When the room was empty, Dr. Gale finally looked up. She studied Reagan for a moment with the calm, interested gaze of someone who has spent decades professionally observing people.
"How long have you been training?" she asked.
Reagan blinked. "Since I was seven. How did you know?"
Dr. Gale pulled up a chair across from Reagan's desk and sat down with the directness of someone who didn't see the point in standing when you could sit.
"The way you held your tray this morning," she said. "In the cafeteria."
Reagan went very still.
"I have a classroom across from Founders Hall," Dr. Gale said calmly. "I eat breakfast at my desk most mornings. The window overlooks the south entrance to the cafeteria. I happened to be looking up when that orange juice went across your tray."
She said it simply, not dramatically. Just, this is what I saw.
"Most people, when something is thrown at them, even something minor, even something that's technically an accident, they flinch. They pull back. Their center of gravity goes high."
She paused.
"You didn't flinch. When that juice hit the tray, your grip adjusted. Your weight didn't shift. You protected your base, and then you made a decision. That's not a natural response. That's trained."
Reagan looked at her. Said nothing.
"Taekwondo," Dr. Gale said. It wasn't a question. "Or something similar. But I'd guess Taekwondo, based on the scholarship list."
"You read the scholarship list?"
"Every year. It's public record."
A slight pause.
"I also want to say, because it seems relevant, that what I watched this morning in that cafeteria took more discipline than most adults I know would have managed. You're 18 years old. That young man knocked your food over in front of a room full of people, and you said nothing. Did nothing to escalate. Just moved on."
She let that sit for a moment.
"That tells me something about you," she said. "And I want you to know that I saw it. Because I suspect the next few weeks are going to require you to keep doing hard things, and it helps, sometimes, to know that someone in the room is actually paying attention."
Reagan looked at this woman. Sixty-some years old, silver-haired, direct as a north wind. And felt something shift slightly in the tightly wound center of herself.
Not much. But something.
"Thank you," she said.
"Don't thank me yet," Dr. Gale said.
She stood up, adjusted her reading glasses.
"I've been teaching at this college for 19 years. I know how Caldwell works, and I know what that young man's family represents to this institution. So..."
She looked at Reagan steadily.
"Whatever you're planning, and I can see that you're planning something, even if it's just planning to be patient, document everything. Write it down. Dates, times, exactly what was said and by whom. Old habit of mine from a long time ago."
"What kind of habit?" Reagan asked.