Chapter 61 : The Folded Paperwork
HAYDEN’S POV:
The dean’s office smells like polished wood, coffee, and the faint scent of paperwork that’s been sitting in folders for too long.
It’s the kind of place where people come to hear life-changing decisions, which is exactly why my stomach feels like it’s slowly tying itself into knots.
I sit in the chair across from Dean Adler’s desk, leaning back even though every muscle in my body is tight. My arms are crossed, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the framed degrees hanging on the wall behind him.
Ranging from Harvard, Stanford, and Columbia.
Yeah, this guy takes academics seriously.
Dean Adler flips through a file in front of him, his glasses perched low on his nose. The quiet sound of papers turning feels louder than it should.
Finally, he looks up. “Mr. Cross,” he says calmly.
I force myself to meet his gaze.
“Yes, sir.”
He taps the file lightly. “You’re aware of the accusation made against you?”
My jaw tightens. “Yes.”
“And?”
“And it’s not true.”
He watches me for a moment, like he’s trying to measure whether I’m lying.
“You were reported for academic misconduct during your midterm exam in Advanced Economics,” he continues. “Specifically, for allegedly using unauthorized materials during the test.”
I exhale slowly. “I didn’t cheat.”
“That may be,” he says evenly. “However, a report was submitted by a student who claims to have seen you referencing something during the exam.”
A student.
My mind flashes through possibilities. Guys from my class, my teammates, random students, or…. Ella? No.
My chest tightens slightly at the thought. She might hate me sometimes, but accusing me of cheating? That doesn’t feel like something she’d do.
Dean Adler folds his hands together. “Academic misconduct is a serious violation of university policy.”
“I know.”
“Students found guilty are subject to immediate disciplinary action.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I figured.”
His gaze sharpens. “In your case, Mr. Cross, the consequences could be even more severe.” My shoulders are stiff. “Because of athletics,” he continues. “You are already on academic probation.” I look away, jaw flexing. “Which means,” he adds, “another violation could result in your removal from the university.”
The words land like a punch to the chest. Before I can respond, the office door suddenly opens.
“He is not being expelled.”
Both Dean Adler and I turn toward the door and my stomach drops. “Mom?”
My mother strides into the room as if she owns it.
Her heels click sharply against the polished floor as she walks in, posture straight, expression fierce. She’s still wearing her work suit, dark blazer perfectly tailored, hair pulled back neatly.
She looks exactly like she does when she’s about to destroy someone in court. Which makes sense because she’s a lawyer.
Dean Adler raises an eyebrow slightly. “Mrs. Cross.”
She doesn’t sit immediately. Instead, she places a folder on his desk with calm precision.
“My son called me,” she says evenly. “And I came as soon as I could.”
I rub the back of my neck.
I probably should feel embarrassed that my mom just showed up to defend me like I’m twelve. But honestly?
Right now, I’m just relieved.
Dean Adler gestures toward the empty chair. “Please, have a seat.”
She sits gracefully, crossing one leg over the other. “Thank you.”
Her gaze shifts to me for a brief moment filled with concern, then it hardens again as she looks back at the dean. “My son does not cheat.”
Dean Adler folds his hands together again. “The accusation is currently under review.”
“An accusation,” my mother repeats calmly, “without proof.”
“There was a witness.”
“Which means there was a claim,” she replies smoothly. “Not evidence.”
Okay, now I remember why she wins most of her cases.
Dean Adler studies her quietly. “We take these matters seriously,” he says.
“And so do I,” she responds. “Which is why I would like to know what exactly the university intends to do about it.”
The dean leans back slightly in his chair. “For now, Mr. Cross’s original midterm score has been invalidated.”
My stomach drops again. Invalidated? Meaning the zero currently sitting in the gradebook stays there.
Mom’s expression tightens slightly. “And the next step?”
“The academic board would normally conduct a formal investigation,” Dean Adler explains. “However…” He glances at me. “…given the circumstances, there may be an alternative.”
I straighten slightly. “What kind of alternative?”
He slides a paper across the desk toward us. “A retake.”
Mom picks up the paper immediately, scanning it.
“If Mr. Cross agrees to retake the midterm under supervised conditions,” the dean continues, “we can resolve this matter without further disciplinary action.”
I blink. “Wait… seriously?”
Dean Adler nods once. “You will take the exam again in two days.”
Two days!! My brain immediately starts panicking. I barely understood half the material the first time.
“And if I pass?” I ask carefully.
“Then the new score replaces the original, and the misconduct report is dismissed.”
My mother nods slowly. “That seems reasonable.”
But something in the dean’s expression doesn’t look finished. “And if he fails?” she asks.
The room goes very quiet.
Dean Adler’s voice is calm when he answers. “Then the original failing grade stands.”
My chest tightens.
“And due to Mr. Carter’s current probation status…” he continues, “…he will be academically ineligible to remain enrolled at the university.”
For a moment, the words don’t fully register, then they do.
My stomach sinks. “That’s… it?” I ask quietly.
“Yes.”
Fail the retake and I’m done here. No team, scholarship. Everything is gone. My mother slowly sets the paper back on the desk.
Her voice is steady when she speaks. “Then my son will take the retake.”
I glance at her. She meets my eyes. There’s no doubt in her expression. “You’ll pass,” she says quietly.
I wish I had her certainty.
Dean Adler slides the paper closer to me. “Sign here if you agree to the terms.”
I stare down at the document. Everything is riding on it. My hand feels heavier than usual as I pick up the pen. Then I sign my name.
Dean Adler nods once. “Very well, Mr. Cross.”
I stand slowly, my mind already racing with numbers, formulas, and chapters I never properly read.
This is bad, really bad.
As Mom and I walk out of the office, she puts a hand on my shoulder.
“You’re going to study,” she says firmly.
“Yeah.”
“No distractions.”
I nod. “Okay.”
She studies my face for a moment. “And Hayden?”
“Yeah?”
Her voice softens slightly. “Prove them wrong.”
I nod again. But as we step out into the hallway, one thought keeps echoing in my head.
Two days and if I fail… My entire future is over.