Misconduct: A forbidden obsession

's

I notice about the

ensive for someone pretending not to bleed prestige; the box I'm carrying, too light to contain anything real. The hallway behi

iarhall's always been old-money prete

r, feel the give, and

ed cleaner and something metallic

ooks like it was dragged in during some Nixon-era renovation. There's one chair acr

ed shut. A storm his

he door b

's The Maturational Processes. A red leather notebook I haven't written in since... No. Not yet. A whi

like it belongs

start. It's a rerun

at the open

y fifties, polite smile l

sks. "I'm Deborah. D

fice key. Why I'm just getting i

sychology faculty are upstairs, but... t

explain why.

graze mine just a second too lo

ou," I s

ou'll want to keep

mused. "I'm not he

hosts tend to knock whethe

before I

rything else here. I lean back and stare at th

this

miration. Or fr

t s

t t

. stil

r in the desk t

once, twi

ecy. As if someone decided which parts of this space I was allowed to access, and w

e engraved on the barrel. Mine. A gift from the board chai

the inscription like

rain turns harder, angled. The t

ck th

re's in twe

catch my reflection once more in

look when I'm pre