1

At the beginning and end of each fall term, teachers at Northwest Community College convened for in-services and prep days before the students came back from break. Serena conducted teacher training sessions on using the new online portal to log student grades and track attendance. Last year, students began taking online exams, which was supposed to free up time for more teacher-student interaction. That’s not always how it went; for the digitally challenged, technology seemed to trip them up on the daily. They were Serena’s job security, she’d joked to friends, but she loved helping people.

Serena held group training sessions in the morning and after lunch made herself available for teachers to get one-on-one help with their online courses. Normally patient, Serena had struggled earlier to go slowly with Dean Francine Ravin, who had gotten mixed up again setting up her digital gradebook. Serena wondered about this. Dean Ravine was clearly intelligent - had to be to go from part-time instructor to dean of academic affairs in the four years Ravin had been at the school. How could she be that bad at using technology? Was it that Ravin had so much going on? Did she not care? It didn’t matter either way; the dean still taught in the writing department so she had to use the online gradebook just like everyone else.

Serena was trying to pay attention to the email on her screen but kept rereading the first paragraph, distracted by a niggling in her mind. Dean Ravin hadn’t been gone ten minutes, and it was their brief encounter that continued to distract Serena. Closing her email app, she spun in her chair to look out the window. As students made their way to and from the parking lot below, Serena replayed her onscreen clicks and saves. Her stomach turned with the growing certainty that Serena had inadvertently deleted the wrong column from Dean Ravin’s gradebook, not the empty column used for demonstration, but the column holding real students’ real midterm exam scores. That would not be good.

Spinning her chair to face her desk, fingers flicked across the keyboard. Through her admin account, Serena could access any instructor’s courses online. Click. Click. Back into Ravin’s section. Pulling up the gradebook maybe she’d been wro- Fuck. There it was - one long, completely empty column - her demo column. Serena had in fact deleted an active exam column full of real student data - important to the students obviously, but grade data was also reported on to support funding requests. She’d been going fast enough that neither she nor Ravin had noticed.

Serena closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the headrest of her chair, and inhaled deeply. Butterflies swirled in her stomach as she thought about Dean Ravin, who was self-effacing by nature, always laughing when admitting that she and technology did not ‘get along’. Serena, on the other hand, was a well-respected technical trainer, trusted after several years in her department. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’ She worked her lip sharply between her teeth.

2

Serena returned the phone receiver to its base. Tears welled in her eyes. She’d just gotten off with central system support. They could only revert the system back to 48 hours ago, but students had taken the exam yesterday, so the archive would not contain their exam scores. Nothing was bringing those scores back.

Her thoughts raced. ‘What should I do? Alert Ravin? Tell her the truth? Can I pin it on her somehow?’ Sheepishly, Serena played it out as a thought exercise. ‘I could suggest that when I was double-checking that I’d removed myself from her course after our session together that’s when I happened to notice that Ravin had deleted the grade column by accident, her mistake. Even Ravin would likely believe it, that she’d deleted the scores; it was the sort of thing that had happened to her fairly frequently. Yeah, and Ravin would be able to work this out; it wouldn’t be the end of the world for her; she’s a teacher and dean. But, wait. Can I actually do this? Pin it on her? No. Maybe just do nothing? Students would notice soon, start contacting Ravin. But, she’d probably just handle it with them, let them retake it or just calculate grades without the exam scores. Ravin might not even contact me, in which case, I just play dumb and carry on.’

Pivoting, Serena chastised herself. ‘Oh, yeah, right. You’re in this mess because you were going too fast and not paying close enough attention. And, you did that because you didn’t feel like helping Ravin - again - with her simple problems. You think you’re better than that, but you gave shoddy support, and that’s on you, Serena.’

‘But,’ thoughts vacillating back again, ‘who needs to know? Can I live with doing nothing? Ugh, this feels so shady.’ Serena made a face, clicked her pen out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Chewing her lower lip, she continued to watch the students mingling and making their way to their cars until the one thought she least wanted to pop to mind did just that.

‘June 20th, Serena. June 20th.’

3

Growing up, Serena’s family could have been described as a typical, middle-class, semi-dysfunctional American family. In the 1960s, her parents began dating in college, marrying the summer after graduation. Her father went on to graduate school; her mother raised Serena and her two siblings. With five years between each sibling, her sister, the first, grew up with markedly different versions of their parents than Serena, the baby. During her sister’s formative years their mother was a stay-at-home mom; their father stayed out too late, too often, and drank too much. Serena was so young she had only vague memories of this time, of tension and resentment, but also of determination and love. When Serena turned ten, her mother returned to school, pursuing a masters degree while also returning to work. Her career peaked as HR director at a large regional bank. Their father eventually sobered up. He got his PhD in political science and spent his career teaching at a state university.

Serena’s sister had been furious when they moved eight-year old Serena into her bedroom so their father could have a study, but Serena had loved her father’s library; laying on the floor working on homework while he worked at his desk, she was sure that life’s secrets were captured, if not revealed, on the shelves filled with technical and scientific books, books on philosophy, religion, anthropology, economics, topics well beyond his work in political science. From an adult’s perspective looking back, Serena felt deep gratitude that her father modeled intellectual curiosity - showed her how to push beyond what she thought she knew.

Serena had thought about June 20th, 1998 so many times, the particular date well-remembered because her birthday was the following day, and that year her party got canceled as a result of the events that took place on on June 20th.

It was hot, humid, and still that morning. Cicadas buzzed, the sound reverberating from every direction at once. Serena and the Gunn sisters, Lisa and Mary, walked from their house, past Serena’s, and crossed out of the neighborhood. Ten minutes later, they stood around the counter in Kim and Hannah Koval’s kitchen, laughing as water and sugar spilled across the formica and they mixed glasses of cold, grape koolaid. It was that or water at the Kovals, where no adults were ever home and the girls could do what they wanted, which was usually to lay around talking about kids from the neighborhood and school.

As they sipped their drinks, sprawled around Hannah’s bedroom, conversation fell to Lorna. Serena didn’t know Lorna well, only that her family had moved into her neighborhood from out of state at the beginning of the year. She was a pretty girl, tan even in the winter, with straight bright teeth. She smiled and laughed a lot. Maybe that was why the Kovals didn’t like her, Serena thought, as the other girls chatted.

Serena’s was a family of talkers, but as the youngest, her siblings had decided she contributed nothing of value, and so talked over Serena incessantly. She grew accustomed to listening more than talking, which didn’t help in middle school social circles, where the price of admission was the same for everyone - you brought something to the table or eventually you were the one getting ridiculed.

Feeling pressure to contribute, Serena sat up slowly and declared, “Yeah, I don’t like her either. She’s a bitch.” Serena and her friends had been test-driving newly learned profanity all summer; Lisa and Mary’s big brother had returned home from active duty, opening a whole world of illicit language to the delighted girls. Serena told them about a recent run-in with Lorna at school that in reality was uneventful, but, with a few artistic liberties, stoked the girls’ attention. Her story built to a crescendo with the girls crying out, “Oh my god!” “She is a bitch!” “She’s the worst!” By the time she’d finished, Serena was pink-cheeked and full of adrenaline. It was Kim who thought of what to do next. “Serena, you should prank her!” Serena was on board, still riding high from telling her story and ready to earn some mean-girl cred.

They looked up Lorna’s family’s home phone number. Serena sat up straight, mentally running through some catch phrases as the phone rang in her ear. The girls all cross-legged and giggling, scooted in closer, ready for fireworks.

It was when Serena politely asked to speak with Lorna that she felt a sinking in her stomach. As she waited, she pictured Lorna - without many friends in a new town at a new school - bounding to the phone. When Lorna picked up and said, “Hi!” Serena would not allow herself to acknowledge the hopeful lilt of Lorna’s voice.

At various points later in her life, Serena would recall the things she said to Lorna. At the age of twelve she hadn’t understood the weight of the words she used, couldn’t appreciate yet the vulgarity of the phrases she strung together, or the cruelty of using specifics about Lorna in her tirade. She’d also never know the impact on Lorna because it was Lorna’s mother who cut Serena off.

“Excuse me, Serena Garrison. This is Lorna’s mother. I have listened to everything you just said. I know your parents, and I’m calling them right now. Goodbye!” Hearing the tremble in Lorna’s mother’s voice, Serena knew it was bad. The thought of her parents learning about this embarrassed and scared Serena. No one used profanity in her home. Her parents would have grounded any of the kids if they’d heard one word.

Serena returned the receiver to the cradle. She remained wide-eyed, silently looking from girl to girl, as they all peppered her with questions and exclamations of shock. “Serena! Where did you learn how to talk like that? What did Lorna say? Why’d you just stop like that?” They looked at her that day in a whole new light. It was what she’d wanted, but instead she felt sickened by the certainty that this was bad, very bad.

Then the phone rang.

The girls looked from one another to the phone and back to one another. Was it Lorna’s mom? The police? Hannah, the oldest of them all, rolled her eyes at the suggestion of police involvement and picked up the receiver. Her eyes grew big, and she held the phone out straight in front of her, toward Serena who was sitting opposite her. “It’s your dad.”

He’d ground only two words from clenched teeth. “Come home.” And, she had. She ran back to her house, certain she was rushing to her own demise. Serena caught her breath in her garage and walked into the house, where she remained for only a minute. She found her father in the laundry room, grabbing a jacket from the hooks along the wall. “Get in the car.”

Her father drove them to Lorna’s house. Neither of them spoke on the way, even as they pulled into the driveway, unbuckled, got out, and stepped to the front porch. Lorna’s mother answered, and everyone made their way into the living room to sit on couches facing each other. Serena remembered it like a fugue dream. No one spoke until her father, glaring at her coldly, said, “Well?” Like dropping a needle on the record player, Serena began apologizing for what she had done, what she said, admitting that she didn’t feel that way about Lorna, and that she’d made a terrible mistake. The words poured out of her. Away from the girls, Serena saw that what she’d done was wrong, and she was sorry. She was also relieved beyond measure to be done with it when they got out of there without lingering. Her father’s silent treatment continued the rest of that summer.

4

At her desk, Serena replayed this memory, some others, too. Her mind seemed to find them, bring them forward like hands pulling back paperclips and rubber bands from the shadows of a kitchen junk drawer.

Unable to concentrate on some emails that had come in, Serena threw in the towel and went to see a colleague who worked a floor down in the library. “Girl, don’t do it! Why would you do that? Ravin will for sure think she did this herself if you just keep quiet. No one is going to know. If you make it a big deal, some people may respond in kind. You know the head of your department, what’s her name? Whatever, she doesn’t like you. If she finds out, what do you think your chances are for assistant director? I get what you want to do, and I admire you for it, Serena. I really do. But, confessing this would be very, very dumb.”

Serena spoke to her mom that evening, told her that she was feeling compelled to tell Dean Ravin the truth. “Honey, there is no point in doing that now. The more time passes, the worse it will be. It’s not going to do you any good. Just let it lie. Hey, why don’t I pick you up, and we’ll return that sweater that didn’t fit? We can talk more then.” What Serena really wanted was to talk to her dad, gone since she was in high school - cancer.

The next morning Serena’s first thoughts were of Dean Ravin, solidifying for her what she would do. Almost fifteen years to the day later, it was June 18th when Serena sought her atonement by requesting ten minutes with Dean Ravin. As the elevator made its way two floors up, Serena inhaled deeply. She exhaled, nervous but certain she would not regret this - no matter the outcome.

“There’s lots of jobs, lots of bosses. I’ve only got one backbone. I’m the only one there when this head hits the pillow every night.” she whispered alone in the elevator. As the doors opened, Serena’s heart continued to race. She could be on the brink of committing professional suicide. ‘Nope - don’t care.’ she thought, refusing to indulge the intrusive doubt. ‘I dooo noooot care’ she sang in her mind. Stepping into the foyer of Academic Affairs, Serena felt as giddy as she felt grounded.

5

A few weeks after speaking with Dean Ravin, Serena called her mom to update her. The dean had been totally cool about the mistake. She said she’d just give students the option to retake, that worse things have happened. She said she’d seen the blank column and had thought it was her mistake. She said she respected the courage it took to admit the error and that she wouldn’t forget their conversation. “And, Serena?” Dean Ravin called as Serena stepped into the hallway, “Good on you for being honest.”

“That was last week. Then,” Serena continued breathlessly, “Ravin reached out to me today. She straight up offered me a position in her department working directly with her. No! I know! She said she very much wanted me on her team, that she respected what I’d done. I’m going to take it! It’s more money and a better title!”

6

As the years passed and Serena raised her own family, two sons also five years apart, she thought often of her father. In the tough moments, when she felt the dread of hard conversations and of holding her boys accountable, the memory of Lorna’s house would often come percolating back. The unexpected and indelible feeling of liberation that followed her comeuppance proved to be a lightning bolt in the formation of her character. Taking a deep breath, Serena would remind herself, ‘Don’t overcomplicate it. Stick to the basics and you won’t steer them wrong: Tell the truth. Own your actions.’