The copier on three jammed on me the way it jammed on everyone, and I was kneeling in front of it with the tray pulled out when Derek came around the corner at three fifteen.

He had a manila folder tucked under his arm, the old kind with a string tie.

“Why the window table,” he said.

It didn’t come out sounding like a question.

“It has the best light.”

“It has the janitor.”

I pushed the tray back in and got to my feet.

My knees had gray marks on them from the carpet.