Page 24 of Lessons with the Mothman

"You're only looking at the anecdotal evidence of these interviews, which yes, I understand that this is only a handful of people?—"

"Species."

"—but the larger survey is being distributed now, withyour approvedcontrols and variables. That's the greater evidence. This is meant as support and a means of enriching my research goals."

I caught my breath as Phillip sat back in his chair—a brown leather wheeled desk chair that was a little too familiar to me. I blinked and exhaled slowly, relieved to find that the tension in the room was my anger, not arousal.

"Do you really doubt I'm getting work done outside of these interviews?" I asked.

Phillip waved a hand. "No. The surveys were thorough. I know those took time. And they'll take time for results. But I worry that by the time you have those results, it will be too late for you to narrow your focus."

"And if I narrow it now and the evidence comes back in my original theory's favor, I'll have wasted weeks of opportunities," I countered. "It's a risk either way. I'd rather risk ambitiously."

Phillip's eyebrows bounced. "Would you, really?"

I bristled at the question, glancing at the clock once more. The first half of the meeting had gone smoothly, covering everything I'd done over the month, but I'd been itching for escape for fifteen minutes now.

"Forgive me," he said, sitting up. "It's just…you're different than you were. Which isn't relevant to your work. Very well. Consider apossiblepivot, make an alternative plan, just as insurance."

I opened my mouth to object, but finding thinner threads in the pile I was working through wouldn't take that much extra effort to outline, not when everything was go so well already.

"I can do that," I said, reaching for my things. We still had ten minutes, but Phillip only watched me pack up rather than object to my rush.

"The freelance assistant is still working out for you?"

I bent over, hoping I wasn't blushing as I thought of Elias. "They are."

"Is he absent during interviews? I noticed there doesn't seem to be?—"

"He doesn't interfere. And it just depends on what the subject is comfortable with. I don't think he's ever had cause to interrupt," I answered, lifting my bag strap over my head to rest it across my body.

Phillip nodded. "Your interviews are incredibly thorough. You never drop a detail. I look forward to seeing you in action."

A hint, but not a demanding one.

"Thank you for the meeting, Professor Stanton."

"I'll see you in class on Thursday."

I nodded as I turned for the door, trying not to be so obvious with my sigh of relief as I opened it. Phillip had a decent-sized office, not quite the narrow closet of some I'd been in, but it was filled with books and stacks of papers, crowding around me and making it hard to move. The scent, the light from the window, and of course the man himself were all oppressively familiar, tugging me back to the year when I'd stood with a match in one hand and a stick of dynamite in the other, just waiting to light the fuse on the order of my life.

I wove my way through the network of cubicles in the faculty offices, flicking fragments of an older version of me out of my thoughts. The sound of a giggle, a little shy and a bit forced. The nervous tic of twisting a lock of hair through my fingers. The memory of a warm hand brushing and retreating from my bare knee. The guiding pressure at the small of my back as I walked down the sidewalk of my old Chicago neighborhood.

There was no touch now. I didn't always know who I was now that I wasn't the Dempsey's eldest daughter, or Brett McAllister's girlfriend, or the nice redhead who kept her hand down in class and her skirt up in the professor's office, but I knew where the edges of my body were. I knew that every piece of me someone saw as they passed me in the hall, I had chosen that morning in the mirror. Intentionally or absently, I hadn't thought of anyone else.

I was myself, for myself.

Miss Dempsey,

This email may come as a surprise, but rest assured, I'm writing out of concern. Your recent work has been subpar and is taking a toll on your average. I know you take your studies seriously and am reaching out to offer you an opportunity to recover some of your slipping grades.

If you are interested in earning extra credit, please meet me at the N. Hoyne Ave address, second floor, right hall, last door on the left.

With respect,

Professor E.

"Shit, Vic, are you all right?"Lyle asked, slapping me firmly on my back.

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