Unfortunately, the mention of your name behind that forbidding mahogany door provokes laughter. You wince. Who's in there with the dean? Forcing yourself to listen more closely while trying to be unobtrusive, you can make out the distinctive accent of Professor Thorne, who teaches temporal physics. She's the one who flunked you. You hadn't expected her, but it makes sense that she would be here. There's a third voice—male—that sounds familiar, but you can't quite place it.
They make you cool your heels some more. How do you spend your time?
Wipe blood and dirt from my knee, but don't ask the receptionist for a Band-Aid.
Flip through my temporal-physics lab book, rehearsing how I made my big discovery.
Switch on the inconspiuous camera peeking out from my pocket and silently rehearse my plea for justice.
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