Beyond the Point(26)

Tim Nesmith shook his head. “But who gets to determine who’s actually right?” he said. “You can’t define a feeling.”

Hannah felt her face flush red. Shut down, defeated, she sank back into her seat, desperately trying to disappear into the linoleum floor. Did this guy really believe that there was no truth at all?

“Fair enough, Mr. Nesmith,” Colonel Bennett said, “but Miss Speer brought up a good point. And at least we know she completed the reading.”

The class laughed in unison, and this time, it was Tim’s cheeks that turned pink. But then he shrugged, laughing at himself. Moving back to his podium, Colonel Bennett picked up The Republic and held it in his hand.

“For students at other colleges, philosophy may seem theoretical and arbitrary. But the way that you answer this question will impact your life in real and tangible ways.” He paused, put the book down, and then continued. “In just a few short years, you’re going to be officers in the U.S. Army. Unlike those kids at other schools, you’re going to be leading soldiers and making decisions that could have life-or-death consequences. As leaders of the U.S. Army, we must believe that justice is a concrete, definable concept, and we must always be striving to live our lives in line with that ideal. At the end of the day, we must be able to say with certainty that the Nazis were wrong. And although they might have made the same truth claims, in the end, it was the right thing to do to defeat them. Yes, Miss Speer?”

Hannah had lifted her hand again, which seemed to shock everyone in the room, especially herself.

“Sorry, I had one more thought.”

“Never apologize for thinking.”

“You asked us what we would do if our sense of justice conflicted with our sense of duty. What I was trying to say earlier was that if you believe in justice, you have to risk being wrong for the sake of what’s right. You have to choose.”

Nodding, the professor turned the back of his green Army uniform to the class. On the board, he wrote CHOICE. On another part of the board, he wrote RISK.

“Very good, Miss Speer,” he said respectfully. Moving back to his podium, he picked up The Republic and continued lecturing, as his pupils scribbled frantically in their notebooks, trying to keep up. Asking more questions, prodding them further, the professor walked them through the rest of the reading, until the clock ran out on class.

“The next reading assignment is listed in the syllabus,” he said. “And your first reflection paper is due next week, too. Don’t forget. Class dismissed.”

Chairs squealed against the floor and all the cadets stood up and adjusted their uniforms. Hannah packed her backpack quickly, hoping to reach Tim before he jetted out the door. Taking a risk had worked during class, and she was hoping it would work with him, too. Across the room, he slid his backpack over his shoulders, revealing the lean muscles in his arms and releasing a fleet of butterflies into Hannah’s stomach. She was two steps behind him, about to reach out and touch his shoulder—to say what, she hadn’t decided—when she heard her name.

“Hannah,” the professor said, calling her back toward his desk.

All the courage she’d mustered fell apart as her arm lowered. Another opportunity, missed. She turned back and smiled at Colonel Bennett, trying to hide her disappointment.

“I just wanted to check on you,” he said. “My wife and I were at that last game. I was sorry to see that you didn’t get a chance to play.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Hannah said. “The older girls really are good. For some reason it’s just not clicking yet. Actually, I have to get going.” She pointed at the door. “Coach J makes us run if we’re late to practice.”

“Well, I don’t want to hold you up, but I did want to say that we’re here for you. Keep it up. I know it’s hard to believe, but plebe year is almost over.”

“Thanks, Colonel Bennett,” said Hannah sincerely.

“And great job today,” he said as she headed out the door. “Someone’s got to keep that Nesmith on his toes.”

RUNNING BACK TO the barracks, Hannah dropped off her schoolwork and picked up her basketball bag, certain she would be late to practice. As she sprinted uphill toward the Holleder Center, where the men’s and women’s basketball teams practiced, the first hints of spring called for her attention. Small packs of daffodils popped through the grass like little trumpets, heralding the end of winter. Buds on the trees outlined every limb with a hint of green. The brutal winter temperatures were finally breaking, and even though she was late, she loved the sensation of the first hints of warmth on her skin. The season always reminded her that no matter what, change would eventually come. Things could look absolutely dead—completely hopeless—and yet, the future always held the promise of new life.

Fearing Coach J’s fury, Hannah picked up her pace and tried not to be distracted by the flowers in bloom. As she entered the gym and jogged down the hall, she quickly tucked her silver cross necklace into her T-shirt and checked her watch, which told her she was three minutes late. The next thing she knew, Hannah looked up, expecting to push through the door to the women’s locker room, but instead crashed into a guy standing in the doorway.

“Whoa, whoa,” he said to her, putting up a hand between them. “Slow down, plebe.”

The cadet wore black gym shorts and West Point’s typical gray T-shirt with his last name blazoned above the school crest. Hannah read it quickly, the way you’d read the license plate of a car in the midst of a hit-and-run. COLLINS. It sounded familiar, but Hannah couldn’t exactly pinpoint where she’d heard the name before. The cadet had sharp green eyes, wavy black hair, and a smile that made Hannah feel unsettled. He was standing too close to her.