Chapter: Pretentious Prologue, Part 2

The dean of admissions looked up, irked at the sudden interruption in his day, right at lunch time. “What’s all this about an appeal?”

The woman came up and stood by the desk. “I sent my credentials and the problem statement in my email, to which you failed to respond.  Have you read it?”

The dean said, “I glanced at it. I saw you’re with the Project, that’s why the admin let you in.”

The woman reached into her bag and withdrew a folder, handed it to the dean, and then calmly seated herself. She said, “If you had read my credentials, you would know that I’m responsible for performing the psychological reviews of the students admitted as part of Project Ananke.”

The dean flipped open the folder, and scanned it quickly. “I understand you review the test subjects, yes. But this applicant is not the Project-designated subject for his family.  Your Project wonks selected his sister. Naturally”, he added, pausing to gaze at a photosheet from the file which featured selections from the portfolio of rising young model Jules McIrish. “Pity she opted not to enroll.”

The woman said, “The project routinely performs full genetic reviews of all members of the Project families. Applicant Tarik McIrish is a carrier for the Spiffton strain of the Twinbrook-A gene sequence, and thus, of continued interest.”

The dean blinked. “Should you be telling me that?”

The woman said, “No.”

The dean shook his head. “Well, then. As a carrier, his offspring, should some woman be so unfortunate as to have them, may someday be of continued interest. This applicant, not at all.”  

The woman said, “This applicant is also of interest to us because of his relationship to another applicant.”  She laid a second folder on the desk in front of her and tapped the cover.

The dean read the name on the front cover. “Wainwright, of course.” He reached for the folder but the woman shook her head.

“Need to know”, she said.

The dean’s eyes flared briefly but he recovered. “Go on.”

The woman said, “Based on the interview with Jedediah Wainwright, we are concerned that his emotional instability will prevent him from successfully completing the curriculum.  I can tell you that several of us believe he should not be admitted at all, out of concern for his mental health and well-being.”

The dean said, “Not admit Wainwright? But your group is very interested in him, or so we’ve been led to understand. We were told several years ago to set aside a spot for him.”

The woman said, “What I can tell you is that the Project is determined to have Wainwright at any cost. His admission is inevitable. Our job now is to make him successful, to enable him to complete the curriculum and ultimately join the Project. The Project is literally dependent on him.”

The dean said, “Should you be telling me that?”

“No.” The woman pulled a photograph from the folder. “Wainwright and McIrish provide support for each other, you see. Co-dependent, if you will. Wainwright nearly dropped out of high school, several times, but each time he stayed in to help McIrish. We think if McIrish is admitted, Wainwright will continue to feel the same sense of responsibility towards him, which will bolster his own sense of commitment to the program. And McIrish, while he lacks certain social graces…”

“ANY social graces…” interrupted the dean.

The woman smiled faintly, and then continued. “Nonetheless. McIrish is quite protective of Wainwright; he helped him evade the media circus when their unusual family situation became known.”

“Another reason not to admit him”, the dean said. “That scandal made the papers all the way out here, if you can believe it. There was even a rumor one of the students here was impacted.” 

“I was here at the time myself”, said the woman, “and as I recall the story was not high profile, and what little coverage there was quickly died down. Certainly nothing like what happened out in the Valley to these children.”

“Exactly my point”, said the dean. “Leave that type of – well, trash is the word for it, isn’t it – leave that type of trash in Sunset Valley, where the citizens are certainly used to it.  That is not the type of publicity with which our donors wish to be associated.”

“One of your largest donors is Project Ananke”, said the woman. “And the Project is not going to discriminate against children for being innocent victims of a media frenzy they have done nothing to provoke, and everything to avoid.” 

The dean shook his head.  “You’re making too much of this”, he said. “Every child experiences some kind of emotional trauma in high school. Successful children get over it. You’re suggesting – seriously suggesting – that this university ignore its long-held admissions standards, and admit this…this bong-loving miscreant, despite his deplorable grades and utter lack of demonstrated scholastic aptitude, simply because he happens to be some other traumatized soul’s very best buddy. That’s dereliction of academic rigor to the degree one finds at a third-rate diploma mill such as…”, he waved his hand dismissively, “Starlight State, or Lucky Palms Community College. And even they would require this McIrish boy to at least possess a decent jump shot.”

The woman said calmly, “Every child has to deal with struggles, it’s true.  Not every child is an emotionally fragile genius with Project-worthy genetics and a once-in-a-generation IQ.  In fact, only one of your applicants fits that description. The Project believes that the impeccable qualifications of your student body are robust enough to tolerate the inclusion of one additional freshman, however marginal, to accommodate his special needs.”  She folded her hands and looked at him expectantly.

The dean said, “I don’t have any choice, do I”.

The woman said, “You can choose to make it more difficult.” She opened the folder and extracted a new copy of McIrish’s application for admission, which she slid across the desk.

The dean made an irritated noise. “Very well.” He signed the application. “I preferred it when my job was less interesting. Before you Project people showed up.”

The woman retrieved the application. “I can assure you that you will rapidly find it less interesting”, she said, collecting her folders.

The dean said, “I don’t like your tone. I’ll remember our conversation the next time you need a favor.”

The woman said, “You won’t, unless I need you to.” She plucked her cellphone from her purse, shut it off, and replaced it, withdrawing something else.  She rose and continued, “I’ll take my leave now.  Not that you’ll remember, but, next time, please read the email first.  It makes for a more efficient and pleasant conversation if you are familiar with my credentials. I will note that if you had read them”, she added, extending her hand, “you would have known that I am an occasional guest lecturer at Lucky Palms Community College.”

He smiled awkwardly as he took her hand, and then instantly tried to pull away when he felt the initial sting, but was unable to disengage as she maintained a steady grip. “What the-“ he started to say, before his expression became confused.

The woman pulled a bottle of water from her purse and placed it on the desk within his reach.  She reseated herself and said, “And you would also have known that before I was a student here, I was raised in Sunset Valley. Please sit down now, you may be unsteady on your feet for a few moments.” 

The dean sat down, looking around the office in a disoriented fashion.  Eventually he said, “My throat is dry.”  He looked at her, with an odd expression.

The woman said, “Why don’t you have some water.” She watched him closely as he slowly took the bottle, opened it, and drained the contents.

He stared into space for a few moments; then, he placed the bottle back on the desk and looked at her. “Sorry, I was a bit dizzy there, I’m afraid I didn’t see you come in. Aren’t you my noon appointment? Something about an appeal?”

The woman held up the signed application form.  “Actually, Dean, I was stopping in to say thank you”, she said with her first smile of the day. She gathered her folders and then rose to take her leave. “Your recent decision to admit this young man makes an appeal unnecessary. And will change the course of many lives.”

“You’re welcome. Of course”, he said, smiling uncertainly. “We like to think we change lives every day. Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss…?”

“It’s Doctor. Doctor Michelle Jolina. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again”, she said, with another big smile and a wave as she exited the room.