Fourth and final meeting.

As was the case in the earlier meeting, the second group of first year students is far more attentive than the second year girls. In particular you note one girl sitting at the front, assiduously taking notes of everything, her pretty face bright and eager. When you go through your presentation she doesn't take her eyes off you, hanging on every word. Unlike some other girls, however, this doesn't look flirtatious, or the manifestation of a schoolgirl crush, but genuine interest. It's good to see that at least one student isn't just thinking with her vagina, you tell yourself as you wrap up your statement and take a seat.

When the meeting ends and the students file out, the girl approaches you with a tentative smile and an extended hand. "I'm Faith Owen," she says quietly. "Very pleased to meet you Dean Hawkfeather. That was very informative and very helpful."

"Thank you Miss Owen," you answer with a smile. She's slender and petite, her small breasts barely bulging her shirt, but with firm, well formed legs. Her dark brown hair is in a pretty but simple bob, and she wears very little makeup, unlike some of her schoolmates.

"I'll make sure to read the Code of Conduct carefully," she says with a faint blush. "I don't want to get in trouble."

"I'd rather you didn't Miss Owen," you smile. "I hope I don't see you in my office."

"But you will be seeing me. I'm taking your computer science course. I'm really looking forward to it," she gives you another pretty smile. "Well, I should be going. Thank you again Dean Hawkfeather."

She shakes your hand again, slightly awkward as though she's not sure of the social niceties, and leaves the library. You note that unlike some of the other girls she doesn't twitch her rump at you as she departs and smile to yourself as you start to tidy your papers.

You think back to what Honey said over coffee, that you have the opportunity to sample many of the students and some of the teachers if you want to get your mind off Diana. You glance over at her, but see her leaving the library, talking earnestly with two other teachers and give a little shrug. You think about catching up to her and talking, but the last thing you want to do is look like a lovesick teenager. With an angry gesture, you push your papers into your briefcase and snap it shut.

Grumbling to yourself, you leave the building, stepping out into the sunshine and taking a lungful of fresh air. You need to do something to get your head straight, you tell yourself as you take determined strides towards your office, considering the possibilities.