It’s May and she’s sitting on the edge of my desk in shorts that end mid-thigh.
“You have a dangling modifier here,” I say, not because I’m interested in correcting her erroneous usage of a modifying clause to target a participle phrase that doesn’t warrant one, but because the trajectory required to point at her paper just so happens to intersect with the soft flesh of her bare leg. “Oh, sorry,” I lie.
“You’re right! I must’ve zoned out while writing. Anything else?”
“Your tense is screwed-up,” I say, pointing to a random spot on the paper without looking.
She looks for a moment, biting her lip but not aware of it—sweet Jesus.
“I don’t see it.”
“Look closer. Get right in there.”
She bends forward all the way, her face parallel with the
“You have a dangling modifier here,” I say, not because I’m interested in correcting her erroneous usage of a modifying clause to target a participle phrase that doesn’t warrant one, but because the trajectory required to point at her paper just so happens to intersect with the soft flesh of her bare leg. “Oh, sorry,” I lie.
“You’re right! I must’ve zoned out while writing. Anything else?”
“Your tense is screwed-up,” I say, pointing to a random spot on the paper without looking.
She looks for a moment, biting her lip but not aware of it—sweet Jesus.
“I don’t see it.”
“Look closer. Get right in there.”
She bends forward all the way, her face parallel with the