The Circle Girls

Chapter Twelve

Dr. Dwight-Baker,

Really interesting stuff! It had me thinking: were there ever any issues with the Japanese government turning vampires over to the ACSS American Branch? The vampire we have at work is Japanese by birth, and I was wondering what were the legal ramifications of moving her to the US. I tried to look it up, but there's not a lot online about it.

Thanks,
Juniper McCleary

>>In Reply To>>

OK thats fine
remember your essay due friday
link for lecture

"Hey, Dr. DB? Didn't you write your thesis on some European-Japanese mess? The one that the committee made you withdraw?"

Dr. Fred Dwight-Baker looked up from his lunch and frowned pensively, tapping his desk with long, white fingernails. Iridescent dust fluttered from his wrist, scattering onto the desk and floor. His teaching assistant, Margaret Yang, watched him expectantly.

"Ah, yes, you're right," he recalled absentmindedly, "Was why I didn't take a teaching position here, at first. Look at me now, though!" He bestowed his assistant with a fond smile, "Comes full circle, eh? Why do you ask, lovely?"

Margaret refrained from pulling a face. She didn't enjoy an old man calling her 'lovely,' no matter how pretty he looked as a unicorn. "One of your students emailed you asking about it."

"Which one? Is it that girl again? I wish she'd stop visiting the office. She's been corrupted, and she smells—"

"Not her." Margaret interrupted quickly, not wanting to be subjected to another long-winded lecture on the treasure of purity and the sanctity of one's body or whatever. The only reason her body was pure was because Dr. Dwight-Baker hired only virgins for TAs and Margaret had needed his recommendation for grad school. As an eco-feminist, she had words to say about such a policy—and the university who'd let it pass—but as an ambitious and opportunistic individual, she recognized how neatly Dr. Dwight-Baker's requirements eliminated her most feared rivals from jockeying for the same position. "Juniper Mc..." She referred to the email, "McCleary. I think he's in the 9AM Supe II class. The one who asked if he could send his homework in 'cause of work conflicts?"

The professor bounced a little, more sparkling dust dislodging from his skin. A new wrinkle formed between his brows as he struggled to remember the particular student. "Yes, yes, I think I do..."

He probably didn't, the old goat. Margaret rolled her eyes.

"Why did they take down your thesis?"

He flapped a hand at her, scowling now, "Oh that? Those crones, they said it was too political. History isn't political! It's fact! And those who don't remember history are—"

"Doomed to repeat it, yeah." She finished impatiently, hitting the REPLY button and drafting a new email. "What do you want me to say?"

"Bah, leave it be. Knowing those hags, if I say anything, they'll try to pull my tenure out of spite." With a frustrated huff, he eagerly returned to his lunch, intent on forgetting the old insult of his student years. His apple tart was now generously coated in multicolored glitter, but he didn't mind the addition. It was like eating skin flakes, only sparkly. Hardly anything to fuss about. Yet despite his determination to forget the past, little details still nagged at him. Mumbling under his breath, he asked himself, "What country was it again? Not Europe. Greece? No. What do they call it now? Oh, Albania..."

Margaret, unto whom the unenviable task of cleaning Dr. Dwight-Baker's glitter-dust would fall, sighed and closed the email application without sending anything. 

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