The Violet Crow by Michael Sheldon Page A

project is developing,” she told him as she took a seat.
    â€œThat’s good,” said Littlejohn, studying the person sitting across the desk from him. The course was a large lecture, so he didn’t ordinarily get to know many of the students. He’d never seen Alison before and she struck him as a typical undergrad. Face not formed yet. Baby fat, yet with a hard edge. Chewed fingernails. Atrocious posture. Ample breasts. Child’s temperament in a woman’s body fueled by adolescent rage. A bomb waiting to explode. He told himself to keep his distance, for the hundredth time. Then he heard himself saying, “It’s always exciting when you step outside normative morality for the first time …”
    That was all Alison needed. “I think it’s immoral to obey unjust laws. Like Gandhi. He equated laws with superstition. People really have a duty to disobey. Just like you teach in the course.”
    Littlejohn tried to be modest, but he couldn’t help beaming. “I can’t take any credit. Students, people your age, are so idealistic and dedicated. It’s the best time of life in many ways. One of the reasons I offer this course is to learn from you. All of that creativity is an inspiration.”
    â€œWell, I really put a lot of thought into it,” she gushed. “My project has to do with the corporate manipulation and appropriation of the global food supply, which forces millions into poverty and submissiveness.”
    â€œVery impressive.” Littlejohn drew a deep breath. Something told him this was going to be one of those projects. Every couple of years one cropped up and things could get really hairy. He reminded himself to be careful.
    â€œThings started out well,” Alison explained. “Then they took an unexpected turn. On the whole, I think it’s really a good thing. But it turned out to be much, much bigger than I expected. Now, to really get the full impact, I need some help. We have to get the word out . It’s so frustrating …!”
    Littlejohn might have been confused by all these generalities if he had been listening more carefully, but he assumed he knew where she was headed. “It’s very difficult to get work published these days. Even for faculty, it can be a challenge. Undergraduate work … I have to advise you not to get your expectations up. You have your whole career in front of you.”
    Alison tossed her head. “It’s nothing like that. This isn’t just research. It’s something newsworthy. But it has to be handled just right, because I don’t want to get mixed up with the police.”
    â€œI see.” Littlejohn started to feel his blood pressure go up. Another naive kid, thinking she could change the world all by herself. It seemed they were always coming to him for validation. Lucky for them, he had plenty of experience: He knew how to let them down easy without squashing their ideals. “The police, huh? That sounds a little bit complicated for an undergraduate assignment.” He smiled at Alison in a particular way when he said “complicated” to suggest that he recognized and appreciated her effort—in spite of what he was about to tell her.
    Alison looked down at her fingers, which she was interweaving nervously in her lap. A good sign. Littlejohn continued, “Don’t you remember the caveats on the project handout? I can give you another copy if you need one.”
    Alison’s face started to turn red with frustration. Why wasn’t Professor Littlejohn being more encouraging? “Like I told you, things escalated in a way that I didn’t expect … I wasn’t planning to do anything illegal. Except maybe trespassing. And a little bit of vandalism.”
    â€œHold it right there,” said Littlejohn. He stood up and started to pace the room. He needed to phrase this delicately. “It sounds to me like you’ve committed a