Charlie hovered outside of Larry's office door and tapped lightly on the oaken surface, almost nervously. As much as he didn't want to talk about his difficulties with another person, Larry had the benefit of years of experience that Charlie was certain could help him.
"Charles!" Larry greeted, beckoning to him to enter. "Come in, come in. You don't usually knock. Is something the matter?"
"No," Charlie answered, stepping into the room. "Well, yes, actually. I have a problem that I was hoping you could help me with."
Larry observed his former student closely. Charlie was avoiding his eyes, glancing around the room without really seeing anything. His hands twisted in front of him, and he seemed to vibrate with some excess energy. "I take it this has nothing to do with math."
Charlie shook his head and looked down at his shoes. "No, it's about . . . um, one of my students."
Larry raised his eyebrows. "Oh? Any student in particular?"
Charlie nodded.
Larry frowned at him. "Charles, you know that, in order for me to help you, first you must present the problem."
Charlie sighed. In a halting, stammering voice, he relayed everything Edminton had told him the past Friday. Larry listened intently, not interrupting as Charlie's voice grew steadier. As if a dam had broken, Charlie's words spilled forth. He told Larry about what Kyle Preston had said and done, and he admitted the fears and concerns that had cropped up in his mind over the whole situation. He spoke for twenty solid minutes before finally falling silent, eyes still fixed firmly on his feet.
Larry paused a moment to gather his thoughts, then leaned against his desk. He folded his arms. "I see. You believe that, because one student is causing all of this turmoil for you, that you are a horrible teacher."
Charlie cringed.
Larry shook his head. "Charles, I have sat in on some of your classes, I have seen you with your students, and I have overheard your students talking about you across the campus. They love you. They admire your wealth of knowledge and enthusiasm for your field, and they truly relate to you as a person. Let me first assuage your concerns in that area: you are an excellent professor. Dean Edminton was right, and everyone would agree."
Charlie peeked cautiously up at Larry.
Larry continued. "Now, it sounds like this 'Kyle' is unhappy about something with you that you may not even be aware of. I've had students like that before, and Charles, you aren't going to please all of them. Some of your students are going to resent you. It's a matter of life. But you can't measure your abilities and skills as a teacher against just one student. From what you've said, you have done everything you can and more to reach Kyle, to help him in your class. But there's only so much you can do. Even geniuses have their limits."
A small smile blossomed on Charlie's face.
"Go to the meeting," Larry advised him. "Go in with the knowledge that you have done everything with Kyle's best interests in heart, and go in prepared to listen to his concerns. Once you have everything laid out on the table, you can move forward. But don't allow this one incident to shape your future as a teacher. If you do, then you're not only cheating yourself of a fulfilling life, but you'll be cheating your students of an exceptional teacher."
Charlie nodded, fighting back the warm flush infusing his cheeks. "Thanks, Larry. I feel better now."
"Good," Larry replied. "I'm glad I could help."
Even with Larry's uncharacteristically impassioned speech, Charlie entered the dean's office with some amount of trepidation. He wasn't quite sure what to expect, but the probabilities and statistics of possible outcomes were chasing themselves through his head.
Edminton's office was spacious and tastefully decorated. Her desk sat on one end of the room, flanked by two large bookcases filled to bursting with texts of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Pictures of the campus, of Edminton with several students, and several degrees lined the walls. A round table stood at the other end, where Edminton was currently seated. Charlie walked over to it, nodding at the dean. His tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of his mouth.
Edminton smiled. "Relax, Charlie. You look like you're about to pass out. This is just a friendly discussion."
Charlie nodded, but still didn't trust himself to speak. He sank into a nearby chair and stared firmly at the tabletop.
"You know, I've heard some rumors around the campus about you consulting for the FBI," Edminton commented, hoping to draw the young man out of his shell.
Charlie glanced up at Edminton, managed a weak smile, then looked back down at the table. "Um . . . yeah, I've been helping my brother out on a couple things. Nothing big."
"What sort of things, if you don't mind my asking?" Edminton pressed.
Charlie shrugged, but he began to relax. "Whatever my brother needs. Predictive analysis, some probabilities, things like that. It's usually numbers on fraud cases, with large amounts of money involved."
Edminton nodded, her expression one of intrigue. "I never really gave much thought about it, but I guess using mathematics to solve crimes must come in handy for the FBI."
His unease and concerns temporarily forgotten, Charlie immediately launched into a more detailed explanation of some of the cases he had helped his brother on. Though careful not to reveal any classified information, he had more than enough examples to draw from. It wasn't until Edminton glanced at the clock hanging on the wall that they realized that an hour had passed.
"Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed, interrupting Charlie's flow. "I can't believe . . . your consulting work was so fascinating, Charlie, that I've completely forgot about our conference."
Charlie looked up at the clock, startled. Confusion creased his forehead. "Where's Kyle?"
"That's a good question," Edminton replied. "I'm going to see if I can find Mr. Preston and reschedule our talk. I'll let you know the time and day. Thank you very much for coming, Charlie, and thank you for sharing some of your work outside of school with me. I enjoyed our conversation."
Charlie stood, nodding. "S-Sorry that we didn't accomplish what we set out to do," he stammered, feeling some of the old nervousness to slip back into his stomach. "I'll talk to you later."
He dimly heard Edminton's call of farewell as he exited the office and headed back down the hall. His mind swirled around this new development, wondering why Kyle had not shown up for the meeting. Possible reasons chased each other through his mind, followed closely by their probability of being true. He was just about to turn the corner and leave the building when a familiar voice in a nearby room reached his ears.
" . . . Eppes is a joke . . ."
Frowning, Charlie edged back to the room where he had heard Kyle's voice. The door was open part of the way, shielding Kyle and whomever he was talking to from his sight, but Charlie could hear the conversation quite clearly.
"Didn't you have a meeting or something with him?" a voice Charlie didn't recognize asked.
A snort filtered into the hall. "Yeah, but I had something more important to take care of. Let Professor Eppes sweat it out. The guy's not going to do anything about it."
The voice that responded was filled with doubt. "What exactly is your deal with him again?"
Charlie edged closer, anxious to hear Kyle's response.
"Professor Eppes thinks he's this great teacher, but it's ridiculous," Kyle replied. "He has no idea that everyone makes fun of him behind his back. He actually thinks we're interested in his stupid class, and those of us who are trying to do okay as math majors, he tries to make us do all this extra work. I think he thinks it's helping us out."
Charlie felt embarrassment warm his face. He didn't want to hear anymore, but on the same token, he couldn't stop himself.
"I thought Professor Eppes was popular," the voice replied.
"Sure, when compared to Fleindhart," Kyle replied derisively. "Now there's a winner." The sarcasm was a sharp blade, cutting deeply into Charlie's chest. "Nah, man, Eppes is just some freak math genius who doesn't have a clue. None of the others in class know what's going on, and everyone is too embarrassed to say anything. They think they'll feel dumb, and in the shadow of a genius, who can blame them?"
Charlie finally withdrew and trudged out of the building. He didn't want to hear anymore; truth be told, he felt he had heard enough. Shame and humiliation burned on his face. He didn't even notice the calls of friendly greetings from passing students and faculty, completely absorbed in his own mind. Kyle's words echoed in his ears as he made his way to his bike.
Alan glanced up from the television as the back door closed. He waited expectantly for Charlie to appear, curious as to what had kept his youngest out longer than usual. He knew Charlie wasn't working on anything for his brother at the moment, and he was experiencing the rare lull in projects for 'friends'. Whatever the cause, Alan suspected it had something to do with Charlie's mood the last few days.
Charlie emerged from the kitchen and passed his father without so much as a glance on his way to the stairs. It wasn't until Alan had called his name twice that Charlie even turned and acknowledged his father's presence.
"Oh . . . hey, Dad," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. "What's up?"
Alan stood and folded his arms. "I think I should be asking you that question."
Charlie merely frowned, confused. "Nothing's up with me."
Alan prayed for patience. Getting Charlie to open up took a tremendous amount of subtle skills, and Alan knew of only one person in the world capable of accomplishing such a feat. Unfortunately, she had passed on without revealing her secret to him. "Don't give me that, young man. You've been moping about the house lately, and I want to know why."
Charlie shrugged and glanced down at his feet. "No reason, really. Just some stuff going on at school. It's going to be resolved pretty quickly, though."
Alan raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"
Charlie nodded, still not meeting his father's eyes. "Yeah, I um . . . I guess now's as good a time as any to tell you . . ."
Alan waited. When it appeared as though Charlie had lost courage, he ducked to catch his son's eyes. "Tell me what?"
Charlie looked at his father, and Alan's breath was taken away at the depth of anguish he found there. "I think . . . I think I made a mistake . . . I'm resigning from my professorship at CalSci."
Whatever Charlie could have said, Alan would have never expected this. He stared dumbly at his son for a moment before finding his voice. "You . . . you're quitting? Charlie . . . no, you can't quit! Why would you quit? You love teaching, all your students love you."
Charlie flinched as if struck. "I-I know it seems sudden, Dad, but it's for the best, believe me. I've given it some thought. I, um, I need to . . . to go."
He turned on his heel and headed, not for the stairs as was his original destination, but out the door in the direction of the garage. Alan snapped out of his shock and reached for the phone. Something was bothering Charlie, and if Alan couldn't get him to speak, he would get someone who could.
Two hours had passed after Alan's phone call, one hour and fifty-nine minutes more than Alan would have liked, but a familiar vehicle finally pulled into his drive. Alan pounced on Don before Don managed to open the car door, his anxiousness driving his actions.
"Don, you have to talk to Charlie," he insisted. "I've been trying since I called you, and he's just tuning me out, saying it's for the best. He just keeps working on that damn 'p' thing, and I can't get him to listen to me. He'll listen to you. You've got to try."
Don held up his hands in a placating manner. "Dad, take it easy. I'll see what I can do, all right? But I can't make any promises. Look; after you called, I tracked down Larry. I figured if it has to do with this school thing he mentioned last Friday, then he would have told Larry about it."
"Did he?" Alan demanded.
Don nodded. "Yeah, he did. That's why I'm so late. I had to track down a few others. I actually brought some people with me who might be able to help."
For the first time, Alan noticed the people exiting Don's car and hovering nervously on the other side; two young men and a young woman who looked like college students. Larry was standing with them, speaking quietly. Don followed Alan's gaze and smiled softly.
"I thought that, if Charlie didn't listen to me, he would listen to some of his students," he told his father. He raised his voice. "Go on into the house and wait for me there. I'll go and get Charlie."
Larry nodded and gestured for the students to proceed him. Still worried about his son but trusting Don to handle the situation, Alan smiled and welcomed the students into his home.
Don waited until they were inside the house, then made his way to the garage. The familiar sound of chalk scratching on blackboard and the smell of the dust assaulted his senses, bringing to mind a flash of memory. Had it really been just a couple months ago when Charlie had broken down after the bank robbery that had gone south? It seemed like much longer.
"Charlie?" he called into the garage.
Charlie continued to work, not giving the slightest indication that he had heard his brother call his name. His shoulders were taut with tension, his hands trembling as they danced over the boards with a life all their own.
Unperturbed, Don moved into the garage and leaned casually against a nearby board. He ignored the chalk dust rubbing into his polo shirt, his dark eyes fixed on what he could see of his brother's face.
Charlie's eyes were fixed wholly on his numbers, but there was no mistaking the dark circles beneath them or their red rims as he fought back the glistening tears that threatened to spill. His jaw jutted forward with such force that Don knew it would ache the next day.
"Hey, Buddy, I hear you've had a rough couple days," Don tried again.
Still no response. Not even a waver in the endless stream of numbers.
Don sighed. "Larry told me what's been going on."
Charlie's face didn't react, but his hand jerked sharply over a variable he had been writing, leaving a large white line across a separate set of numbers. Making a tiny noise of frustration in the back of his throat, he quickly wiped what he could away with his hand and continued.
"Charlie, why did you keep this from us?" Don asked. "Dad and I have been worried about you. You could have come to us for help. Look . . . Charlie, put the chalk down. Look at me."
Charlie ignored him. Deciding to take matters into his own hands, Don reached out for the chalk. He managed to grasp Charlie's wrist, causing Charlie to try and pull away. Don held fast, tightening his fingers and using his other hand to tug the chalk out of Charlie's resisting grip.
Charlie tried to yank his arm back, still not looking at Don. "Quit it, Don, leave me alone! I have to finish this line of thought before I lose it! Give me back my chalk!"
Don set the chalk aside out of Charlie's reach. "Not until you talk to me."
Charlie tried to reach around Don, but his brother was too strong. Charlie continued to fight against the grip around his wrist, eyes fixed on the piece of chalk he desperately wanted. "Don, this isn't funny! Let me go!"
Not bothering to respond, Don wrapped his free hand behind his little brother's head and pulled Charlie into a fierce hug. Charlie fought him, trying to wriggle away, but Don merely tightened his hold on his brother. After another minute of twisting and pushing, Charlie finally fell limply against Don, trying to muffle his tears in his brother's shoulder.
Don wasn't fooled. Finally releasing Charlie's wrist, he wrapped his arms around Charlie and hugged him. "Easy, Buddy, easy. I'm here."
When Charlie had found some semblance of control over his tears, Don led him to a nearby chair and made him sit down. Crouching down in front of him, he looked into his brother's teary eyes, concerned.
"Dad said you quit school," he stated softly. "Charlie, I've never known you to quit anything in your life. Why now?"
Charlie's eyes fell to his knees, and he toyed with a button on his shirt. "I'm not quitting . . . not really. My decision was based upon relevant data gathered over the last few days, and this was the most logical end result."
Don forced himself to not roll his eyes. "Sounds to me like you're basing this decision on faulty data, which means that your quitting would be an illogical conclusion."
Charlie stared at him in shock. Don waved his hand dismissively. "Something like that. You know what I mean. Charlie, Larry told me about that student and what he said. But he thought that your meeting with that dean today would have fixed things. Now, I don't have to be a math genius to figure out that you got some new data that made you decided to quit."
"No, just an FBI agent," Charlie muttered.
Don smirked. "Spill. What happened?"
Charlie looked over at his beloved blackboards, but Don turned his face back to him. Realizing that he was not going to be able to get back to his numbers, he heaved a great sigh. "I was walking away from the meeting . . . Kyle didn't show, and Dean Edminton said she was going to call and reschedule with him. I was walking down the hall and . . . I-I heard Kyle talking."
Don nodded, relieved that Charlie was finally opening up to him. He listened patiently as Charlie's words poured forth, carefully noting the shifting eyes and the restless fingers. When Charlie finally fell silent, the truth of the day's events out in the open, Don reached up and squeezed Charlie's shoulder.
"So you've decided to take this one student's word for it, and are going to end a promising teaching career without a fight?" Don asked softly. "Charlie, that doesn't sound like you at all."
"But he said all my students-," Charlie began to protest.
Don held up a hand, cutting him off. "I know what you're going to say, Buddy, so I'm going to stop you right there. Have you even asked these other students of yours? How do you know all of your students are thinking of you this way?"
Charlie searched Don's face, but didn't answer.
Don rocked back on his heels. "You know, something similar happened to me a while back. I had just gotten promoted to head up the office at Albuquerque, and on my first case as ASAC, there was this agent who did everything I asked. Did it all without a single complaint. We got through the case okay, not great, when my boss pulls me aside and tells me that this agent had lodged a formal complaint against me."
Charlie was listening earnestly, his dark eyes sparkling this time with curiosity rather than the tears from earlier. "He had a complaint? About what?"
"Said I didn't follow proper protocol during the arrest," Don replied easily. At the time, he had been worried, but now it was water under the bridge. "A couple agents later told me he had been bad-mouthing me behind my back. No reason; just a personality clash. I confronted the agent about it, but in the end it couldn't be resolved, and he transferred to another city. While it seemed to me that aspersions were being cast on my abilities to lead the team, in reality no one was listening to him or taking him seriously."
"But you're a good agent," Charlie pointed out.
"And you're a good teacher," Don replied. "And I think maybe it's time you listen to your other students, and not this 'Kyle'."
He stood and pulled Charlie to his feet. Ignoring his brother's questioning look, he steered Charlie out of the garage and into the house.
Alan had taken Larry and the students into the living room, where they sat comfortably with drinks. Whatever they had been discussing became quickly forgotten upon the entrance of the two Eppes brothers. Charlie stared dumbly at the familiar faces for a moment, then turned to Don. "What's going on?"
Larry stood. "Charles, forgive me. Your brother here came to school quite concerned about you, and I agreed that something more needed to be done to resolve this situation."
Charlie's eyes skimmed over the face of his friend and settled uncomfortably on his three students. He recognized them as being in the same class with him as Kyle, and he felt equal parts fear and curiosity as to what they might have to say to him.
The young man with short cut brown hair and blue eyes cleared his throat and stood. "Professor Eppes, um . . . sorry to bother you at home, but we were a little worried about you, too. We all were."
The young woman stood as well. Her dark hair cascaded over one shoulder, and she shook it back impatiently. "Yeah, Professor. What's been with you these last two days? You've been acting kinda weird in class."
Charlie looked into their eyes, finding only concern and confusion. No fear, no anger, nothing that Kyle had said would be there. "I-I'm sorry if I haven't been up to my usual standards of teaching . . . it was recently brought to my attention that my, um, my classes have been too hard. I assure you, whoever will replace me will see to it -."
He was cut off by angry outcries from the three students present. The last young man jumped to his feet, pale blue irises shining with conviction through long strands of golden blond hair. "Replace you? Professor, you can't be serious!"
"I'm afraid I am, Josh," Charlie told him. "I haven't been doing everything I should have been for you or any of my students. Your education is too important for me to jeopardize."
"Which is exactly why you shouldn't leave!" the young woman insisted.
"Kate, I know it doesn't seem like the best option to you right now, but you will all be much better off if I step aside and allow someone else more qualified take over," Charlie reasoned patiently.
"More qualified than a math genius?" the first young man shot back, incredulous. Don stifled a snort of laughter; the kid had read his mind.
Charlie's penetrating gaze leveled on him. "Being a math genius does not automatically make me a good teacher, Luke," he explained. "I've misjudged my students, given you too much, too high expectations."
"This is about Kyle, isn't it?" Kate demanded angrily. Her cheeks flushed with the emotion. "Wait until I get my hands on him."
"You're not taking what Kyle said seriously, are you?" Luke asked. "The guy's lazy. Full of it. He wants the easy way out, and doesn't care what he has to do to keep it that way."
"Be that as it may, he raised some valid points," Charlie tried to point out. "I tend to give you quite a bit of work, and I know I can be distant when working on a math problem. You'll be better off with a real teacher."
"The only valid point Kyle raised was that he's more than capable of making an ass of himself," Luke shot back indignantly. "He doesn't speak for us, Professor!"
"Professor, listen," Josh added. "You should know something. I barely made it through my high school math classes. I couldn't understand anything my teachers taught me, and they had zero patience for someone like me. I came to CalSci and knew I had to take one math class for my major, so you know what I did? I asked around campus for someone I could take that I could actually pass.
"Everyone I asked told me the same thing. They told me to take your class, Professor Eppes." Josh's eyes were locked with Charlie's, driving his point harder. "They told me that, even though it was hard, you would be able to explain everything way better than any other professor on campus, and that you would be able to help me out if I needed it. And you know what, Professor? Math is easy for me now. It's one of my favorite classes."
Charlie felt his cheeks grow warm as the truth of his student's words sank in. He was dimly aware of the gentle squeeze Don gave his shoulder, or the glow of pride on his father's face. His eyes studied his students' pleading faces.
"You can ask anybody on campus, Professor," Kate stated emphatically. "I mean, your classes are always the first to fill at registration time. I had to trade favors with, like, five people, and this is my second attempt at getting into this class. Don't listen to Kyle. Listen to us. Don't leave."
"You can't quit now, Professor," Luke finished. "Please stay."
Charlie met each gaze, then nodded solemnly. "All right. I'll stay."