Alona stared blankly back. "You said you wanted to see me in your office anytime before next Wednesday."
Prof. Sigger finally sighed, sinking a little in his chair.
"Did I say what for? I'm feeling a little low today," he said, hoping to elicit a small display of feminine attention.
"Oh," came the succinct and neutral reply. Prof. Sigger sighed again.
"It was about my book report," continued Alona. "On…"
"Rush Limbaugh," interrupted Prof. Sigger.
"No."
"Coca-Cola?"
"No."
"I need to find my horoscope. I can't seem to keep track of anything anymore." He leaned back in his chair and felt his eyes close. That's it! he realized. That's why I asked her to my office! I have to find out if she would…
Somewhere in the pit of Sigger's abdomen, a latent piece of conscience manifested itself as a stomach cramp. He coughed and patted his belly. Then something lower than his abdomen began to draw his attention. He closed his eyes for a moment to clear his mind and focus on the art he had studied for years. With his intentions firmly aligned within (and without), Sigger opened his eyes but found himself no longer in his office but in a basement alcove. Across the room sat a pimply faced teenager who was scratching his scalp under long strawberry-blond hair.