Page 90 of Molly's Mr. Wrong
But Molly wasn’t ready and she’d been candid about that. She had strong ideas about what she needed in life to achieve that security that was so important to her and he needed to give her time to understand that he was trustworthy and dependable—that he wasn’t like the jerk she’d cut loose after he’d done whatever to her.
“Finn Culver?”
He looked up to see a slightly built man in a neat suit standing in the doorway. “I’m Dean Stewart. Thank you for coming.”
“Not a problem.”
The dean ushered him into his office and closed the door. He waved him to a chair and then, instead of moving behind his desk, took the chair beside him.
“How has your experience been here at Eagle Valley Community College?”
“A little bumpy in the beginning, but it’s gotten better.”
“Glad to hear that.” The dean hesitated for a moment, then said, “Do you know why you’re here?”
He shook his head, having learned a long time ago to give nothing away.
“We’ve been investigating some grading practices here at the school and your grades were some that we took a closer look at.”
“I can understand that.”
“You can?”
“Ms. Adamson was trying to teach me four years of English in one semester. I...wasn’t all that motivated in high school English. Plus, it appears I’m dyslexic.”
“I see.”
“So to help me deal with my problem, Ms. Adamson shortened my assignments, saying it was better to practice something well a few times, rather than to practice it badly a lot of times.”
The dean considered for a moment, then nodded. “Good advice.”
“My brain is not a big fan of organization—not the kind involved in writing, so she helped me with some techniques to help me sort things out. She’s done me a lot of good.”
The dean glanced down at the floor, then back up at Finn. “Your grades are too high.”
“How much too high?”
“You have Cs. You should have high Ds, according to other instructors who have read your work.”
“Yeah. I can see that. But I’m getting better. Before Ms. Adamson knew about my difficulty, she graded my first paper...thoroughly. Once she figured things out about the dyslexia, she came to me, encouraged me not to drop the class and offered extra help.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair as he tried to figure his best tactic. He decided to go with honesty. “She’s a good teacher. She shouldn’t get in trouble because of me. I’m not your usual student. Hell—” he cracked a smile “—I’m barely a student. But I feel more like one now than I did when I first started.”
“I see that your math scores are good.”
“Never had a problem with math. I still don’t.”
“What is your career goal?”
“I’d hoped to...” He couldn’t say it. How could he tell this guy that he couldn’t handle basic English, but he wanted to teach? “Figure that out. Guess I won’t be an English major.”
The dean allowed himself a weak smile. “I guess not. You understand that the majority of your grade comes from the end-of-term project. You can still earn a C, but the daily grades will be reduced.”
“Do what you have to do.”
“We value you as a student, but you understand that we have a reputation to uphold.”
“And students like me don’t help you out much.”
“That wasn’t what I said.”
