Her Own Drum Read online

  It wasn’t all fun and games working in Student Affairs, though. This building had seen plenty of honor code hearings, alcohol abuse task force meetings, and investigations of serious crimes. As dean of students, these activities were Ryan’s responsibility. It was the more serious side of the job, but she considered it a privilege to help guide Haverwood’s students as they learned how to be responsible members of society.

  She smiled as she reached the top of the stairs on the third floor. A poster on the wall announced the annual Campus Musical Extravaganza, held two weeks prior. "The CME” was a campus tradition that went back at least fifty years, to the first time the fraternities and sororities had challenged each other to put on a show, with judges to declare a winner.

  Over the years the contest had expanded to include costumes, soundtracks, lighting, and professional accompanists. It was now a fund-raising event for a local halfway house. And three years ago, the Greeks had invited the whole campus to take part and forever expanded what was originally called “Greek Sing” into the “Campus Musical Extravaganza.” Winners took home CME awards (”CeeMees”) in categories including Best Female Soloist, Best Large-Group Production, and Best Costumes. At a school with as many fine arts majors as Haverwood, a CeeMee was considered a respectable first step on the road to a Tony or an Oscar.

  Ryan shook her head and laughed at herself as she realized she was saying “CAMpus MUSical ExtravaGANza” in her head using the same inflection used each year by the show’s longtime emcee, local weatherman Peter Price.

  This year the CME had added a new element: a pre-show trailer video. Each large-group category entrant made a video no longer than three minutes that “teased” their upcoming act. Groups pored over each others’ videos trying to find flaws and seek clues to the “magic song” that might make an act take the overall prize. For better or worse, every entrant had learned years ago that including Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the USA” in their program always scored extra points with the judges. Patrons were always treated to multiple versions of the song during each year’s show. This year had been no exception.

  It had been a good show. For the second year in a row the Musical Theater department’s entry into the large-group category had edged out the Beta Pi/Sigma Gamma Kappa group by just a few points. Ryan wondered if the Greeks had begun to rethink their decision to invite the entire campus to participate in their event. Regardless, they had raised over $15,000 for the Good Samaritan Halfway House. That alone was worth the three separate but equally tear-jerking renditions of everyone's favorite patriotic classic. Ryan smiled at the memory. She guessed that the posters would stay up until the housekeeping staff returned the following week.

  She entered the outer office of the dean of students suite and walked past her administrative assistant’s desk. She found her gym bag with its fresh change of clothes in her own office and mentally forgave herself for missing her workout the previous Friday. She re-locked the doors and bounded down the stairs, thinking about how wonderful the fresh, dry clothes would feel after her shower.

  Back outside, the midday sun seemed even hotter than when she had been running across campus during the game. The fact that her wet clothes were drying now didn’t help. She looked down at her chest to see how bad she looked and caught a whiff of the pond smell. “Ugh!” She picked up her pace.

  3

  Fifteen minutes later, Ryan was clean and dressed. She looked at her wet hair in the mirror and glanced at her watch. Three forty-five. She decided to let the hair dry naturally. Cut just above shoulder-length, it wouldn’t take long. Besides, she was only going to the pub with her friends. The important thing was that she now smelled good enough to go out in public.

  She reached the edge of the campus and jaywalked across Hawk Street to O’Leary’s Pub. Opening the door, she heard a chorus of “Ryan!” from the group in the back. She smiled and waved toward her colleagues. She let the door close behind her and stood while her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Then he smiled as she realized Teddy was now leading the group in a chorus of “Hail, Hail, the Gang’s all Here.”

  Singing the song under her breath, Ryan walked over to the long oak bar and perched on top of a stool.

  “Hey, James,” she said. Jamie O’Leary, proprietress and bartender, was stocking bottles on the shelf under the gold-framed mirror that ran behind the bar. She looked up into the mirror and smiled.

  “Hey, Professor. Getcha something?” she asked.

  “Shirley Temple,” Ryan replied.

  Jamie grinned and stepped down from the stool she had been using to reach the space at the back of the shelf. At just under five feet tall, the small woman regularly relied on stools, shelves, or colleagues to reach glasses or bottles. New patrons who teased her about her height quickly learned that, if you wanted to drink at O’Leary’s, you didn’t give the proprietor grief.

  “I heard you did a number on President Martinez today,” said Jamie.

  Ryan dipped her head and smiled. “Just a friendly game.”

  “I seem to recall that you’ve never lost at this ‘friendly game.’ It’s like you hate to lose or something.” She shook her head and shock of red hair fell across her face. She tucked the strands back behind her ear.

  Ryan rubbed the bridge of her nose and stared at the bottles in the mirror. The bartender set down Ryan’s drink in a pint glass etched with the name and location of the pub.

  Ryan looked over to the trio of booths that held the administrators and faculty members who had played in this year’s match. They were singing loudly, arms around each other, swaying to the off-key tune. You’d never know that they had been screaming and shooting at each other just an hour before. She smiled.

  Teddy approached the bar and sat on a stool next to Ryan. “You coming over to celebrate your victory?” she asked.

  “It’s our victory,” replied Ryan, lightly pushing Teddy’s shoulder. “You did your part.”

  Teddy nodded, her black curls bouncing around her face. “I did indeed. As you know,” she said, striking a pose, “there are no small parts—”

  “—Only small actors,” Ryan jumped in and they finished in unison.

  Ryan heard a shout from the faculty booth. “Ryan! Come sit with us. Let us savor our victory!” Leonard Sheldon, a professor of English literature, gestured grandly to an open seat at the table. Ryan looked at Teddy with a smile.

  “Go,” Teddy gestured, “Eat, drink and be merry. For tomorrow…will be just another workday.”

  Ryan laughed out loud at that little gem. “All right, I’ll go,” she said, slipping off the stool. She joined the faculty team at their table and was soon immersed in stories about each team member’s performance during the match.

  It turned out that the vociferous English lit professor, Leonard, had performed an act of heroism during the game. He had jumped in front of Ellen Ho, a member of the sociology faculty, just as she was about to be paintballed by Joe Collins, the director of Haverwood’s alumni association. Joe was famous for his paintball accuracy — so much so that Ryan was among many who suspected that he actually spent time at the paintball shooting range during the spring semester just to prepare for the annual match.

  Ryan felt a little odd celebrating her victory with the faculty team. She did feel like a part of the faculty, and she did spend time teaching, but this was the first time she had played on the faculty team for the event. It was almost like celebrating with the enemy. Shaking her head at the thought, she rejoined the conversation about Joe Collins’ shooting prowess. The faculty members made a pact then and there that they would spend time on target practice the following spring.

  “Hey Ryan, you’ve got to keep this to yourself. If you’re on the admin team again next year, I don’t want to hear that they’ve all suddenly starting practicing shooting,” Ellen Ho said.

  “Consider me sworn to secrecy. As far as I’m concerned, nothing was said about next year.” And it was true. Right now, she didn’t want to thi
nk about next year. She was looking forward to her favorite part of the year at Haverwood, the summer. Granted, North Texas was hot in the summer, but it was beautiful. And the campus was so calm and quiet while most of the students were gone. Ryan smiled into the distance.

  Teddy returned to the booth and scooched in next to Ryan. “Hey!” she said, jostling everyone as she got settled. “You okay?”

  Ryan started. “I was daydreaming about this summer.”

  Teddy smiled. “I’m going to finish the last act of my musical.”

  Ryan raised her eyebrows. She’d heard it before. “Will you go to New York?”

  “Of course,” said Teddy. “There is no place more inspiring than the Great White Way for my people.” She waved her arms in a grand gesture that encompassed the entire pub and ended with her bowing her head slightly, palms together in a “namaste” gesture.

  Theodora “Teddy” Sayers had been director of the musical theater program at Haverwood for the last decade — and had been working on this particular musical even longer than that. It was a story about a young girl who leaves her family home in the country to become a star in the big city, only to find that she misses her family. In the third act, the girl has to decide whether to make it work with a new love in the city or return home to the life (and soulmate) she really loves. It wasn’t the most original story line, but it was entertaining.

  The first act of Teddy’s story was terrific: funny, smart, and full of obstacles that the intrepid heroine overcomes with grace and style. Teddy had completed it before she arrived at Haverwood and put the project on a shelf as she grew the musical theater program. Five years ago, Teddy had met her own soulmate, Summer Cordero. She was inspired to write the second act, complete with uber-sappy love songs and a wedding scene that included a horse-drawn carriage and shooting stars. It was a delight. And considering that Teddy hadn’t touched the musical in a few years, Ryan was glad she was talking about it again.

  “Do you have an idea about the third act?” asked Ryan.

  “I do, but you’re going to have to wait like everyone else.”

  Ryan laughed. “Not likely. I’m sure I’ll get the gist as soon as we start rehearsals.”

  She was right. As they did for every spring musical, Ryan would lead the pit orchestra when Teddy produced her show. And that meant that, by opening night, Ryan would know as much about the show as Teddy did.

  The two friends clinked their glasses together in a toast. The thought of staging the world premiere of a new show gave them both butterflies. Teddy was a gifted composer and lyricist, and the many one-act musicals she had written and staged over the years were almost legendary for their wit, intelligence, and musicality.

  The front door opened, throwing a shaft of light into the dim interior of the bar. A figure stood in the doorway for a moment before letting the door close. It was Abby. A few scattered calls of “Abby!” came from colleagues in the booths, but most of the attendees were immersed in their own conversations.

  “Oh,” said Teddy, looking around, “I didn’t even realize Abby hadn’t come in with the rest of us.”

  “She told me she was going to change clothes,” said Ryan. She scooted further into the booth to make room for the newcomer.

  Abby had swapped her camouflage jumpsuit for a pair of faded jean shorts and a green T-shirt. Her mousy brown-gray hair was as unkempt as always, though she attempted to smooth it back with one hand. By the time the Ryan had made room for her in the booth, she was already perched on a barstool and accepting a short glass of brown liquid from Jamie.

  “She doesn’t look so good,” said Teddy. “Do you think she’s upset about losing the game?”

  “I hope not,” said Ryan. “Maybe she got a bit of sunburn. But you’re right. She doesn’t look happy.” Abby’s head hung over her glass like it was too heavy for her to hold upright.

  Teddy resumed talking about her musical. “I’ve really got it this time. You are going to love, love, love how our heroine gets out of the mess she made of things at the end.” Teddy cocked her head as she watched the scene play out in her imagination.

  “Are you going to make her a lesbian, or will you go the more conventional route in favor of marketability?” asked Ryan.

  Some of the characters in Teddy’s previous works had been written as gay (”Write what you know, darling!” was Teddy’s mantra), but others had been depicted in heterosexual relationships. Not that that meant they were straight, Ryan thought with a chuckle. Of course, other directors took artistic liberties when they mounted Teddy’s shows, even changing the genders of characters on occasion. But no matter how they envisioned those characters on the outside, the stories always embodied themes any audience could connect with.

  As they continued discussing Teddy’s heroine, Ryan realized that Abby was still at the bar, nursing her second or third drink. Ryan’s brow furrowed.

  “I’m going to get a refill. Need anything?” Ryan asked, nodding toward Teddy’s half-full glass.

  “Nope,” answered Teddy. “I’m going to go talk with Oscar about publicizing the show next spring.” She stood and moved to the president’s booth.

  Ryan walked over the bar and sat on the stool next to Abby. “You okay? You don’t look so hot.”

  Abby made a noise that sounded like a fake laugh and shook her head. Ryan leaned closer. Abby had looked sad from the back, but up close, the signs were different.

  Over the past few years, Ryan had become fascinated with the study of micro expressions, those split-second clues that flash across people’s faces when they try to hide their true feelings. Her recognition of micro expressions came in handy when working with students. It also proved useful in everyday situations, though her reputation for employing the practice made some people uncomfortable — like talking to a psychiatrist.

  Abby turned to Ryan. She had pasted on a smile, but Ryan registered the fleeting signs almost automatically. Visible whites of the eyes, raised brows, tense mouth: textbook signs of fear. Ryan pulled back a little, not sure how to respond.

  “I’m all right,” said Abby. “I just got an upsetting phone call on the way over.” She turned back to her glass.

  “Abby, if you need help, you can tell me.” Ryan’s blue eyes displayed genuine concern.

  “I’m fine,” Abby said.

  “Okay, but the offer is open. Call if you need anything.”

  Abby grunted.

  Ryan decided to lighten the mood. Pointing to Abby’s shirt, she said, “I’ve got a shirt like that, only…”

  “Let me guess,” Abby said with a sarcastic smile. “Ravenclaw.”

  “Gryffindor, actually.”

  “Of course,” said Abby. “The one who saves the day.” The silver serpent on the controller’s chest seemed to glare at Ryan just as coldly as did its wearer.

  “C’mon, let me buy you another drink,” said Ryan. “We’ll toast to a quiet summer.”

  That notion got the faintest whiff of a nod from Abby. She glanced at Ryan and lifted her almost-empty glass.

  “To a quiet summer,” said Abby.

  “To a quiet summer.” They clinked.

  4

  Eventually the party wound down and the college staff started leaving the bar in twos and threes. Teddy poked Ryan in the ribs.

  “Hey, it’s six. I need to get home and cook for the wife. Want to join us for dinner?”

  Ryan shook her head “I’m going to enjoy the first of many nights with no threat of a midnight phone call about a campus emergency or a fraternity party gone bad.” She was looking forward to taking stock of what was stored on her DVR and deciding what to watch first. She said good-bye as the last of her colleagues left the pub, then took the last sip of her Shirley Temple.

  “Goodnight, Jamie. Thanks for the party. I guess business will be a little slow for the next couple of months?” Ryan asked.

  “Oh, no,” said Jamie. “But there will be more locals in here.” She smiled. “Summer is good for busin
ess. Everybody needs to get in out of the heat.”

  Ryan grinned. She liked O’Leary’s Pub and its petite owner and was glad to hear business would be good throughout the summer. Ryan was sure she and Teddy would be in more than once over the next few months.

  “See you next time, then.” Ryan waved as she got up to leave.

  “Enjoy your summer.”

  Ryan closed the door behind her and looked across the street to the campus, then frowned. O’Leary’s was across from the northwest corner of the campus and Ryan, not thinking ahead, had parked that morning in the campus’s southeast parking lot. She sighed and decided to enjoy the walk across the quiet campus.

  She crossed the rec field and moved along the edge of Milton and Xavier Halls, looking carefully at the adobe walls as she went. While President Martinez was an avid proponent of the annual paintball contest, he always made a point to gather the competitors before the match began to remind them of the importance of campus appearance. Thus, while there were few rules for their game, two were paramount — and one of those was absolutely sacred. First, competitors were not to take shortcuts through the buildings during the match. Second (and most important), they were not to get paint on the buildings. The paint they had used the last two years was guaranteed water-soluble, but no one wanted to be the shooter responsible for putting the technology to the test. They were all very careful to shoot away from the buildings.

  Ryan turned the corner and cut between Xavier Hall and the amphitheater. The flowers marking the outer edge of the seating area were in full bloom and fragrant in the evening air. Past the amphitheater was Henley Pond. A raft of ducks were gathering for their evening meal, chatting loudly as they paddled to the bank. The ducklings that had marched around campus in straight lines behind their mothers all spring were almost as big as their parents now.