Looking down, I realize that I'm scared absolutely out of my mind. I'm wearing my most professional looking clothes, a black pencil-ish skirt and white blouse that makes me feel more like I'm showing up for a job interview than a hearing that could change my entire life.

You really should have taken Duncan up on his offer to stay the night at the apartment.

Maybe, but I was too worried that I wouldn't get any sleep. Of course, I still didn't, as I stayed up most of the night worrying about the hearing. Now, standing in front of the Honor Building, I'm still sleep-deprived and nervous that Duncan isn't by my side.

"Don't worry," he told me this morning as we talked over the phone. "I've got a nine o'clock class, then I'll be there. The hearing starts at ten, so at most, I'll miss the opening statements. Don't worry. I have your back."

I take a deep breath again and open the door, going up to the second floor where the hearing room is located. Outside, I'm trembling, and my shakes increase when I see Chelsea coming down the hallway. "Why?"

Chelsea gives me an evil look and smiles. “It's nothing personal."

She goes inside, and I give her a minute to get settled in before I go in. I look around and grimace at the setup. The Honor Board has a history that stretches back over a hundred years, and as such, the hearing room has an aura that is straight out of the Inquisition. As the Concerned—we're not Accused, and of course, since this technically isn't a legal proceeding, we're not Defendants either—I sit in the middle of a semi-circle that wraps around the outer walls of the octagonal room. The Honor Board has a "Hearing Officer," what should really be called the Prosecutor, and then the Board itself, nine members made up of five students and four teachers who sit on the semi-circle.

"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition," I mutter to myself, but the old Monty Python joke doesn't help lift my spirits. I go to the table and set my bag on top of it, taking out the notes that I'd written up yesterday to help me. Not that there was much I could do. I couldn't figure out anything that could explain away the information that they had.

I take a deep breath and sit down, looking around as I see Professor Vladisova come in, dressed for class. She comes over and puts her hand on my table. “I’m sad that we have to do this . . . because you are a brilliant student, and having you in class, even after this, has been enjoyable. I hope you can grow and learn from it.”

I look up at her, and she has an almost kind expression on her face. "I didn't do it. I hope after today, you will believe me."

"Miss Mittel, I grew up in the Soviet Union—the one thing the Soviet people came to know after so many years under the Communists was that lies can be told with a very straight face."

"You should also have learned that innocent people are often unjustly accused," I reply, feeling my inner fire heat up. Good, get angry. Harness it. It's better than being afraid. "Or were Stalin's purges not taught when you went to school?"

Vladisova looks at me, then nods. "Good luck, Miss Mittel."

She takes her seat in the rear half of the room, which is reserved for witnesses and visitors. Honor Board hearings are open to any member of the University, student and instructor alike, although I don't know anyone who's ever come to watch one of these things for entertainment.

At precisely ten o'clock, as the big grandfather clock in the corner strikes the hour, the door of the hearing room opens up again, and the Honor Board walks in. The Hearing Officer is Kent Prescott, a pre-law student, from the little I found out about him. He and I had a single meeting, where he confirmed what I'd told the Dean, but that was about it.

Once everyone is inside, the Hearing President, an old man that I didn't recognize, raps the Hearing to order.

Kent stands up from his little side desk and approaches the middle of the circle. He's dressed in a charcoal gray suit, and I bet he practiced his opening statement quite a few times. He's in pre-law, after all, and wants to be a lawyer. For him, this isn't my life. It's just practice. He doesn't even care if I'm a cheater or not.

"Members of the Board, the accusations against the Concerned are quite serious. On the morning of October twelfth, Carrie Mittel sat down, along with the other forty-two members of her class, for an Organic Chemistry mid-term examination. Except, she had an advantage over the other students. She had her smart phone with her, and she used it to access class notes. She was even so blatant about it as to get up and leave the room for a minute, for purposes that I will show to you. She then completed her test and turned it in as if she'd done nothing untoward. In fact, if it weren't for the observations of another student, she would have gotten away with it. Today, I intend to show how the Concerned blatantly cheated on her exam, and how she did it. Thank you."

Prescott sits down, and the Hearing President looks to me. "Miss Mittel, as the Concerned, you have the opportunity to speak. Do you have a statement?"

I nod, stand up, and say my peace. It’s not as eloquent as Mr. Prescott. I’m not a pre-law student who's practiced this many times, after all. But I get my point across—that I’m no cheater, and I have no idea how this evidence came to be.

I sit down, and Prescott starts his case. The first person up is Professor Vladisova, who tells about what she saw, and how she was approached by Chelsea Brown after the mid-term. "At that point, I remembered Miss Mittel leaving the room with her phone at one point, and staying outside the room for about five minutes."

Next up is Chelsea Brown, and I'm shocked at the fairy tale she spins. By the time she finishes, I know I’m screwed. I literally have nothing in my defense other than my word and the fact that I already had an almost 4.0 GPA. The rest of the proceeding is merely a formality, at this point. I would need a miracle.

And in my miracle walked. Duncan strolls in, wearing a suit of his own, something custom-tailored, charcoal gray, with a white shirt and a silver-gray tie that is knotted perfectly in what Dad calls a double Windsor. He walks up to my table and sets a briefcase down, and I wonder if he bought the whole get-up just for this. "Excuse me for being late."

"Excuse me?" Prescott asks. "What is Mr. Hart doing here?"

"Hi," Duncan whispers. "Sorry I'm a little late. How’s it going?”

“Can’t get any worse,” I reply. "Nice suit, though.”

Duncan winks and turns around to face the Board. “Is Carrie not allowed to have a student Advocate?"

The President thinks about it for a second, then nods. "With Miss Mittel's approval, of course."

"Of course,” I quickly reply.

"Then so be it. Mr. Hart, please have a seat. Mr. Prescott, proceed."

The final piece of evidence that Prescott offers is the flash image of my phone, along with printouts of my browser cache. When I go to get up for my attempt to defend myself, Duncan puts his hand on my arm and shakes his head, smirking.

Duncan gets up and reaches into his attaché case. "Members of the Board, everything Mr. Prescott has presented here today sounds very compelling. I mean, if I were in your position, I'd be filling out the paper to throw Carrie out of school already. Why not? Let's hurry this up. I hear the cafeteria is serving pot roast today, and let's face it, as a football player, I love me some good pot roast."

There are a few chuckles, and Duncan has them in the palm of his hands. I guess all the press conferences he’s forced to do makes him a natural. “The problem is that everything Mr. Prescott has said today . . . well, it's just not true. It's not his fault—he’s just been misled. Let's start with the accusation of phone usage, which this whole thing hinges on.”

Duncan goes back to his briefcase and takes out a thick brown folder, the kind that you sometimes see people turn in reports with. "I'd like to submit this report, from NuTech Labs."

"What is this, Mr. Hart?" the President asks as Duncan hands it over.

"I just got this report twenty-five minutes ago. It's why I was late. The report's pretty long, and it's got a ton of technical jargon and stuff, but the summary on the first two pages is so simple, even a football player could understand it. NuTech is one of the best firms in California in the realm of computer forensics, and their experts have testified in over two hundred cases in California courts. I'm sure you can verify this easily enough."

"We'll take your word for it. Continue."

Duncan nods, and he turns back and walks to me, ready to spring his play. "At hearing what Carrie has been accused of, I hired NuTech to do a full analysis of two phones. First, hers. Second, mine. Carrie has stated that when she left the classroom, she was making a personal call. That call was to me, as well as the text message that preceded it. I know Carrie's phone was looked at by the Western Computer Science Department, but no offense to the comp sci majors. They can't do what NuTech can. The summary essentially says that Carrie’s phone was manipulated, and that all of this evidence is planted.”

There's a muted mumbling around the room as the President finishes reading the summary. “I’m calling a pause to this Hearing to confirm this report. Miss Mittel, during this pause, your restrictions to activities are still in place. This Hearing is temporarily adjourned."

Professor Vladisova comes up while Duncan packs his briefcase. Chelsea has already slunk out of the hearing room without a word. "I apologize, Miss Mittel. I’ll reinstate your grade, and I look forward to seeing you next week in class."

I nod and shake hands with her. She's not a bad person, just trying to do her job, and I understand that. I look around and see that the only people left are Duncan and me. He closes his briefcase and turns around. "Like I said, I'm sorry I was late."

"I'm sorry I doubted you. I admit, I was starting to get a little gloomy,” I say, wrapping my arms around him and pulling tight. "For a moment there, I was scared."

"I know," Duncan says, hugging me back. "I didn't tell you about NuTech because I didn't want to get your hopes up. They were slow on getting back to me, or else I would’ve told you. I barely had time to print out the report and get over here."

"But you did," I reply. “Thank God for that.”

Duncan chuckles. "Come on, let's go get some lunch and change clothes. I hate wearing a suit."

As we walk out of the Hearing room, I turn and look at him. "I don't know. I think you look handsome in a suit."

Duncan looks over, his gray eyes twinkling in the dim light of the hallway. “Take it in while you can. I don’t like wearing this monkey suit,” he says, rubbing his belly. “I’m starving.”

"Me too. Let's go. You said something about pot roast, right?"