P rofessor Pillar wears a multicolored jacket too short at the waist. It’s battered and probably hasn’t been washed since Wonderland. His trousers are pink, too large, and he wears flip-flops. His eyes hide behind thick glasses with black frames. Glasses that desperately need wiping. The man stutters when he welcomes his students. He has a tic of adjusting his glasses whenever he says something. For God’s sake, the Pillar blushes when a girl compliments him.
I sit, mouth agape, unable to fathom what’s going on. How is this going to help me? I suppress a shriek when he mentions his idol is Indiana Jones.
I spend the lecture in a terrible kind of awe, waiting for him to finish. I need to talk to him. Wake him up.
When he is done, all I have left is seven hours. I slither through the crowd and pull him by the arm. “Professor!”
“Yes?” He adjusts his glasses. “How may I help you, kiddo?”
“I need to talk to you.”
His eyes dart sideways. “Aren’t we already?”
“In private,” I whisper.
His eyes widen. He blushes and worries. Says nothing.
“It’s important,” I whisper. “I’m Alice.”
“Alice?”
“I’m the Real Alice you’re looking for.” I grit my teeth.
He backs away, suspiciously scanning me from head to toe. Then he slouches, hugging his book, about to leave.
“We need to talk alone.” I pull him back again. “I need your help.”
“Who are you?” He stops, irritated now.
It’s going to be hard to explain things to him among all those girls. Then I remember seeing a poster out in the streets of the upcoming Star Wars movie. It gives me an idea. “I have tickets for the next Star Wars . Front row. Premiere day.”
His eyes widen again. Immediately he excuses himself and pulls me into his office. He locks the door behind us, gets behind his desk, and glares at me. “Is Darth going to be there?”
Really? I fist one hand. Is this really happening, or is he making it up?
I rap my hand on the desk and lean forward as he slumps back in his seat. “Look, whoever the Jub Jub you are now, I’m Alice Pleasant Wonder. Mary Ann. I used to know you in Wonderland. We go back then. Not in Wonderland, but in the future. I have seven hours to save myself from dying because of a lapse in time travel. According to the Hitchhiker’s Guide to Wonderlastic Time Travels , I need to find my Wonder, or I will die. But even if I can’t find it, I need to save Jack. You know Jack? In fact, I need to save my classmates, probably the hordes of girls outside, from killing them in a bus accident a few hours from now. I need you to stop me from doing that. No, this isn’t right. I need you to help me stop me from killing my classmates and ending up in an asylum for the next two years. Do. You. Get. That?”
The Pillar sinks deeper into this chair, shielding his face with his arms. The look on his face is priceless. He stares at me and says, “Is the hookah you’re smoking that good?”