Accused Of Being A Creep

I blink a few times, trying to read what’s written on it, but I can barely make out the words. I lean a little closer, and once I finally do see them, I am horrified. What the hell is this supposed to be? And what was it doing inside my essay?!

Dearest Daniel,

I’m too shy to tell you in person, but I really like you. I would really like to get to know you better, because I feel that we’re meant to be. I know you might be mad at me, but you have to understand me. I had to try, at least.

Yours truly,

Your secret admirer

As I glance at Mr. Rodriguez, I realize he’s basically foaming at the mouth, that’s how mad it is. “Professor, this isn’t mine. I haven’t seen it before,” I try to get myself out of this mess, but judging by the look on his face, I’m failing miserably.

“Oh, really? It just happened to fall out of your paper, then? Do you think I’m stupid?” he wonders, glaring daggers at me. I’m mortified. This isn’t really happening. How do I prove that this note isn’t my doing?

“No! But I really didn’t write this!” I defend myself, but there’s really no way to prove it. The note is written on a computer and printed out. How am I supposed to show him that I’m not the person who wrote it? “Look, you can have that note checked for my fingerprints if you want to, point is, I didn’t even touch it!” I continue.

Mr. Rodriguez keeps glaring at me for a moment, then hisses: “We’ll discuss this after class.” I gulp nervously as he continues to pick up essays, knowing that the whole classroom is staring at me now. I look around in fear, catching a few judgmental and a few disapproving gazes.

Some seem confused, but only one of the faces that I glance at, doesn’t look surprised. I return my gaze towards it, feeling the blood disappear from my head as I recognize it. Cassie. Of course. I should’ve been expecting her to get back at me. For confronting her, when she was flirting with Mr. Rodriguez.

This is actually her note, I just know it! But how do I prove that it was her, who planted it between my things? And most importantly, how do I make anyone believe me enough to go looking for evidence amongst her things?

For the moment, I have to accept that I won’t be getting an answer to my question anytime soon, so I turn back around and face my fate. Whatever it looks like right now.

Mr. Rodriguez refuses to acknowledge my presence for the whole morning. Usually, I’m amongst the students who talk most, whenever we’re supposed to discuss a subject. Today, I’m partially ignored and partially, I’m keeping my thoughts to myself. I don’t want to be scolded again.

The class seems to drag on forever and before I’m able to even prepare myself for what’s about to come, Mr. Rodriguez already says: “Wait here, Miss Hughes.” Ah, great. That sounds a lot like ‘you’re about to get punished for a crime you didn’t commit’. Just awesome.

In the next moment, he gets his phone and calls someone. The conversation is really short, but I must imagine effective. Because it results in the dean himself showing up to the classroom. I’m horrified as I see him striding down the stairs.

“What is this about, Daniel?” he speaks up, making me cringe. Come on, he’s a professor, must I really hear his name get mentioned? Isn’t it enough that I was accused of writing it down? He’s Mr. Rodriguez to me. Period.

“Have a seat, please,” the professor says, pulling one chair in front of the desk and placing another one beside himself. “You too,” he then says, shooting me an eagle-eyed gaze that makes me realize I’m in deep s**t.

I gulp nervously, nodding as I drag my ass down there. The dean seems confused as to why he’s been called here, especially as he glances at me. In his eyes, I’m probably a nobody. Just one of the many students that attend NYU.

Mr. Rodriguez shows him the note, making me freeze. Oh, so he’s not even going to talk? This is going even worse than I imagined it would. “Did you write this?” the dean asks the moment he puts the note away, narrowing his eyes at me.

I shake my head stubbornly. “No, I didn’t. And I’ve been trying to tell Mr. Rodriguez that, but he’s not listening to me,” I speak up, not knowing how I’m able to find the courage to be so openly defiant. But this is my future at stake. I’m well aware of it now.

Because if Mr. Rodriguez called the dean here to clarify this, it can only mean one thing … The professor wants me gone. I’m not sure I’m ready to walk away from college because of something I didn’t do.

“Do you have any proof, Miss …?” the dean trails off, almost making me roll my eyes. Seriously, he couldn’t remember my surname even for two minutes? I straighten up proudly, once again managing to keep my emotions out of this. Mostly.

“Hughes. And no, I don’t. But for all I care, you can have that piece of paper examined by forensics, and you won’t find my fingerprints there. You know why?” I ask, making the dean and the professor both stare at me in expectation. “Because I didn’t write that!”

Mr. Rodriguez seems furious as I say that. However, before he can open his mouth and form a sentence, the dean interrupts him. “Okay, fine. I’m sure you think you’re quite smart. You probably put the note there with gloves, and made sure you didn’t leave a single trace on it, just so you could point this out now, as proof of being innocent.”

I stare at him in complete astonishment. Is this really how they operate with such kind of stuff here? Accuse their students of being criminal masterminds? I clear my throat before I continue defending myself.

I’m not sure where the words are coming from, but I’m glad that I didn’t lose my gift of speech in this moment. “Let’s say for a moment that you’re right about that. Not that you are, but really, how would that make any sense? Why would I make the note fall out of my essay, in front of Mr. Rodriguez, and make sure he sees it, connects it with me? Tell me, if I did that, why wouldn’t I just sign my name on the note? Why write secret admirer?”

“I don’t know, Miss Howard, you tell me that,” the dean responds, making my blood boil. Seriously, for the last time, it’s Hughes! Then, I notice the way he’s staring at me. He’s playing a game with me. He remembers my surname perfectly well. He’s just trying to throw me off guard. I won’t let him do that.

“Hughes,” I still correct him again, but much more calmly then before. “I’ll tell you what. If that note was mine, and if that signature said, ‘secret admirer’, trust me, I’d make sure Mr. Rodriguez here wouldn’t find out that I’m the one behind it. That’s the point of an admirer, being secret,” I conclude.

The dean stares at me with a blank expression on his face, while the professor looks like he’d like to strangle me. Looks like I didn’t convince him that I’m innocent. “The note fell out of your essay, how would you justify that?” he wonders.

I look him straight into his dark, angry eyes, replying simply, but effectively. “I was being framed for sticking up to the one person, who was openly flirting with you multiple times and you didn’t even notice it. Now that’s their payback because I interfered,” I explain.

Mr. Rodriguez stares at me in complete surprise, and I can tell I shocked the dean as well. He raises his eyebrows, clearly unable to believe that I just said that. “And would you care to tell us, who this person is?” the dean finally asks as he pulls himself together.

“Would it get me into trouble, accusing someone for writing that note, if you couldn’t find any proof that they actually did?” I wonder in a very diplomatic way. The dean blinks a couple of times, then gives me a slow nod.

“Yes, of course. If you can’t prove that that person framed you, you’ll get punished even worse than if you just admit that you did this now,” he answers me. That’s enough for me to put a cynical smile on my face, knowing that I’m screwed either way.

“Okay. No thanks, then. I decline,” I respond, taking them both aback. Mr. Rodriguez gets mad again.

“So you admit that it was you! You have no one to blame!” he bursts out, making me send him a cool and collected gaze. I’m not sure how I’m able to come up with one, but I guess I’m becoming Perrie 2.0. The cold-hearted version.

“No, I refuse to admit to something I didn’t do. But since I have no idea if you can find the person behind this, I won’t take any chances. I rather get a milder punishment for something I didn’t do, than be punished severely because the person who’s truly behind this, can get away with it,” I respond, then raise my chin a little higher.

“Next time you talk to a certain student,” I begin, addressing Mr. Rodriguez, “try to open your eyes and see their hidden intentions.” The professor stares at me angrily, clearly thinking that I’m totally playing him.

“Oh, really? How am I supposed to know who to look out for, if you refuse to give me a name?” he wonders in a cynical tone. I try to ignore it and not take it to my heart. This is still one of the professors I have the deepest respect for, even if he’s accusing me of something I didn’t do.

“Keep your eyes open, I guess. I’m not going to bury myself even deeper than I already have, when I didn’t check my essay before handing it over. If I did, I’d confront that person by myself and this conversation wouldn’t be happening,” I tell him. As they both stare at me in wonder, I speak up again. “Is that it? I have a lesson to attend.”