The next morning Dr. Harold Steinberg came around to see me. I was sitting up, reading the morning paper. I felt a hell of a lot better, ready to go. ...r. Steinberg was smiling. ‘How do you feel this morning, bucko?’ he asked. ‘Yes, you look all right. No clot.’ ‘When can I suit up?’ ‘Couple days.’ ‘Two days?’ ‘Three days.’ ‘Everything okay?’ I asked. ‘Doctors never lie,’ he grinned. ‘Is Jacko back?’ ‘Suited up today.’ He smiled. ‘Thanks a lot, doc.’ He grinned, patted my shoulder. ‘You played a. Almost five minutes after class was supposed to begin, a large, unkempt woman, with long black hair rushed through the door. She threw her bookbag on a chair and grabbed some chalk. On the board, she wrote: Sociology-521 Dr. Siobhan Richards. Elspeth watched with an icy lump growing in her gut. Before Dr. Richards turned to face the class, Elspeth was saying, ‘No way. No freaking way.’ It could have been worse. Elspeth had the anonymity of a group. Clearly, Dr. Richards remembered her. Just as. More

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