“Of course you didn’t.” Mark was a flirt, but he would never do anything to hurt a woman. I asked, “What, specifically, are you accused of?”

“I…I haven’t seen the actual charges, but I think they include rape.”

“When did you find out about this?”

“Today. The school has established what they call the Sexual Misconduct Office of Crescent Heights. The students call it SMOOCH. The head of this office called me in.”

In my long teaching career, I had never heard of such a thing. I said, “What happens next?”

“I have a week to prepare my defense.”

“We’ve got to get you a lawyer.”

“I can’t have a lawyer with me at the hearing.”

This was getting worse and worse. “At least you need a lawyer to discuss your defense with and to educate you on courtroom procedure, such as cross-examining your accuser.”

Mark shook his head, morosely. “I can’t face my accuser.”

“What about your constitutional rights? What about trial by jury?”

“Since Crescent Heights is a private school they make their own rules. The Bill of Rights doesn’t apply to them. And this is billed as an informal inquiry, not a legal procedure.”

“But it can get you suspended.”

“Or possibly fired.”

“Did you know about this…policy when you went to work there?”

“Yes, but I didn’t think I would have a problem. Besides, I needed the job.”

Mark had completed work on his Ph. D. at the University of North Carolina last fall. His preference would have been to get a job at UNC, here in Chapel Hill, or Duke, in nearby Durham, where I had taught, but he wasn’t able to land a teaching position with either of them.

“Do you at least know who filed the charges?”

“Yes. But I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t? Or won’t because you think I would make trouble.” I have not been known to sit idly by when things go wrong.

“I’m under a gag order.”