Page 1 of The Girl He Loves

Chapter 1

Friday

Today’s the day.Finally. Sure, getting here took me way longer than I initially planned. But I’m here. I sit before my counselor because today I’ll be assigned my student teaching placement. This is the final step in finishing my Bachelor’s Degree in elementary education. Only two classes remain that I’ll complete over the summer, then student teaching in the fall, after which I don a cap and gown and fulfill the dream.

“We've run into a bit of a hiccup,” says Rebecca Jamison, my college counselor, while not making eye contact.

I shift in my seat. “What do you mean a hiccup?”

This moment is huge for me. I'm finally going to finish college. I should have graduated from my first go at college eight years ago, but life, in my case an unexpected pregnancy, derailed me. And yes, I had hoped to finish two years ago when I made a second attempt. But who’s counting? Only me and the X-marks I make on the calendar every day. I’m here now. I’m so close I can taste it. And it’s yummy. That’s why “hiccups” are unwanted.

Jamison, my steadfast administrative cheerleader, acts differently today. Today it seems our roles are reversed. I came into her office relaxed and confident of the next step. Yet she sits across from me worrying one hand by rubbing the tips of her fingers together. Her office, beige walls with worn beige carpet, is decorated with inspirational posters. Mountains calling people to go the distance. Einstein’s profile telling us we are smart. Which is like a joke in comparison. But whatever.

Three and a half ago years ago when I sat in her office, in this same seat with the worn armrest, I’d been the worried one. A single mom with no extra cash to spare, I wasn’t sure I could afford to go back to college. Jamison told me then there would no obstacle we couldn’t overcome. She’d been right, mostly. I’ve had a few setbacks like having to take a semester off for my son’s hospitalization, but that was unavoidable. Or having to lighten my load because my ex-husband wasn’t co-parenting like a good father is supposed to. Never mind his habit of being consistently delinquent with child support.

Jamison taps a piece of paper with her other hand and sucks in a deep breath. As she exhales, she says in a rush of words, “Let me explain, Heather. You see, when people apply to the university to be a teacher, we do a background check. We do this because, in order to work in a school setting or with children, the applicant can't have a criminal record.” She casts me a fleeting glance.

I nod in agreement. I don’t have a criminal record, and what she says makes sense. Would I want someone with a criminal record working with my child? I suppose it would depend on the crime, but as with all humans, my mind leaps to the worst so my gut reaction is no. Nope. Nada.

That’s why what Jamison says makes sense.

I wait for her to continue.

Her gaze stays on something over my shoulder, but I resist the urge to look behind me.

She says, “When you applied, we did that standard background check. Only there seems to have been a slight error.”

I lean forward when she says error. “Go on.”

“At the time you enrolled, an intern was doing the background checks. She goofed and marked yours as passed. Only there’s no documentation to prove it.”

“I submitted fingerprints,” I say. “Do I need to do those again?”

Jamison holds up her hands as she continues to explain. “No, your fingerprints are fine.”

I shake my head in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

She clears her throat. “Once we have fingerprints, we submit them to the FBI in what's called a level two screening. This screening looks for certain misdemeanors or felonies. The FBI will then complete the screening and respond with a printable document that shows a pass or fail. We can only assign student teaching placement to students who have a pass on that document. Your file didn’t have that piece of paper, even though all your other essential documents were present. It's unfortunate this error wasn’t caught when you started, but here we are.” She says the last bit to herself. “We ran yours again and, um, yours came back with an issue.” She drew out the words as if she was afraid to say them.

“An issue?” I repeat. “I don't have a criminal record so I can't imagine what issue there is. My ex-husband is delinquent with his child support payments, but why would that show up as an issue for me? I mean, it is financially. Did Justin file a complaint about the threat I made if he didn’t make those payments sooner rather than later? Nah, any moron listening to our conversation could surmise I’d made the threats out of anger. The day I no longer have to depend on his financial support will be amazing.

I continue, “Perhaps you should run them again because it sounds like an error on their end.” It’s possible the FBI goofed, right?

Jamison glances down at her desk and lifts the edge of a piece of paper. “Were you not arrested for indecent exposure, um, nine years ago?”

The memory hits me, that day coming back in a flash. I groan and roll my eyes. “Well, I was arrested—the cop was new and overzealous—but I wasn't charged. We were sunbathing on the roof of the sorority house.”

“We” being half of my sorority. Thirteen of us were taken to the station, but charges were never filed. “The courts made us pay a citation. They said it was like getting a driving ticket. We paid a small fee. Well, not really small. It was a thousand dollars but once we paid, they sent us on our way with a slap on the wrist.” And for our roof top fun we were rewarded with a sunburn on areas I hope never see the sun again.

Not that I ever told my parents about the slap on the wrist because I was mortified. I mean, who gets in trouble for nude sunbathing on a rooftop? We purposely went up on the rooftop so no one would see us, and yet somebody saw with binoculars from an apartment building a block away, or wherever, and called the police.

Jamison presses her lips together briefly before she says, “That may be, but according to this piece of paper” — she taps the sheet on her desk again — “you were arrested for indecent exposure, which is a misdemeanor in the first degree. The law in Florida states a charge in the first degree, and one that's an indecent exposure, will keep you from working with children.”

This time she looks at me, pity in her eyes.

I bluster, “But—but I wasn't charged.”

She gives me a sad smile. “In Florida, being arrested creates the record. Charged or not.”

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