One More Time by Deborah Cooke Read Free Book Online Page B

awkward silence in the room. Leslie would have quite happy remaining invisible for the duration of this meeting, but Dinkelmann had a special bonus for her.
    He gestured to her and she had a heartbeat to dread what he might say. “Here’s another example of finding solutions: Leslie, you have the distinction of the lowest grade averages per class in the entire department.”
    So much for no one noticing what she did. Clearly, she should have done a better job of fading into the woodwork.
    Or this was her bonus prize for being late.
    She forced a smile. “I take pride in rewarding excellence, sir.”
    “While that is commendable, I’ve looked at your grading schemes. You could make a marked difference in your grade averages by awarding full participation marks to all students.”
    Leslie blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
    “Yes.” Dinkelmann referred to his notes, which were apparently about Leslie’s grading. She felt a childish urge to snatch them off his lap, tear them up and stomp on them.
    Of course, she didn’t move at all.
    “You’ve allowed fifteen percent of each grade in each course for participation. It clearly follows that if you granted each student that fifteen percent automatically, your averages would then be fifteen percent higher and at that level, more consistent with the university’s expectations.”
    Leslie glanced around, seeing a few smirks. Some people were enjoying that she was being targeted: others were just glad it was her instead of them. She felt, abruptly, very alone.
    But that didn’t mean that she was afraid to fight. “With all respect, sir, students are supposed to participate to get that participation mark, hence the name. They’re supposed to show up, to do the readings and to contribute to any discussions, to actively be a part of their own education. It is my understanding that the intent of that mark is to acknowledge the efforts of students who actively participate but are not outstanding scholars.”
    Dinkelmann smiled thinly. “Perhaps it was a meaningful measure once, but now it is no more than a curiosity from the past. As historians, we can all appreciate that the social mores of former times seldom make sense later on.” He nodded to the group, inviting them to concur with him.
    An astonishing number of them did.
    He fixed her with a look. The Look. “With respect, Leslie, participation in any real sense is impossible to gauge, given current class sizes. It’s an arcane expectation and we need to look to the future of scholarship. We cannot expect more from students than they can reasonably be expected to give.” He removed his glasses and smiled benignly, exuding a paternal concern that was so at odds with his own ambition that Leslie felt an uncharacteristic urge to deck him.
    So, it was unreasonable to expect students to learn ? Leslie had a hard time biting that comment back.
    She really needed to get herself a decent cup of coffee.
    “I do not need to remind any of you that annual tuition at this institution costs in excess of twenty thousand dollars, not including any living costs or even books, and that the people paying those bills, by and large the parents of the students, expect a commensurate value with that cost.”
    He fixed Leslie once more with The Look. She looked back, determined not to blink first, unconvinced as she was. He was surprised, she could see it, because she’d never even defied him this much in the past.
    But this was important.
    The question was how important.
    At that thought, Leslie dropped her gaze. She knew she didn’t imagine Dinkelmann’s satisfied chortle.
    “Parents want their children to be A-students and the university is determined to fulfill that expectation,” he lectured to what he believed was a converted audience. “I merely suggest you all reconsider your marking criterion. Update it, perhaps, because even as historians, we dare not live in the past.” He chuckled, pleased with his joke, and there were a