“I am,” he deadpanned.
“This isn’t an exposé.” I carried on pretending I hadn’t heard him, holding my ground. “It’s...” I rolled my eyes like this was actually costing me to admit it. “It’sPR. It’s fluff. It’s safe. It’s for my Feature Journalism piece. It helps them, and it gives me access to rebuild credibility with the dean because, you know...”
He was chewing the arm of his glasses as he watched me. “So what you’re saying is for your practicum, you don’t actually want to do any journalism. You want to do PR.”
Damn it.
“Obviously, it’s journalism. But it’ssafe, and I think you knowing the full background, and me choosing to do this, no matter what my own prejudices or preconceptions are, will demonstrate my ability to be impartial in my reporting skills.”
“You should be a politician,” he said with a grunt.
“I’m mending bridges,” I said with my best innocent smile. “I just need access to start building them.”
The look he gave me said he knew exactly what I wasn’t saying. Professor Flannigan sighed, put his hands behind his head, and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m going to regret this.”
Hope surged within me. “Is that a yes?” I asked, biting the corner of my lip in anticipation.
“No.” He lowered his head and looked at me across his desk. “It’s a ‘God help us both.’”
He signed the form.
“Professor Flannigan . . .”
“Out.” He pointed to the door, the form in his other hand. “Take it and run before I change my mind.”
I grabbed it and got ready to bolt.
“Hadley!”
Damn it.
“Professor Flannigan?” My hand was already on the door handle, ready to run in case he tried to take it back.
He looked at me over his glasses. “You arenotinvestigating. You arenotsnooping. You arenotpissing anyone off.”
“I think that’s a bit extreme. I mean—”
“Hadley.”
I swallowed. “Yes, sir. I willtrynot to piss anyone off.” I saw his look. “Oh, come on, you know I have a knack for it...”
He didn’t crack a smile. “Listen to me. Idowant to see if you can remain impartial. I do actually think this is a demonstration of your maturity and your reporting skills. But...” His brow furrowed, and I already knew he was regretting his decision. “Mendthe bridge, don’t blow it up. Understand?”
I nodded. “I got it.” I smiled widely at him. “Trust me.”
He groaned. “Leave.”
I went.
I walked across the quad feeling as if everyone was watching me. To be fair, I’d felt like that since last semester, after Coach Sutherland and the dean had lectured me extensively on slander, defamation, and litigation. Professor Flannigan had then proceeded to give me another lecture, only with more curse words. I’d done everything they asked — removed and shut down my blog. They’d left me with no choice but to keep my head down and stay silent.
Exactly how they wanted me.Muzzled.
My assignments were graded by the dean himself. Not my professor. We werebothunder observation; even though it was never said explicitly for Flannigan, it had definitely been implied. I genuinely regretted that Professor Flannigan had been dragged into it. He had vouched for me, talked them into believing I was merely stubborn, fanciful, and full of the righteousness and zest of youth.
And he had the cheek to say that I was the one who should be a politician.
My whole class had to endure a mandatory core subject: litigation and defamation law. That was my fault. I couldn’t even apologize for it, as I wasn’t allowed to talk about it. At all. Ever. The course was interesting, and it had previously been an elective, so all that changed was that we were required to take it instead of opting for it. But still...