Death of the Ayn Rand Scholar by Gray Cavender (red scrolls of magic TXT) 📗

to show. Depending on the lighting, her hair was either auburn or brown, as was Mom’s. Her eyes were a greenish gray, again like Mom’s, and the structure of her eyes was that of her mom, as well. Her complexion was lighter, like Mom’s. So, as Jillian looked at her reflection, it was pretty much like Mom was looking back at her.

But, she could see Dad peaking-out, too. Mom had a cute, concave nose, while hers was a bit flatter, more like her dad’s. Her jawline was somewhat squared like his, too. Mom was just under five seven, Dad was almost five ten, and she was between them at five eight. She looked first at her left profile, then her right profile, holding her hand to her hip like celebrities on the red carpet before the Oscars. She backed-up, then moved forward again, checking herself out from various angles. She decided that she was pretty, definitely not as beautiful as Mom, but basically…good.

Mom’s hair was longer, more femmy, while hers was cut shorter in a classic bob…parted on the left side, combed over to the right, and pushed behind her ears. She’d thought of letting it grow longer—her hairdresser encouraged her to do so—but when she was an undergrad and had much longer hair, it took forever to blow dry it and get ready before a morning class. She’d cut her hair shorter when she started working in the Research Division. That cut wasn’t just more functional every morning…keeping it shorter meant that there wasn’t something for a criminal to grab her by.

The timer sounded and she returned to the kitchen for her tea. As she sat, she reminded herself of how lucky she was to have parents who were so understanding and so supportive.

Her mom, Alice, was an Academic Success Specialist for Tempe’s Kyrene School District, although these days, she spent more time with teachers and administrators than with school kids. She’d majored in Education at ASU, minored in French, and also taken Art History electives, which is where she learned to enjoy art…and maybe to enjoy foreign films, as well. After graduation, she’d taken a gap year—this was before they called them that—and travelled in Europe, mostly in France. She’d planned on teaching French, but, instead, after she returned to the US, started as a 6th grade teacher at Apprende Elementary, then later moved into administration, first at Apprende, then on to the Kyrene District Office over on Kyrene Road and Warner Road. While working, she’d gotten her MA in Ed Policy at ASU, a program that she’d really enjoyed, although it had since been disestablished.

Today, she was in charge of making sure that the District was in compliance, initially with the “No Child Left Behind” guidelines, and now with ‘The Every Student Success Act,’ the ESSA. As she always put it, “my job is to try to figure out how to actually educate children while appearing to comply with whatever’s the latest educational fad.” Not long ago, exasperated, she’d told Jillian, “Don’t’ even get me started on Grit.”

Franklin, her dad, was an administrator with the Arizona State Retirement System (the ASRS), one of two major retirement management systems for state employees. He’d majored in Finance at ASU, then worked for the Auditor General for several years before moving on to the ASRS job, initially as a financial planner, and now in the upper echelon of management. In a way, he was just a little “against type” because while still an undergrad, he was into poetry and had taken a couple of poetry courses as electives. He actually wrote poetry and had even been published in some of the ‘small magazines.’

He had black hair (showing some gray), a dark complexion, and was the sort of a man who needed to shave twice a day. Her dad was the one who’d taken her to City Lights Bookstore in San Francisco. He called her ‘Jilly,’ always had. Jillian made a mental note to ask him if he knew any of Professor Billy Gilroy’s work and also about Ayn Rand’s literary standing.

In addition to the car, her parents had helped with a down payment on her condo. That thought made her think about Professor Siemens’ condo, and the question of how a professor could afford something so expensive. As for her own place, Jillian had tried to start a schedule to repay her parents for the down payment money. They refused.

Both parents had helped while she was looking at prospective condos. Sometimes both had accompanied her to see a prospect, but mostly they took turns. After she’d narrowed her options to three places, her mom had served as a sounding board on the matter of which one she should choose. Isn’t that always the way, Dad was a financial advisor, Mom’s a school administrator, and yet she was the one to help Jillian to make the final decision. The second runner-up had been a great place off of Kyrene, between Baseline and Elliot. In a way, it was the nicest, the most…the most adult. The first runner-up was in the same complex as where she lived. It was a 2-story model and she had really liked its layout. But, the one-floor model just seem to have more light, and in the end that made the difference. She and her mom had discussed its proximity to ASU because she was worried about living so close to the campus.

Her mom had said, “You know what, Jillian, it seems almost as if you have somehow convinced yourself that you have to move a long distance from campus to start a new life. Don’t over-think this…just choose the one you like best.” In the end, Mom’s advice had turned the tide. Plus, the place off College was closer to work (she was at Tempe PD then), and on the Orbit line. And now, it was home.

Her mom had been right in another, maybe deeper way, too. Condo shopping had caused Jillian to realize that her