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I was in my study working on a journal article when the doorbell rang. Must be her, I thought to myself as I rose from the leather chair and moved down the hallway towards the door. Along the way I paused at a mirror and pushed a few stray hairs in place. I smiled as I approached the door; stupid vanity, I thought to myself, she's just some awkward adolescent, right? I opened the door to greet her.

It all started at our monthly faculty meeting last week. Dr. Wendell Harwood, political science, and I were both camped out in the back row, trying hard to stay awake as the Dean went on and on about some new policy to go into effect for the Fall semester. Wendell is a nice enough guy. Not someone I'd grab to go have a beer on a Friday afternoon, but amicable nonetheless. More importantly, he had about as much interest in these meetings as I did. Soon, we were quietly making chitchat -- anything to help make the minutes pass. Seems his daughter's summer job had ended and she'd been helping around the house to make a few extra bucks before high school started. At some point I think I remarked, "Cheap labor, huh? Shoot, you aught to send her by. I've got so many leaves coming off those big oaks this year that I think I may've lost a paperboy under there..."

"Hi, I'm Kristen, Dr. Harwood's daughter," she announced thrusting her hand out toward me. I took her hand, "Nice to meet you, Kristen." "I'm Dr. Archers, but since you're Wendell's daughter, you can call me Zach," I said. She smiled at me and I stood there dumbfounded, my head ...

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