You take the steps two at a time up to your office. You round the corner and nearly flatten Darcy, who was reading a slim volume as she walked.
Darcy blinks at you, then smiles. It's a sharper smile than you remember from your college days. Less of a genuine expression of emotion. More of a weapon. "Bomomsay Clestenrogo," Darcy drawls. "I swear you've been avoiding me."
Not at all," you say. "You know how it is, getting ready for your first official class."
Darcy studies her nails. "I wouldn't, actually. It's been so long since I was a new faculty member."
What a jerk. Darcy's only been faculty for three years, and this is her first year at Winfield Phillips, just like you. Gossip is that she's aiming to be department chair sooner rather than later. You'd say she's being overly presumptuous, but this is Darcy Bozeman you're talking about. She's being exactly as presumptuous as she always is.
"I have a class to prepare," you say.
"What're you teaching this semester?"