Dominated by her feet (2)

"You there!" a voice called out from below.

I turned quickly and saw the professor staring in my direction. I froze, like a deer in headlights. Mackenzie’s feet slid slowly off my back.

I gingerly pointed a finger at my chest, mouthing, "Me?"

"Yeah, you, the little guy up near the top," the old coot said matter-of-factly.

Behind me, I heard Mackenzie stifle a laugh at the teacher's diminutive description.

“To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not be false to any man,” the professor quoted with dramatic flair.

I listened, feeling a flicker of hope. At least I recognized the passage.

"So, Mister, ah…" The teacher trailed off, clearly searching for my name.

“Saplinger, sir,” I offered politely, even though we’d never spoken.

“Ah, Mr. Saplinger,” he said as though the name had been on the tip of his tongue. “Tell us, how are we, the audience, meant to take these words, having come from the lips of none other than Polonius?”

“Um, awesome advice, s