"So you want to go back to teaching here at Landsman?" Clarity asked.
I grabbed both her hands. "No. Absolutely not. It wasn't the right fit for me in the first place, but I am not going back to a job that puts obstacles between you and me."
"You should talk to the president of the college," Clarity's father added as he zipped up his winter coat.
"It doesn't matter if I declare our relationship or not," I said. "I want to do more, do something myself, instead of teach others about it."
Patrick chuckled. "A man of action. How did I know my Clarity would choose a man of action? Stop, for just a moment, and listen. You should talk to the president of the college."
"Dad, he just said he's done with academia," Clarity reiterated.
"I don't think of the students as a dusty old discipline," Patrick said. "I've been consulting with the student protestors, and advising them on how to approach and change administrations. Along the way, I may have put it in their heads that it is important to have an outlet for their message."
"Especially after the student newspaper's right to free speech was compromised when they took down our article," Clarity added.
"So, we put it in the president's head that Landsman College would benefit from a mirror publication. One intended to be an off-campus, independent newspaper wi
th the sole mission of holding the college accountable," Patrick finished with a big smile. "What do you think about that, Mr. Bauer? Sound too academic for you?"
I rubbed my neck. "It sounds like a great public relations move on the part of the college president. He can appease a lot of students by allowing dissenting views to be heard in a public fashion."
"No," Clarity bumped her hip against mine. "He means what do you think of it for you?"
"For me?" I asked. I shook my head. "I don't think I can work for someone else again. The idea of being censored or forced to write from talking points is too much for me. I'm not going to be someone's outlet for perfectly spun stories that paint the college in just the right light."
"That's the beauty of the whole idea, don't you see?" Patrick asked.
I shook my head again and zipped up my own parka. "What do you think is going to happen the first time the independent newspaper has a story that trashes a long-held administrative privilege?" I asked. "The president will come to visit me personally and see if I, as the most experienced journalist, can make some diplomatic edits to the articles. I can't put up with that anymore. That's not the kind of journalism I want to pursue."
"Aha! So you do still want to pursue journalism. I was right!" Clarity grinned at her father. She pulled on her mittens and put a colorful hand on the door. "I knew we'd come up with something perfect for you."
"We? Who?" I asked. I stood my ground and crossed my arms. "Don't think I'm going to put up with Dunkirks ganging up on me."
Patrick clapped me on the shoulder. "That, you'll have to learn to live with; the other things, though, are what this position was created to fight."
"What position?"
Clarity let go of the door and put her bright mittens on my arms. "I agree that you should never have to compromise your writing again. That's why you are the only person the students requested to head up the off-campus newspaper."
All my tension melted away, leaving me in a muddled state of shock. "Head up?"
"Yes!" Clarity laughed. "I think we proved that neither of us is really cut out for investigative journalism. But, you have an eye for a story and you can advise students to do the real work of it. That's why they want you to be the editor-in-chief."
CHAPTER TWENTY
Clarity
"Are you listening?" I asked Ford. "You have that funny look on your face again. Is it really that bad?"
"What? No. I'm just having trouble concentrating on your writing," he said.
"I know, it's the characters, isn't it. Everyone knows what they want except for them. I'm too far in their heads. The whole plot is just getting gummed up." I tossed the pages down on the coffee table and slumped back.
Ford sat up and retrieved the short story. "You're overreacting. Besides, I wasn't ignoring you—I was just enjoying my new couch."
I rolled my eyes. "Yes, you do keep pointing out how comfortable it is. What if I liked the old one?"
"Sentimental reasons?" Ford asked.