Page 16 of Wish I Were Here
“That doesn’t make any sense. I submitted a copy of my official Social Security card.”
“Well, at the end of the day, a Social Security card is just a piece of paper. And I’m not sayingyouwould do this—” She holds out a manicured hand to reassure me, but something about her tone has a false ring to it. “But Social Security cards can be faked.”
Faked?Who does Helen think I am? “Mine wasn’t faked.”
“Well…” Helen crosses her arms. Underneath her class president exterior, I’m getting a hint of mean girl who puts gum in your hair. “That seems like exactly the sort of thing someone would say if it was faked, doesn’t it?”
She has a point.
I grasp for something that makes sense. “But the mathematics department hired me for the position. They have copies of my transcripts and my dissertation. They checked my references. All of that proves I’m a real person.”
“Again, I’m not sayingyouwould do this, but there are also ways to fake that sort of thing.”
I feel the heat rising in my face. It’s one thing to suggest I mixed up my paperwork, and entirely another to imply that I didn’t write my own dissertation. “Who would have written my dissertation, then? There are only a handful of scholars who understand the nuances of my field of study. How would I fake it?”
“Well…” Helen says, drawing out the word like she hates to be the one who has to break it to me. “Unfortunately, the universityhasdiscovered the occasional student who relied on artificial intelligence to… enhance… their papers.”
My breath hitches and my chest squeezes. “I did not use artificial intelligence.” It comes out louder than I intended.
Helen’s eyes widen, and she takes a step back from me. One of her hands slides toward the phone, probably to call security, and the other reaches for her desk drawer like she has some sort of weapon stashed in there. Human resources is probably where all the disgruntled employees end up, so I can’t completely blame her. Except I’m not a disgruntled employee, and I’m not here to complain about my sick time or lack of dental benefits. My entire career is on the line, and this woman is implying that nothing about me is real.
But even through my panic, I can recognize that throwing a tantrum in this woman’s office isnotgoing to get me what I want. My control of this situation is slipping, and I need towrestle it back. I take a deep, cleansing breath, holding my palms up to show I’m harmless. “Look,” I say. “I just want to clear this up. I can assure you that I did write my dissertation, my references are real, and I earned every A on my transcript. How can I prove it to you?”
I remember Luca’s engaging smile earlier, and how, for just a moment, it almost made me forget about the broken elevator. I try one out for myself, curving my lips upward and flashing my pearly whites. I’m pretty sure I look less like my charming doorman and more like I’m having my teeth checked at the dentist, but it does seem to defuse the situation.
Helen slowly draws her hand away from the phone, curling it into a fist. Just in case I make any sudden movements, I guess. “If you really are who you say you are… there will be some sort of record of you.”
“But—where? How do I find a record?” I can hear a little break in my voice at the end. They don’t teach you this sort of thing in calculus class: what to do if your identity disappears into thin air. No perfect grades on my transcript or dissertation can help me now. “You said I didn’t show up in any of the government systems. I don’t even know how that’s possible. I’ve had other jobs before, and they’ve never had a problem finding me.”
Helen sighs deeply, and maybe hovering close to crying is working better for me than a Cheshire cat grin, because her face softens. “It could be some sort of mix-up. A record was moved or deleted. I recommend you take your documents down to the Social Security office and see if they can clear it up for you.”
“Really? Do you think that’s all it is?”
She nods, maybe humoring me, but hope swells in my chest. Helen is no longer looking at me as if I’m some sort of criminal, and like she said, maybe this is all just a misunderstanding. I’ll take a quick trip down to the Social Security office and have this cleared up before the faculty luncheon this afternoon.
Except there’s just one little problem. My gaze swings to Helen. “What about the orientation? Will I have to miss it?” I told Dr. Gupta that I would attend today. What if he asks about it over lunch?
But Helen just shrugs. “I think that’s the least of your problems at the moment.” She brushes off her hands, clearly done with me. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an orientation to get to.” Helen closes her computer and holds out a hand, gesturing for me to leave the room first. Out in the hall, she pulls the door shut firmly.
As quickly as I can, I head out of the building and make a break for the bus. My personal paperwork is at home, so I’ll need to stop there before I can run over and clear this up at the Social Security office.
When I walk into the DeGreco, the first thing I notice is that Luca seems to have cleaned himself up and taken a shower. His thick, dark hair is still wet, waving over his forehead and curling slightly at the nape of his neck. The second thing I notice is that the elevator is still broken.
“Seriously?” I stare up at the dark panel over the elevator door. “Dante didn’t come yet?” I bang on the button, though I’m pretty sure I have no hope of it making the elevator appear.
“You’re home early,” he says, ignoring my question along with my disgruntled expression. “How was your day, dear?”
I don’t have time for this. It’s one thing to descend eight floors in a pair of heels. It’s another entirely to have to climb them. Especially when I’m in a hurry, and my day is falling apart. “What happened to Dante? I thought he was coming to fix the elevator.”
“He was here, he fixed it, he left, and now it’s broken again.” He shakes his head like,What are you gonna do?“It’s Mr. and Mrs. Hartman’s wedding anniversary, so Mrs. Hartman is breaking things all over the building.”
“You’re saying someonebroke the elevator?”
“It’s a long story.” Luca shrugs. “Why the rush anyway?”
“I need to get up to my apartment to get some papers.”
“Did you forget something? Otherwise, that was the fastest orientation in the history of orientations.”
