Lois had a meeting with the dean. She didn't know why. Though she'd been cleared of charges related to the policy on fighting that called for a dismissal from the school if initiating a fight or causing violent injury, she well knew that being intoxicated wouldn't be so easily forgiven.

"Come in, Ms. Lane," the dean called when he spotted her in the hallway. "Slightly early for the appointment. I like that."

"Might as well rip the band-aide off," she muttered. It was the typical university office, walls lined with thick, heavy tomes and interesting pieces of décor here and there. She couldn't tear her eyes away from a figure that appeared to be an African fertility goddess.

"Please, take a seat."

She sat down in a comfortably padded chair that was surely an antique and probably cost more than her tuition.

He sat down behind his mahogany desk and neatly folded his hands together as he took a moment to study her. Why was he prolonging her agony? Couldn't he just insincerely thank her for being a part of Metropolis University all of a few weeks and wish her luck in her future endeavors. This was cruel behavior.

Finally, he spoke. "This university has a zero tolerance policy toward underage drinking. Zero. In fact, the campus is supposed to be alcohol free even if you happened to be twenty-one, which I assume you know from student orientation."

Now was not the time to admit that she had slept through a good portion of student orientation, but she had known getting caught drinking would result in expulsion. So why had she done it? In celebration of being free of the General's watchful eye and heavy hand she supposed. He was just going to love this. "Yes, sir."

"I was going over your file," he said, holding up the manila folder.

That could not be good.

"It's very informative. You went to five different high schools, five. And the last one, I don't think you were there long enough to get your first report card."

"No, sir. I've never been to any school for very long really. Part of being an army brat."

"Yes. And your grades are dreadful. You didn't even get enough credits to finish high school. No extracurriculars to recommend you unless you count six weeks working on a school paper. Frankly, I'm rather puzzled how you got past admission."

Again, now was probably not the time to admit that a bald billionaire had pulled some strings as a favor for a student at her last high school who could hardly stand her. "It was a surprise to me too, sir."

At this, the dean seemed to have a hint of a smile. This whole interaction was strange. "I read your admission essay, which was quite convincing by the way and well-written despite a few spelling errors, and something caught my attention. Is it true that you were taught to swim by Navy Seals?"

"Yes, I know my way around water," she answered slowly. Her rigorous lessons had made her quite the swimmer.

"I thought you might. I don't know if you're aware of this, but Metropolis University hasn't won a swimming and diving championship in over forty years."

"How sad," she said, starting to see where this was going.

"But this year we have a winning girl's team, a really good shot at making a name for ourselves again in that athletic field."

"And?"

"And I think you would ensure it. So I'm prepared to cut you a deal, Ms. Lane. You will be on probation for the rest of freshman year, but to keep your spot, you have to join the swim team."

"It's as simple as that? I have something you want, so you're prepared to overlook my bad behavior?"

"It's more than that. I think you struggle to make connections and friendships and that is part of your problem with alcohol and your other disciplinary issues. This will allow you a chance to make some real friends. And that's also why I'm recommending you join the sorority, Alpha Omega Gorgona. Nearly all your teammates are members, and your new sisters will help make sure you tow the line."

"Oh, no." She was not the type of girl that joined sororities. Not only did she find the females that made them up petty, immature, and irritating, but she thought it an antiquated system of sexism. "Forget that."

"Maybe I'm not making myself clear enough. I'm not just recommending, I'm very strongly suggesting it. What will it be, Ms. Lane? Are you going to continue your education here or walk away?"

By which, she realized that it was not a suggestion at all. It was a part of her probation. The other alternative was to return to the Kent Farm defeated. A stick-in-the-mud, self-righteous Clark Kent or a group of giggly, peppy girls. She weighed both in her mind's eye, trying hard to decide which was the lesser of two evils.

Finally, she sighed. "Go, Bulldogs!"