She stands there behind her fortress of a briefcase. Books, briefcases, glasses—it all just makes me think about exposing her, stripping her, making her helpless. She’d hate it and love it—I know that for a fact. It’s like I know her even though I never saw her before this week. My mind goes to the glasses. How well can she see without them? I’m hoping not well at all, because it would be hot if I took them away. Hot for me and also for her. And then there are blindfolds. Snap out of it. I’m here to be the perfect student. I should be focusing on her silly assignment, listing objects.
