started talking to me. But he knew he said something he wasn’t supposed to.

“Marcy,” someone said in a quiet voice.

I turned around, seeing Evan Robinson trotting to catch up, his wiry thirty three year old body out of shape, a sheen of sweat already visible on his balding head. He panted through the full beard, readjusting the round, thin framed spectacles over his deep set eyes.

“Getting some exercise?” I asked as he approached.

“I-I thought you were leaving,” Evan said as I started walking back toward my room with him, “you looked like you were in a hurry.”

“Just… trying to talk to a student,” I said as we went back into my classroom.

“Taking another protégé?” Evan asked with his typica...

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