There's something about Islam in South and Southeast Asia, and I'm going to tell you about it. I'm going to write all kinds of thoughtful things about Indians, Pakistanis, and the archipelagos of the South Pacific. I'm going to use words like influenced, sort-of, and Muhammad. I'm going to decrease my margins by an eighth of a centimeter. I'm going to make my font 12.2. I'm going to fold back the first page of my perfectly clean final copy, showing you that I looked it over one last time. I'm going to craft a clear thesis, a strong argument--you''ll give me a "well-outlined." You're going to make red check marks at the end of every other sentence, write "correct" at the end of my paragraphs, and put an A at the top of my paper.

I'm going to put a drop of urine on the last page. You're going to think I spilled coffee on it, working late. I'm going to send you an e-mail with the subject line "PAPER," but missing the attachment. "Here it is professor, let me know if you need a hard copy." I'll go away right after, not responding to the e-mail until three days later, but sorry for the mistake. Internet, you know. When you were a student, blah blah blah...You’ve made the same mistake dozens of times, your own children are tired of e-mails missing attachments.

You tell me this in the e-mail back. I offer to help with your computer problems. I come to your house after class and install a firewall. I change my grade in your class. I change everyone else's too, but differently. You thank me for my effort. I smile sheepishly, it's the least I can do for my favorite professor. You ask me to stay for dinner. I notice you staring at my breasts.

We eat dinner. Your wife can't make it because she's stuck at work. I suck your cock; you scream when you come. I go back and greet my parents. You stay at home, working on a paper: Pedophilia, Academia, and The Problem of Laws.

I am only 15 years old.