“Iker,” Dixon was saying, “I appreciate your desire to be thorough, but what you’ve already done is quite enough.”
“It is only that I do not like to do a half-cooked job. If I were able to see the records of the Student Retention Office—”
“Hi, sorry to interrupt,” I interrupted, “but Linda’s going to demonstrate the new multidirectional projector again for me. Iker, you might have to teach a class in here. Want to watch with me?”
Iker looked like he was about to decline, but his expression changed when he caught my pleading expression.
“Yes, of course. I will watch.”
Marshall and Iker turned their attention to the center of the room, where Linda was reaching up toward the ceiling-mounted projector. I realized I was holding my breath. Linda nodded toward me and began her demonstration.
The cuff of Linda’s sleeve flopped back on her upstretched arm, revealing a diamond-encrusted watch in a rose-gold finish. Marshall’s eyes widened and she looked quickly down at her own watch.
Linda talked about the Foundation’s farsightedness and generosity as screens on four walls lit up with colorful stock images of fall foliage, brightly painted houses, and what looked like an Italian coastal village.
“We’re all very grateful to the Foundation,” Linda concluded. “They’re the ones who made this possible. Let’s have a round of applause for the Foundation.”
The few people who were paying attention managed a smattering of applause.
“Our friends at the Student Retention Office have really outdone themselves, haven’t they?” Marshall Dixon’s voice had an edge to it. It could have drawn blood. “Iker, I think you may have persuaded me. No harm in being thorough, as you say. I’ll instruct my secretary to message the records to you. Go ahead and tell her what you need, and she’ll make sure you get it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another appointment.”
I watched Marshall shake hands with a few people on her way out. Linda was not one of them.
As Marshall left, Rodge strolled in.
“This classroom makes me feel like I’m back in kindergarten,” Rodge announced to no one in particular. “I like it. Hey, what’s up with Marshall Dixon? She was pulling off her watch like it was on fire.”
“She had another meeting,” I said.
“Any brownies left?” Rodge asked.
“No,” I said. “But there’s banana bread.”
“Ah, sweet!” Rodge sped to the refreshment table, where Emma happened to be standing. Emma immediately excused herself, and came to join Iker and me.
“Doctor Dixon was telling me I could not have the Student Retention Office records.” Iker looked baffled. “But then all of the sudden, she changed her mind.”
“I saw the whole thing,” Emma said. “Molly, how did you know? Did you see Linda wearing the watch before?”
“No. When Linda reached up to fix the projector, it was the first time I’d ever seen her wrist. But two of those watches disappeared from Fujioka’s inventory—Iker, Margaret Adams texted me—so I thought there was a good chance Linda had one of them. Remember, Kent’s last phone call was to Linda’s personal number. And you know Kent. Why settle for just one, when you can have both?”
“So it looks like Linda knew about Marshall, but Marshall didn’t know about Linda.”
“What do you mean Marshall does not know about Linda?” Iker said. “I believe the two are well acquainted.”
Emma leaned over and whispered something in Iker’s ear. His round cheeks flushed pink.
“Iker, how much time will you need to look over the Student Retention Office purchase records?”
“I will make it of the topmost priority,” Iker said. “I see the problems may be more widely spread than I first imagined.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
I was at Tatsuya’s Moderne Beauty, baking under one of the chrome bonnets with a conditioner pack in my hair, reading Island Confidential. It was the issue that Bob Wilson had showed us the other day. I had mixed feelings about the article, “Trophies for Everyone.” Of course it was satisfying to witness the dastardliness of the Student Retention Office exposed for all to see. The anonymous reporter described junior faculty and part-timers bullied into passing students, math and writing requirements removed to speed up degree production, employers island-wide closing their doors to Mahina State graduates with the “off-island degree required” disclaimer in their job announcements.
On the other hand, I was an employee of Mahina State University. Anything that made Mahina State look bad reflected poorly on everyone who worked there. Including me. This wasn’t simply an issue of pride. It was only a matter of time before some legislator tried to score political points by moving to shut us down.
Tatsuya handed me a cup of tea. The teacup was the Japanese style, with no handle, and very hot. I quickly set it down on the arm of the chair.
“Too warm?” he asked.
“A little.” I blew on my seared palms. “Thank you, though. I’ll wait for it to cool down a bit.”
“I meant the pack.” Tatsuya patted his own sleek hair.
“Oh no, my scalp is comfortable. Nice and warm. Tatsuya, did you see this article in Island Confidential? ‘Trophies for Everyone’?”
“Yes, I did.” He seemed embarrassed. “I’m sure there are good reasons for what they’re doing up there. Although using the online ratings to evaluate the professors seems a bit silly.”
“They’re seriously using the online evals? I didn’t think it would really get approved.” I picked up the paper and scanned the article.
“I do have some experience with online ratings myself.” Tatsuya carefully removed the teacup from the chair arm and set it on the magazine stand next to me. “Personally, I would never leave nasty reviews for my competitors. It’s tempting, but it’s not right. Unfortunately, not everyone in our business community feels the same way.”
“Tatsuya, how awful. Your competitors are leaving bad reviews for you?”
“Trudy and I can’t know for sure who it is. But we have our suspicions. Anonymity is for cowards,” he added with surprising force.
“Well, I can see how anonymity could be useful in some instances.”
Maybe it had been cowardly of me not to sign my name when I submitted that complaint to the Foundation. But I didn’t have tenure yet. Until I did, “cowardly” was the watchword.
“I do hope for your sake your university will reconsider their decisi
on,” Tatsuya said. “Honestly, people get so ugly online when they know they’re not accountable for anything they say. Molly, imagine. What if you have students who decide to hold your evaluations hostage in exchange for a passing grade?”
“Oh, that happens already with our in-class evals,”
“But if they go to online reviews, your disgruntled students can get all their friends to gang up on you as well.”
“That’s true.”
“And imagine, when someone searches for you, they’ll find those awful reviews.”
“I didn’t even think about that. I haven’t been looking at my online ratings, but now I’m worried. Maybe I should check to see what they say.”
I reached up to tip the bonnet back so I could retrieve my phone from my bag, but Tatsuya laid a gentle hand on mine.
“Not here, Miss Molly. This is a place of rejuvenation and rest. You can stress yourself out all you want when you’re back in your office.”
“I’m actually going to guitar lesson after this,” I said.
“Well. Even better. Music can be so healing. And I’m sure your young man will be dazzled by your beautiful, smooth hair.”
“It’s really not like that with Jonah.”
“Well, why not?” Tatsuya settled into the bonnet chair beside me. It was a Wednesday morning, and I was the first and so far only customer. “Is it because he’s much younger than you?”
“Jonah’s not that much younger than I am. I just don’t think of him as a romantic interest.”
“He’s a sweet boy,” Tatsuya said. “You could do much worse.”
“Now that no one thinks he’s a murderer anymore.”
“No one really believed that,” Tatsuya shook his head.
“So what are people saying about Emma now?”
“I will tell you what I think. After reading this story? I think there’s something going on at your university, and I’m not sure it’s fair to pin it on Emma Nakamura. Although I do see why she might attract suspicion. She has that quick temper, you see. Here. I think your tea’s cooled down now.”
I walked out of Tatsuya’s with my hair soft and gleaming. (The effect would last for about three minutes in Mahina’s muggy weather.) I had a few extra minutes before my guitar lesson. Not enough time to go all the way home to shower and change, but enough so, if I drove directly, I would arrive at Emma’s house too early.
