“What this?” Rose asked.

“It was left in my box,” Moke said. “I gave my twelfth-graders an assignment. Poetic descriptions. Similes or metaphors for rough, soft, and slippery. The page was stuck together.”

“Ah, so that’s where the sticky comes in,” Rose said. “But if the page was stuck together...”

“I baked it in the oven until it flaked open.”

“Crafty of you. Do you know who wrote it?”

“I have my suspicions. It happens that the other day Anneliese wore a raw silk shirt (bra underneath, of course). Her partner was a kid named Eugene, so it’s probably his semen. I suppose a DNA test could clear that up.”

“So are you going to give them a grade?”

“Not for this. They turned in a real paper. It was pretty good, actually. ‘Slippery as Professor Moke’s poetry assignment.’”

“Clever of them.” Rose bit her lip before saying, “I especially like that kiss juice part.”

“What about the raw silk shirt part?”

“I like that too.”

“Good, because I bought you a present.”

Rose tried it on. Then she and Moke performed the poem.

They gave themselves an A plus.