I knock on the door, four harsh raps, and wait. Two knocks from the inside, and then two more from me. I hear the whirs and clanks of locks unlocking, and finally, the door swings backward.

Come in, the student says, come in. I slink past him and wait for him to seal us into the room.

The school knows you have all these locks on here?, I ask.

He smiles quietly. If they did, he says, I wouldn't be here. He swirls round behind his desk and situates himself beneath the glow of the green desk lamp.

After all, the student says, privacy is a precious commodity. He peers at me over his horn-rimmed glasses as if he's behind one-way glass.

But you know that.