Charmaine Cleary. She hardly looks like a powerhouse point guard everybody in the West Virginia knows by sight. She's cute. She's five-seven. She wears her hair short, chopped off at the ears, with the ends stylishly ragged. In the last two years, she's led the team to a Sweet Sixteen and an Elite Eight. The papers call her "Charmin' " or "The Charm." This is her senior year and--who knows?--with her talent . . .

Which is why everyone is taking this seriously.

In the inner office of Dean Byant's suite, she sits like Abe Lincoln in a cushioned leather chair. She looks out the window at blue skies and fat green mountains in the near distance. Behind her, the Dean is whispering something to someone on the phone. The outer office is bustling. The murmur of several conversations seeps through the walls.