Nope.

There probably isn't anyway that you'd go back to that class without feeling like a fool, or end up being made to look like a fool. Consequently, you spend your Tuesday afternoon milling about MacLaren or hiding in your room, an ennui already creeping up on your sensibilities.

Though they say nothing, you've felt the scorn of your cohabitants. It's been difficult talking to people in the last few days, even to those who do not share others' disdain. Even Jenny Nguyen, your usually talkative and friendly neighbor, knows your discomfort and only offers nominal greetings. She's just slightly better than other female friends, who ignore you completely. Your guy friends try not to look too associated with you.

It's almost supernatural how fast the word has spread. Even more amazing is the twisted tale that has come back to you, no doubt the product of blithe gossip and exageration. Yesterday, you overheard one girl telling of your "eager groping" during your up-close-and-personal confrontation with Professor Pestova. You never even touched her, and still you are the one to suffer.

The sudden gap in your schedule has given you ample time to mull over what Michael Hersh had told you a few weeks ago. Where did he get a name like "pusher?" Are there more pushers? And if you're a pusher like he says, why does he want to help you? He hasn't asked for any money yet, but he could be taking you for a ride.

Still, the entire notion is attractive. Hersh gets any woman he wants, and as many of them as desired. He lives "anywhere he wants," he says. Assuming he has that kind of power, he wouldn't need to bother cheating money away from you. Nonetheless, it's hard to believe that such a thing could be real.