I could hear the commotion behind me, Liz yelling my name, Creed too; footsteps trailed after me. But all I cared about was Professor. When I reached the grassy hill where I took my naps, I froze. For a moment there was nothing secure in the world. Where had his white office gone? Where had they moved it? Who was playing the joke? “Heather,” I heard Nick from behind me. “What are you doing?” “It was there yesterday,” I told him, pointing across the hill at nothing but wide-open space. “What was?” Creed asked out of breath, catching up to us, with Liz right behind him. “Professor’s office,” I told them. “I swear.” I put my hands over my face. I was going insane. “Nick,” I turned to him, pleading with my face for him to put my mind at ease. “Our Creative Writing teacher. Professor Jerry. He was our teacher. Not Mayra.
