Learning Curves - By Elyse Mady Page 0,70
on. Dean Rose, Professor Armstrong and many chairs from across the humanities department were there, as well as other professors she’d worked under and studied with. Even, she was touched to note, a few of her undergraduate students, looking ill-at-ease and out of place in the company of such university heavyweights. And in the third row, next to the dramatic bank of floor-to-ceiling windows, sat her parents.
Her mother gestured with the tips of her fingers, mouthing broadly “Smile.” Leanne wasn’t sure just what her mother expected her to do—burst into a warbling rendition of “Tomorrow” or sashay past the judges in heels and a bathing suit?—but it touched her that Mom and Dad had made the effort to come out and support her today, on the biggest day of her academic career yet.
“We will begin,” the judge continued, “with the judges’ questions, which will be based in large part on the written responses on her academic field of interest that Ms. Galloway provided. After that, we will open the floor to the audience and individuals will be able to submit their questions for the candidate to the proctor, who will collect and read them randomly. And then finally, the candidate will be asked to provide her prepared closing remarks. Ms. Galloway, are you ready to proceed?”
The proceedings were being called to order. Gillian was gone. There was nothing she could do to disrupt the interview process now. She’d obviously thought her mere presence would throw Leanne off her game. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not today. Not ever.
“Yes, I’m at the panel’s disposal.”
It was showtime and she was ready to give the performance of her life.
By three o’clock, Leanne was feeling confident. She’d sailed through the first half of the interview, certain she’d answered the judges’ questions to the best of her considerable abilities.
It seemed as if her painful confrontations, first with Brandon and then with Gillian, had actually served an unexpected purpose. Far from unsettling her or leaving her emotionally vulnerable, they had served instead as a crucible of sorts, reducing her focus to the purest instinctual elements and removing the extraneous matter—emotions, doubt and regret—from the mix. She’d answered each question thoughtfully, her certainty and determination building as each response saw the judges jotting down their comments and nodding in agreement to the points she made. She was in her element and she knew her answers were winning over the Walters selection committee, impressing them with her academic prowess and intellectual commitment.
Smothering a premature smile, Leanne took another small sip of water and prepared for the second half of the evaluation—the public question-and-answer period. Audience members submitted their questions about her presentation and her research on slips of paper, handing them to the front, where they were read aloud by the committee members.
The first question was an easy one, word for word a topic she’d rehearsed with Cassandra during their intensive practice sessions. With a quick flash of gratitude to her best friend, she responded. Other questions followed, and Leanne found herself sketching out details of her research in clear, comprehensible English for the listening audience.
Thirty-five minutes later, there were only two slips left on the judges’ table. Unrolling the second to last slip, the lead committee member read it. A look of consternation passed over his face.
A murmur rose in the gallery as the delay stretched on. The selection committee conferred behind their hands. Uncertain what the problem might be, Leanne felt tension curdle her stomach. Reminding herself to breathe deeply, she could do nothing but wait until the panel read the next question. Finally, after an agonizing wait, they settled back in their seats, their faces studiously blank in the face of Leanne’s concerned scrutiny.
The judge cleared his throat and held the white slip aloft. “Ms. Galloway, the committee has just now received a very serious accusation against you about a matter that did not come to light during the application process. I would like to give you a chance to respond to the charges leveled by this audience member. However, given the nature of the charges, we would be willing to offer you the opportunity to respond in a private session. Is that how you wish to proceed?”
Privately? Leanne’s mind whirled. What on earth could they be talking about? There was nothing in her academic life that would warrant this level of concern. She certainly wasn’t going to slink away and give the impression that she’d done anything wrong. She hadn’t.
“Dr. Bernier,” she said,