It was a calm, serene day. The sun hung in the air with no particular radiance or dimness. Threaded with clouds, the sky gave no premonition, whether good or bad, of the day’s events. Cars drove along the roads absently unaware of the atmosphere that surrounded them. People passed each other in the streets and never noticed; some adorned earphones, and others maintained idle chat with their friends. People left and arrived all at the same time at the campus saddled in the middle of a metro-suburban city.

       Class was at 10am, and people came early as well as late. The teacher was an exuberant and conversive middle-aged woman. She always made an awkward entrance with her excessive load of materials. Her off-blonde hair radiated her ever persistent energy, even though it contradicted the ruffles that encompassed her blue eyes. Her students’ tensions were eased by her charm, and were entertained by her quirky sense of humor. It was the usual essay day; a small group discussion, then a sum-it-up with the whole class, a short discussion on the assignment, then the “See you next time class.” Every one returned to their roles as bit actors in the stage of life as they filed two-by-two through the exit door.

       “Grant? Can I see you for a moment?” The teacher asked over the squabbling exodus.

       The man who walked over was the kind that never stood out in a crowd. His brown hair had neither sheen nor shine. His auburn eyes were of no particular luster. His brown and white striped shirt barely sufficed as a fashion. He always seemed to have a smirk soldered to his face. Despite all that though, he had a charming natural look. “What’s up Miss Felletsen?”

       “I want to talk to you about your paper.” She grabbed his paper from deep inside her folder, which was unlike the others that were littered across her desk. The essay was full of scratch marks and had entire sections boxed in. “You see these paragraphs? I do a plagiarism check on all of the student papers. And these ones match almost word per word another student essay I found on the net. Actually, practically all of the paper was copied. It looked like a nice paper too. But we take plagiarism very seriously here at Garden Glen Community College.”

       He met her reluctant gaze with bewilderment. “Plagiarism?” he shouted genuinely shocked by this news. His news attracted the attention of other students, if only for a few seconds before they promptly left.

       “Yes, I am gonna’ have to fail this essay. This was a great paper Grant; it’s a shame that it wasn’t yours.” He hadn’t any idea how to respond. The words tried to manufacture, but the shock had impeded his voice. “Now, I talked with your other professors, and they say you’ve never done anything like this before. So I am not going to fail you in this class, yet. If I were you though, I’d worry about my grade. This essay counts for 15% of your grade. You had a B, but mow you have an F. I’m not sure you can bring it back up to a C much less a B by the end of the semester.”
“Miss Felletsen, I don’t know what this is about, I never plagiarized anything in that paper; all I did was use quotes n’ stuff.”

       “Is there any way I can make it up? Like, uh, extra credit or rewrite it?”

       “Worry about it later, unfortunately. I am sorry, but I have another class in 10 minutes, and I have to get more copies. I passed out too many in this class.”

       He left class in confusion. “I can’t believe what happened. I made sure to check that I cited sources,” he thought, “Or maybe, maybe it was an unlucky stroke of coincidence. With the hundreds of millions of other people over the past 12 years that plagiarism checking has been around, maybe my paper looks almost exactly like someone else’s.” He decided that he would ask her next class.


       Two days came and went. Grant spent little time worrying about his paper among the other things in his life. The following class was on a rainy gray day; all the cars had their hi-power beams on, and students rushed from street to street and tried to find cover from the water. At the end of class that day, He came up to Mrs. Felletsen to delve further into the mystery.

       “Miss Felletsen, where did you find this paper that I plagiarized from?”
“Well, if you must know Grant, PaperTracker found it on Peerreview.com; you stole most of your paper from another student.”

       At this point, he knew what had happened. “Of course,” Grant said in realization, “Mrs. Felletsen, that’s why you think I plagiarized it.”

       “Excuse me?”

       “Look, just come with me to the computer lab, I’ll show ‘ya.” The next class was in 10 minutes for her, but she figured there was enough time to see.
They made their way swfitly through the slippery campus, her with her arms over her head to shield from the rain, and he without arms, hood or anything to cover his drenched head.


       The computer lab was full. “Aw’ crap,” Grant said. He peered expectantly, and investigated everyone’s monitor. He happened to chance upon a large, husky man who had been peering through a site called Hawtchix.com. Grant could easily tell that it was against the computer lab’s terms of agreement. He slowly walked over, tapped on the guy’s shoulder and whispered, “Hey, I need that computer.”

       The husky man replied, “Get your own, I’m busy.”

        “You don’t want me telling the lab tech over there do you? I would hate to think of what would happen if you were caught.” The husky man looked over and assessed the woman, whose name plate read Miss Jansen. For some reason, he seemed unsettled by her presence.

       “Fine, whatever, its yours,” shrugged the guy, as he grabbed his things and left.

       “I’m waiting,” said Mrs. Felletsen; she tucked in her arms and slunk back with her torso.

       “Alright, let me just type it in. www.Peerreview.com.” A screen popped up, it was a white screen with a no-entry sign in the middle. “STOP, this site has been blocked for containing illicit, violent, and or sexual language.” Grant tried to type it again just to make sure it wasn’t a stroke of bad luck. “Excuse me Miss Jansen?” he called to the lab technician. “Why can’t I access Peerreview.com?”

       The lab tech’s attention was aroused; she bouldered over to “have a look-see.” She scanned across the screen, which brought up a confused look on her face. She strolled back to her desk, and began typing on the keyboard. Grant wasn’t sure of it, but he had a suspicion that a grim turn of events would soon follow. Two clicks of her mouse, and the moment came; that moment when you knew something is about to happen. Ms. Jansen squinted her eyes and lowered her brows. Time seemed to slow down just for the few seconds that Ms. Jansen turned her head to look up at him. “The NetBlocker blocked it because of your recent activities,” she answered. “If you want to view that smut, you’re gonna’ have to do it at home. Maybe it wasn’t this way in your high school or wherever you came from. But at this college, we actually follow a standard. I could have you arrested for this.” He knew what she meant by it.

       “No, no you don’t understand.” At this point, the conversion had already attracted the attention of almost all the students in the lab. “Some other guy was using this computer before me. I was just trying to show my teacher-”

       “You’re trying to show you’re teacher?” the lab aide shouted in disbelief.

       “Grant, I think we’re done here,” Mrs. Felletsen concluded as she quietly left the room.

       “Wait.”

      “Get back here,” yelled Ms. Jansen, “I’m not done with you.” As both Grant and Mrs. Felletsen ran from the lab, Mrs. Jansen decided it was pointless to try and chase him down. After all, she could still find out who he was by checking the log. She was surprised when she found that the picture on the screen was of a man much more heavy-set than the one she’d just talked to. This ID picture was 3 months old. She didn’t think she’d made a mistake; instead she dismissed the discrepancy and thought to herself, “Wow, I should really ask him what diet he went on. I just hope he won’t be too mad at me to answer.”


       Grant was still not satisfied with the turn of events. All throughout his next class, he had flashbacks of all the teachers who talked about how awful plagiarism was. Some mentioned that it would result in failing the class. Others have said college applicant screeners would look at your resume and dismiss you based on the mark of your plagiarism. “No one wants a plagiarizer; they don’t get very far in life. They often don’t pass college and get good jobs.”

       For him, plagiarism meant his college days might be over. He thought back to all the teachers who’ve testified the ‘horrible’ lives people have who don’t go to college. The prevailing memory that stood out among them was from his former senior language arts teacher. The words she uttered to him in his last high school year forever resonated in his mind, “People who don’t go to college life unfulfilling lives. People who don’t go to college regret it the rest of their lives.” “I have to go through college,” he thought, “I have to.”

       Haunted by his thoughts, he waited by Mrs. Felletsen’s office for one more chance. Eventually, she came down the hall with her rolling pack, which she got for her load of materials not but a day ago. As she proceeded down the halls, she had a sigh of happiness thinking that the day would soon be over after a visit to her office. This smile turned slowly into bewilderment as she found him on the bench next to her office. “Look, it’s not that big of a deal. Lots of people feel the urge to cheat once in a while. It’s not going to ruin your life.”

       “I have to prove to you that it was me you thought I plagiarized from,” he replied. “I… I…; Can’t I use your computer?”

       With a big sigh, Mrs. Felletsen replied, “You’re not giving up on this are you? You know, the Dean of Humanities had me in his office not 30 minutes ago. He was reminding me of how unethical it was for a professor to look at perverted websites in a public place.” He glossed his eyes over and dropped his brows. He protruded his lower lip as he shuddered. “Grant, don’t think that a puppy face will work on me.” He then brought his hands together against his chest. “Fine,” She conceded with an accompanying sigh, “I’ll let this play out. But let me use the computer. I’ll only let you put in your user and password.” With that, Mrs. Felletsen opened her office and turned on her computer. She grabbed her cup o’ java, and logged on. A picture of a man holding Mrs. Felletsen in his arms on a picnic blanket on a spring grassy-area under a tree popped up on the screen. Both of them smiled wide as they looked into the camera.

       “That your husband,” he asked.

       “Yes, uh, married for 7 years now.” An awkward moment of silence crept in as they waited a good two minutes for the whole computer to load. They waited another 45 seconds for the Internet Explorer to load. 25 more seconds was spent closing the windows of pop-ups. “Ok, tch tch tch, Peerreview.com. And, the log-in screen.” Mrs. Felletsen grabbed the keyboard and handed it to Grant, or at least tried to, as the cord wasn’t that long. “Uh, just let me get up, you can go ahead and sit.” They repositioned themselves in the office. Miss Felletsen spilled a drip of coffee in the shuffle. “Alright Grant, the moment of truth is at hand.”

       Grant typed in his username Orihimelover7 and the password ********. His profile popped up and showed his list of submissions, under which were names of many papers, including the one in question “My Worst Relationship”. “I wanted to get some more opinions on the paper, so I tried this place. I, uh, thought it would help. I didn’t know I’d get in trouble or anything.”

       It didn’t immediately register with Mrs. Felletsen. “Well, how do I know it’s you?"

       “Didn’t your program track it down to exactly where it found it?”

       “It should have.”

       “Could you check please?”

       “I’m gonna’ need my seat back.”

       “Sure thing.” They shuffled themselves while rubbing against each other.

       “Ok, let’s see,” she navigated through the programs in an unblinking stare. “Alright, like I said. PaperTracker found it on Peerreview.com; but it doesn’t seem to provide the exact place.” She scrolled through the options. “Oh, here it is. It says that there two 91% matches.”

       “Two of them?”

       The first one was from Peerreview.com. The username was listed as B00TY1ICI0U5. “Wait, there must be some mistake.” Grant pointed to the submission information box. “Look, the sub. info says October 18th. That was yesterday. I couldn’t have possibly gotten it from that.”

       “Let’s check the other one.” The other match was also on Peerreview.com. The username this time read Orihimelover7. “That’s your username right?”

       “Yeah, it was submitted ten days ago.”

       “Are you sure this is you?”

       “Yes.”

       After consideration, she let out a quick breath. “I guess it’s true then. This means I have to spend some time dealing with this annoying program they make the faculty use.” She opened up another program on the computer. “I’ll make the change and fix the grade.”

       “Thank you.”

       “By the way,” she added, “Had I not failed you, I was going to give your paper a 93 out of 100. I guess I can give you that grade.”

       “Thank you.”

       She let out another sigh, but this one was not of relief. “Grant, our departments have had a policy for the past five years. It requires that we take cheating very seriously. According to the policies, we are supposed to report all instances of cheating to our respective Deans. After you left class on Tuesday, and after my second class that day, I had to report you to the Dean of Humanities. It’s within his discretion to let you off with a warning, or expel you from this college.”
Grant rose from his seat and put his backpack on.

       “Well, where is he?”

       “His office is on the other side of campus in the 100 Building.”

       “Why is he so far away?”

       “Administration places faculty in all sorts of random places. I’m next to someone from the technology department, there are three social sciences professors near me, and the Dean of Natural Sciences is on this floor. It’s a mess.”

       “Thank you, I’ll head over there right now. I’ll see you later Mrs. Felletsen, at least I hope I will.”

       “I hope I’ll see you later too Grant.”


       At the Humanities office, Grant found a secretary on the phone. By the context of the call, she was presumably on the line with another department. Grant decided to approach her anyways. “Um, Is this Dean of Humanities’ office?”

       “Hold on a minute Barbara, I’ve got a student at the front desk.” She calmly placed her palm on the receiver. “Yes, this is Dean Anderson’s office.”

       “Well, uh, can I talk to him?”

       “I’m sorry young man, but he is out for the day. His hours on Thursdays are 8am-4pm.”

       “Will he be in tomorrow?”

       “I can’t say really, usually on Fridays he has board meetings with administration.”

       “Is there any other way I can reach him?”

       “You’ll just have to come by tomorrow and see.”

       “Well, uh, I was just wondering. Um, how does he handle plagiarism?”

       “Well, he deals with plagiarism and cheating like any other college would. Why are you asking about it?”

       “Um, because I was accused of plagiarizing, even though I didn’t actually do it, and I want to fix it so that it can go away.”

       “So, you were falsely accused of plagiarism?”

       “Right.”

       “Well, I’m sure the Dean would understand. You should come back tomorrow when he is in office.”

       “Ok, I’ll do that. Thank you.”

       “You’re welcome.” Grant walked away with the ever-present burden on his shoulders. He didn’t go past 150 pound mark, but to him, it was as if he supported 400 pounds as soon as he equipped his backpack. The secretary saw this and felt sympathy for him. She decided that her call could wait. “Barbara, I’ll call you back.” She stopped him before he completely left the office. “Excuse me, what was your name?”

       “Um, my name is Grant.”

       She approached him at the door, and cupped one of her hands to his ear. “You didn’t hear this from me Grant,” she said trying to conceal her voice, “but Mr. Anderson is trying desperately to restore our tarnished reputation. Apparently, Garden Glen Community College has had a high occurrence of plagiarism. Last year, we were ranked third highest educational institution plagiarism. If I were you, I would deal with this as soon as I could before the Dean gets his heart set on making an example out of you.”

       “How should I do that?”

       She pressed her index finger to her lips. “Shh, you didn’t hear it from me remember? Just come back tomorrow and you should be alright.”

       “Ok, thank you very much Mrs. Um,” he peered over at the name plate, “Miss Elizabeth.” He waved her goodbye and set off towards home.


       That night, Grant reviewed all of the comments made about his submission “My Worst Relationship” on Peerreview.com. Of all the comments he scrolled through, the one from PhearTehVixen caught his eye. All of the others were rife with 1337speak (leetspeak); this one however, was in complete sentences. “I’m sure you’ll find others out there. There has to be someone out there for all of us. Don’t get down.” Such strange empathy and aversion towards lazy speech made him curious as to who this person was. He clicked on the user’s profile, to find that PhearTehVixen’s avatar was an older picture of none other than Ms. Jansen. He clicked the submissions tab and reviewed the titles of her submissions, which included “My Beautiful Daughter Chelsea,” “Our New Cat” and “My Regret of Strictness.” “I guess even the mean have a soft side too,” he thought.

       Grant decided that he would first read “My Beautiful Daughter Chelsea” and maybe relieve some of his frustrations. After a few paragraphs though, it was clear that all he could think about was his paper, and by extension, his college career. “Not even such uplifting dribble as this can cheer me up.” He wondered many things, if he made the right choice to attend community college first before a University, if he could avoid a heinous mark on his transcript, or forever be marred with the proverbial scarlet letter. Knowing that at this hour he could do nothing except worry, he to go early to bed.


       Lightning struck the library tower as Grant stepped through the formal entrance of the college. His eyes latched to the quick whip of light in the sky as he covered his head from the rain. One would never have guessed that a glowing celestial body existed beyond the sorrowful clouds on this day. The campus was bare, especially since most classes never met on a Friday. He wished it wasn’t such a long walk in the rain. To top it off, most of the tiles were finished with a smooth polish, and since he wore cheap shoes, the path would be met with slippery tribulations. “This better be worth it,” he thought.

       Grant finally arrived at the Dean’s office after a few mishaps outside. “Um, Miss uh…,” he looked at the name plate again, but could not find it anywhere, “uhhh-”

       “Miss Elizabeth.”

       “Heh, sorry.”

       “You’re here for Dean Anderson again right?”

       “Is he in today?”

       “Yes he is, but unfortunately he’s at a meeting until Noon.”

       “I’ll come back later then.” He began leaving the room disappointed that yet again this problem dragged on for what seemed to last infinitely. Before the door closed entirely though, Miss Elizabeth stood up with paper in hand.

       “Wait, um Grant? I think you should hear this actually.”

       “What is it?”

       “Well, you know how I said yesterday that Dean Anderson was trying to crack down on the college’s plagiarism problem?”

       “Yeah.”

       “The meeting he’s at is with the representatives from the Board of Governors. He is giving them a presentation on how our school is handling cheating. I think he has you included in the PowerPoint.”

       “How do you know?”

       “Because he practiced the presentation on me this morning. Look, you should confront him before he starts the meeting. Like I said yesterday, once he has his heart set on something, he’ll never be convinced of anything else.”

       “Ok,” he responded without any sense of understanding.

       “Well, I think he’s about to have his heart set on you. He already made the call this morning for the Records Department to put plagiarism in your file. If you don’t confront him now, it might be on there permanently.”

       “You think I should go down there right away?”

       She raised her arm out and gave him a shooing motion. “Yes. Go right away. The meeting probably hasn’t started yet. You could probably talk to him before it starts. It’s in the first floor of the 800 building. You can’t miss the big double doors.”
“You know it’s strange. Normally someone wouldn’t just believe a student like me so easily. Why am I any different? I, I can’t even remember your name yet you’ve treated me so nicely. I should thank you.”

       “Don’t thank me, thank Mrs. Felletsen. She and I are friends. She told me all about how the program mistook your own work for someone else’s.”

       “I gotta’ try and stop it. I’ll see you later-” his gaze at her didn’t break, “Miss Elizabeth.” He leaned forward and began jogging towards the storm outside.

       “Goodbye Grant.”


       The rain outside did not subside. In fact, its persistence caused pools of water in the dips of pavement. Grant was none too happy. Not only were his shoes not built for slippery surfaces, they weren’t designed for wet puddles either. His hair drooped down to his brow-line, his clothes began to latch onto his body, and his toes would surely prune from all the puddles. All in all, he was in no mood to have been preoccupied by any other thoughts.

       “Aww, come on!” The doors were locked. Grant however, was not one to give up with the threat of dire consequences. “Huh, maybe the other side,” he thought to himself. The rain poured maliciously as such that Grant had to blow his lips just so he could keep them dry. On sunny days he would be able to see the looming library tower which stood only ninety feet from him. Because of the rain though, all he could have seen were the chords of falling water played like a harp.

       The rain’s density was so severe that Grant couldn’t see the plant patches up ahead. Without warning, he stepped into the mud, slipped and fell facing the ground. His shirts and pants were coated with a nice palette of dirt. “Great, just great.”

       After he cursed the day and waddled his way through the polished walkways, he arrived at the other side of the 800 building. He tried the door, but it didn’t budge. “No-oo.” He pulled it again and again; he shook the door vigorously. He hoped it might have been jammed. “I’m too late.” He pressed his forehead against the glass of the door and let out a sigh. He gripped the handles and tugged violently. “God damnit,” he shouted into the showering sky. He yanked the handles one last time just so that he could quell any morsel of hope that it might work a fifth time.

       “You trying to get in too?” voiced a man from the far wall. “Heh, so am I. I’ve got a meeting inside that building. But the doors are locked. So like you, I’m stuck out here.” He wore a thick felt coat with black gloves. “Though, I suppose I was smart enough to remember an umbrella.”

       Rain coursed its way down Grant’s cheeks and poured down his lower lips. “You wouldn’t happen to be waiting for Dean Anderson would you?”

       The man looked at Grant. “If you’re referring to Dean Marcus Lyle Anderson, then yes.”

       “I need to see him.”

       “So do I. I’ve got a meeting with him in about,” he looked at his wristwatch, “five minutes. He better get here soon. I don’t want to stand in the rain forever and end up like you, no offense.”

       “None taken.”

       Clanks of metal were heard off in the distance though unseen because of the rain’s density. “I hope it’s someone to let us in, I’m getting cold out here.”

       Grant started to shiver. “Me too.” The clanking had gotten louder. A figure that held an umbrella emerged from the rain. As the silhouette closed in on the two, Grant slowly recognized the woman in the rain. “Aw crap,” he muttered in an undertone. It was Miss Jansen. Grant turned to face the inside of the building. “Perhaps if she doesn’t recognize me,” he though, “I won’t create a scene.”

       “Well, whaddayaknow, all the janitors really are sick,” Miss Jansen proclaimed.

       “Are you here to open the door?” asked the man.

       “Yes I am; even though it’s not my job.”

       “I don’t need your life story. I just need you to open the door.”

       “Alright, hold your horses. Just let me find the right key.” Miss Jansen began fondling through the janitor’s keys one-by-one. She noticed that the other man, Grant, hid himself from her. “Is your friend over here always this shy?”

       “Him?” he pointed to Grant. “I’ve never met him before. We just both need to see the Dean.”

       “Ok, so he’s just gonna’ avoid me then?”

       Grant didn’t respond.

       “That’s fine with me.” She opened the door and held it open. “Alright gentleman, come on inside before you catch a cold.” Grant followed behind the man as he tried to hide his face from Miss Jansen. Try as he might though, she caught a glimpse of his face. “Say, don’t I remember you from somewhere?”

       Grant remained silent.

       “Yeah, you’re that guy who got his account suspended for looking at pornography at the computer lab. What was your name?” She bounced the finger she pointed at Grant. “Oh yeah, it was Jeffrey.”

       “No ma’am, my name isn’t Jeffrey and that wasn’t me.”

       “You’re lying, I caught you red-handed when you tried to show one of the English teachers that filth.”

       Grant’s panic became evident in his tone. “No! See, this guy Jeffrey or whatever was looking at those sites. I came in after him and you musta’ mistook me for him. Here.” He brought out his wallet and sifted through the pockets. He handed her his school I.D. “My name is Grant, and I’ve been trying to fix a big problem before it gets any worse.”

       Miss Jansen studied the photograph carefully. “You sure this is you?”

       “Yes.”

       She leaned against the door, which blocked the two from entrance. She didn’t want to believe it at first, but as she compared the photo with the student before, she realized the truth. “So, you weren’t really looking at pornography in the lab?”

       “No. And I really need to see the Dean.”

       “As do I,” the man in the rain said.

       Miss Jansen brought her fingers to her temples and started to rub them. “Gee, I don’t know what to say. I feel kinda’ bad.”

       “Say that you’ll let me and him through.”

       “Yeah, I guess I can do that.”

       “Thank you.” Both Grant and the man walked into the 800 building.

       As they paced down the hallway, Miss Jansen decided to say one last thing. “If it makes you feel any better, I’d say I’m sorry.” Grant quickly looked back and smiled. He could tell she meant it.

       Grant and the man arrived at the conference room where Dean Anderson waited at the door side in a blue business suit. “Ah, Mr. Burton,” called Dean Anderson, “I was beginning to wonder if anyone else was going to arrive.”

       Mr. Burton took off his gloves and creased his umbrella between his arm. “Well, as I understand it, all the doors to this building were locked. So I had to wait outside until they sent someone over to unlock them.”

       “Really? I thought I unlocked it when I came in. Oh well. Say, how bad was it outside?”

       “Heheheh, this boy over oughta’ be able to tell you. He didn’t have an umbrella and he’s soaked to the brim. By the way, I got a call from one of the representatives, he said he won’t be able to make it.”

       “Well, that leaves us waiting for only one more to join us. But I think we should probably get started now, rather than keep everyone waiting.”

       “Sounds good.”

       “Alright then. Follow me in.”

       “Um, Mr. Dean Anderson?” Grant chimed in.

       “I’m sorry young man, it’ll have to wait until after I’m with these gentleman inside.”

       “Actually it can’t wait.”

       “Neither can they.”

       “It’s important.”

       “Not more important than convincing California Board of Governors that our school isn’t a hotbed for academic dishonesty.”

       “Actually, it’s about that.”

       Dean Anderson’s grew impatient with Grant. “Look, it’ll have to wai-”

       “I think me and the other representatives can hold out for a bit longer,” said Mr. Burton.

       “Alright then,” he approached Grant. “This better be important.”

       “My name’s Grant Jorje, and I was told that you were going to mark my transcript with plagiarism.”

       “Oh yeah, I remember you, you’re the one who stole that paper about someone’s worst relationship.”

       “No, see, I didn’t plagiarize it. It’s uh, it’s hard to explain, but I can show if you let me use a computer.”

       “Look kid, we can stand here all day and argue semantics, but at the end of the day, you aren’t going to cheat and not be punished.”

       Grant grabbed Dean Anderson’s hand as the Dean made his way inside. The Dean tugged his arm pulling Grant forward, which forced him to fall to his knees. “Please, I can’t have this on my transcript. I’ll never get accepted anywhere with it.”

       “Let go of my hand.” Grant was desperate, but Dean Anderson became frustrated by his authority being challenged. “Let go of me, NOW!” It was so loud that Grant’s ears started to ring.

       “What’s going on Anderson,” one of the representatives asked.

       “This kid won’t let go of my arm.”

       Mr. Burton approached Grant. “What’s seems to be the problem young man?”

       Grant pictured all the places that wouldn’t accept him based on such a blemish in his file. “I can’t have this.”

       “You can’t have what?”

       “Please, I need you to tell Records not to put plagiarism on my transcript Mr. Anderson. I didn’t plagiarize.”

       “Can you prove it?”

       He let go of the Dean’s arm. “Yes, I have the paper in my backpack. And if you just let me use a computer.”

       “How would I know it’s the paper you turned in?” Dean Anderson asked.

       “It’s got all these marks and a signature by Mrs. Felletsen.”

       Grant turned around and sifted his backpack. Mr. Burton looked curiously at his legs. “What’s with your pants? Is it normal to wear brown on the front and blue on the back?”

       Grant slapped his knee as he handed the paper to Dean Anderson. “Oh this? I uh, fell in the mud on the way. I couldn’t see where I was going.”

       “Alright Grant Jorje,” the Dean said as he looked at his paper, “there is a computer with internet in the conference room. You can use that.” After a few minutes of loading, and nervous tensions, Grant was able to prove that the writing he ‘copied’ from was in fact his own. “This doesn’t prove anything.” The Dean stroked his chin. “But maybe I should investigate it further before I make the final call. Let me call the Records Department before they put it on your secret file.”

       “There’s a secret file,” Grant asked.

       “Um, yeah.” After eight rings, the Dean received an away message. “They must be out on lunch break. Which means,” he flicked his wrist and closely examined his watch, “that they probably haven’t gotten to you yet, and won’t get to you for another hour after they get back. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure that they get the message. Just to be sure though, you should check back with the Records department on Monday.”

       “Thank you very much. You don’t know how much this means to me.” He shook the Dean’s hand, waved to Mr. Burton, and walked off relieved. He quickly realized that he would be back out in the rain as soon as he left the building. Without any kind of cover, he decided that he could a handle a bit more rain. As soon as he approached the corner to the exit, he saw light shine down the hallway. Not just the kind of light that comes from fluorescent bulbs; this was the sun’s innervating light. Sure enough as he turned the corner and opened the door, the rain had vanished, and the clouds were beginning to dissipate. Though the sky was filled with clouds, none loomed over Grant. Beams of light scattered across the horizon. Grant could even feel one of the beams on him. The sun never felt so warm and inviting, and it never looked so beautiful.


       Grant never did check back with that department. Eventually, he forgot about the ordeal and moved on with his classes. A year went by, and he applied for transfer to a university. He had high hopes with his chances for UCLA, UC Davis, and his backup UCI. The first university to respond was UCLA, and it had declined his application. He wondered why it was declined. He sifted through the letter. It was full of praise. He was hard-pressed to find the part that listed why he was denied. Eventually he found the last part of the letter. “We regret to inform you however, that we aren’t accepting applications for people with plagiarism on their record.”

       He tried to contact the Dean’s office, but was disappointed to find that Dean Anderson was no longer the Dean of Humanities. He tried to reason with the current Dean, but she insisted that he take it up with the Records Department. When he called the Records Department, they said they could do nothing about his file, that what is done is done. He tried to reason with the Dean of English at UCLA, but he wouldn’t hear him out. He was also refused by the Dean at UC Davis. Luckily, with much convincing and a grueling in-person interview with one of the Deans at UCI, he was accepted.