He pointed toward the problem.
"This is unpublished work."
The woman said nothing.
His voice grew sharper.
"So if you've seen it before, someone gave it to you."
"No."
"Then you're lying."
"No."
"Which is it?"
The woman reached for the chalk again.
The Professor caught her wrist.
The room went silent.
Not violently.
But firmly enough.
"Answer me."
She looked down at his hand.
Then up.
"Let go."
He did.
Immediately.
But the damage had been done.
Several students had recorded it.
The Black woman rubbed her wrist once.
Then turned back to the board.
She completed another line.
The Professor stepped between her and the board.
"Enough."
Students began protesting.
"Let her finish."
"She has ten minutes."
"You said anyone."
The Professor raised both hands.
"She has admitted prior access."
The Black woman looked toward him.
"I said I've seen it."
"Same thing."
"No."
She moved around him.
"You've seen it because I wrote it."
The room died.
No movement.
No whispering.
Nothing.
The Professor stared.
"What?"
She picked up the chalk.
Under the final condition, she wrote three letters.
Not a name.
Initials.
Then a date.
Six months earlier.
The Professor's face changed.
Not dramatically.
Enough.
The Black woman saw.
So did the students nearest him.
She said:
"I submitted the original formulation with my graduate fellowship application in February."
The Professor laughed too quickly.
"That's absurd."
"Is it?"