Page 17 of Damsel in Disguise

Right now, I’ve been caught stalking a professor I haven’t even spoken to because a boy I don’t even like couldn’t take a hint.

If that’s not rock bottom, I don’t know what is.

The first time I saw him in person, I was too far away to distinguish the shape of his cufflinks.

The second time, I noticed the way students unconsciously moved aside for him.

The third time, I almost followed him across the quad before common sense dragged me back.

I never got to speak to him.

I never got close enough.

I told myself that I’m waiting for the right opportunity, even though I memorized Alistair Hertley’s timetable without ever admitting to myself that I’ve done exactly that.

The older guard clears his throat.

“Miss, would you care to explain why you’ve been running from campus security?”

“I panicked.”

“And your first instinct was to flee.”

“I’ve seen enough crime documentaries to know talking rarely helps.”

The younger guard snorts. The older one doesn’t.

“You aren’t a university student,” he observes.

“No.”

“You don’t work here.”

“No.”

“Then why are you here, miss?”

I should lie.

Future me would appreciate a lie.

Present me, unfortunately, has never functioned particularly well under pressure.

“Alistair.”

The younger guard blinks.

“Alistair?”

“Professor Hertley.”

The older guard exchanges a look with his colleague.

“And why are you looking for Professor Hertley?”

My brain produces approximately twelve terrible answers.

Because I admire his work.