As I’m explaining the differences between Pablo and Hermine, I notice two girls standing to the side of the lecture hall. One is hiding behind the other, and the other is…

Jesus. I can’t look at students like this, even if they are all adults.

Technically.

This one doesn’t look a day over eighteen, and her deer-in-the-headlights, profuse blushing act does nothing to make her look any older.

“Hermine is the feminine version of the name Hermann, who is obviously…” I trail off as I zero in on her.

She’s wearing a short, plaid skirt. Why that, of all things? Most girls are so happy to be in university and wear anything other than something that resembles their uniforms from girlhood, but this one looks like she thinks she’s still in grammar school.

I find my eyes wandering down her long legs and then trailing back up, lingering on her full breasts, but I pull myself together enough to smile and say, “Can I help you?”

Her eyes widen even more when she realizes I’m directing my comment to her, and I force myself to keep my own eyes focused intensely on her face. I’ve never been tempted by a student, especially not one so young. I’m not going to start now, my career is more important than that.

She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Finally, she points toward the open seats in the front row, and I gesture for her and her friend to sit down.

I catch myself staring at her even as she makes her way to the front of the room and takes a seat, but I tear my eyes away and continue on with the lecture.

As I talk, I occasionally sneak a look in her direction. Her long, strawberry blonde hair spills onto her white blouse, drawing my eyes down her chest. Each time I look toward her, though, her eyes are locked on me, as if she’s enraptured by every word of my lecture.

Even after I look away, the imprints of those green eyes remain burned onto my retinas, as if I’d been staring at the sun for too long.

My chest gets heavier as I go on, and it gets harder and harder to keep my eyes off her. When I see her smile, I decide to take a risk.

I look right at her as I’m making a point about Hermine, locking our eyes for a solid three or four seconds, and speaking directly to her.

“When Haller stabbed Hermine in the chest,” I say, “he wasn’t really killing her, he was resolving an inner conflict within himself.”

My heart races as she licks her thick lips. How will I resolve this inner conflict? She’s certainly too young, even if she wasn’t my student—and even if she is legal.

The lecture finally ends, and the students all rush out, thrilled to not have to hear me continuing to prattle on.

I open my dog-eared, heavily annotated copy of Steppenwolf and try to look busy, but I can’t focus. The printed words seem to just float on the pages of the book, and—

“Professor,” a voice says. I recognize the American accent, and it cuts through the buzz in the lecture hall.

I look up and am not surprised to see that it’s her.

“Yes?” I say, my voice coming out much more skeptical and abrasive than I wanted.

“I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Nikki.”

I reach out a hand, and as soon as her skin touches mine, it feels like electricity jolts through me. “Elij—” I cut myself off. “Professor Leeds,” I say.

“Are you from Leeds?” she asks.

I laugh. “No, no, I’m from the south. You’d know from my accent if I was from Leeds.”

I’m standing behind a small desk, which is covered by a few papers and books. It’s not my desk, just the one provided for anyone lecturing a class in this room. And we’re not in my office either, as many students are still milling around behind us, waiting to speak with me.

But the small desk separating me from the students may as well not exist. I can only hear her voice and see her eyes piercing into me. The shyness from before seems to have been washed away, replaced by some kind of raw intensity.

I grab the sheet of paper listing the names of all the students off my desk, just to make sure she’s really in my class and not some figment of my imagination.

“Nicole?” I ask. “Nicole Faria?”

“Everyone calls me Nikki,” she says.

I grin. “I’ll call you Nicole, or do you prefer Miss Faria?”

She looks at me defiantly, but I pull my shoulders back so that I tower over her, daring her to question me.

“Nicole is fine,” she says meekly.

“So, Nicole, you just came up here to introduce yourself? You don’t have another class to get to?” I question.

I find myself subconsciously treating her in the same way I would a much older woman I was interested in. Trying to keep her off-guard and unbalanced, giving me an edge over her. I like to be in control.

“Oh,” she says. “I actually wanted to disagree with you.”

I laugh. “About what?”

“About Haller stabbing Hermine,” she says. “I don’t think Hermine is just, like, some kind of feminine part of Haller. She’s also much younger than him.”

I feel my blood beginning to boil. I want to reach across the table and grab her. I want to tug her hands behind her, clasp her wrists together, and hear her dare to disagree with me again when I have her tied and bound.

“So,” I say, keeping my voice calm, despite the storm raging within me. “She represents his younger self, and his feminine side, as well. The whole point of the book is that none of this is clear-cut.”

“But Haller didn’t teach himself to dance,” Nikki says.

“What?” I ask.

“In the beginning of the book, Haller is a stiff old man, and he can’t dance to save his life.”

I can dance, and I’m not even thirty years old. How old does she think I am? Is she even talking about me? From the evil glint in her eyes, I know she’s talking about me, and I know exactly what she means when she says “stiff.”

“And by the end of the book,” Nikki says, “Haller is dancing like a madman to jazz, in a drug-fueled frenzy...did he teach himself to dance?”

I shrug. “It’s not meant to be taken literally.”

“Hermine teaches him to love, too,” Nikki says, slowly licking her lips, and a devious expression fills her face.

“But he never actually sleeps with her,” I say, gathering up my papers. “Not once.”

I get the pile stacked neatly, and then turn to look up at her. I force out in my most professional-sounding voice, “Good day, Miss Faria.”