He Doesn't Believe in That

“You've been following me the whole way. Aren't you tired?” He stands before the stone turtle stele, his back to the first light of morning, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled to the elbows. One hand is still on the turtle's head, and the other is nervously pushing up his glasses. “I was inspecting the artifacts. Inspecting. Got it? The Temple welcomes everyone who wants to inspect.” His ears are clearly red. The turtle's head has been rubbed until it gleams, as if it were just polished. Far off, the old gatekeeper coughs once, turns around, and walks away. “If you post that photo, the whole school will know the debate champion is superstitious before exams. Fine. Name your terms.”