You and Emily return to class.

The useless teaching assistant looks up from his desk as the two of you re-enter the classroom.

"Everything okay, Miss Ma--uh, Emily?" he asks, more out of politeness than any real sense of concern.

"Uh, yeah," she replies, shrugging gamely. "It... uh... false alarm." He sighs and turns his attention back to his computer screen, as the two of you sit back down at your respective machines and log back into them. Thankfully, they're only locked, not fully logged out, so you won't have to wait for the whole tedious setup procedure again.

"I gotta ask," you say to her while waiting for your machine, "what's up with the TA never saying your last name?"

Emily smirks and emits a little snort at this. "Oh, that," she replies. "He just can't pronounce it. This isn't the first time I've had this problem, believe me."

"Oh?" you respond, curious. "Okay then, what is it?"

"Maarschalkerweerd," she replies.

"Oh," you repeat, slightly dumbfounded. "That... yeah, I can see how that might be a bit tough for some folks." By then, both of your computers are ready, so you get to work on your problems.

As you're in the middle of implementing a red-black tree in C, Emily says, "Actually, my crazy last name did me a world of good." You stop and turn to listen to her as she talks. "You know... look at me," she says, glancing down at herself, and then back up at you. "I'm a fat girl who likes computers. I always tended to be a bit of a target."

"Oh, you aren't fat!" you reply, attempting to be nice, but your comment causes an unintended reaction, as Emily turns a bit serious.

"Dude... I'm fat," she corrects you. "And don't say it as though it's something to be ashamed of, because it isn't." You've definitely hit upon a nerve here, and you're feeling awfully guilty for doing so. Emily continues, "TV and movies would have you think that I weigh more because I'm lazy, or I eat constantly, or some shit like that, and it's all bullshit. I eat the same stuff everybody else here does, I walk from class to class -- hell, I fucking play Dance Dance Revolution until I get shin splints! My body's just different, and because of that, I get shit for it, all the time."

You look down, ashamed. "I'm really sorry," you reply, sheepishly. "I never really thought about it that way." But now, you realize, it makes so much sense to you. I mean, I pig out like an idiot, eating ramen, pizza, drinking soda, and I'm still rail-thin, you think.

"It's okay," she assures you. "I know you didn't mean anything by it... and really, I appreciate your attempt at a compliment." The smile is back in her voice now, so you look back up, relieved that you didn't permanently fuck things up by your faux pas.

"Anyways," she continues, "my name ended up being a really good icebreaker, since it's pretty unique around here. But it gets really old after you explain for the hundredth time how to pronounce it. My friends tend to call me 'Marshmallow', or 'Marshy' for short."

"That's cute," you reply, grinning, "it fits".

She turns to you, face suddenly clouded with annoyance. "What's that supposed to mean? Is that another comment on my size?" she demands, raising an eyebrow. Startled, you grasp and fumble for an answer, until she finally relaxes into a big, mischievous smile. "Just teasing you," she says, causing you to let out a big sigh in response. "Really had you there, didn't I?"

"Jesus, don't do that!" you exclaim. "I'm already on edge enough as it is!" She laughs at that, and playfully punches you in the shoulder. (Being careful to avoid the Manipulator, you notice, glad that she remembers it's still there.) You both continue your work, stopping every once in a while to ask or answer a question about a particular aspect of the work. Despite the time you both lost on your little "conversation", your collaboration allows you both to finish the problems at right about the time the bell rings.

"Hey, fantastic!" she remarks. "It'll be nice not to have this as homework to finish up later." She logs off and turns to you. "So, what's your next class?" she asks.

"Actually, I have lunch now," you reply.

"Oh, tough break," she remarks, a bit disappointed. "I have a statistics class now; I was hoping we might be able to eat together later."

"I'm sure we'll work something out later," you say, as the two of you put your coats on. "For now, have a... um... statistically significant... class?"

She rolls her eyes at this. "Ugh, you're a lot funnier online," she teases, playfully.

"I have more time to think of stuff there!" you protest, as she's walking out the door. "Anyways... see you later... Marshy."

She turns and flashes a wide smile at you. "See ya, Sam!"

You stand there for a few seconds. For all that this thing can do, you think, I'm having an amazing amount of luck without needing to use it. Maybe there's more to the Manipulator than just simple ****...

Pensive, you leave the classroom and head to the stairwell.