Ali Hazelwood

“It will be fine, Olive.” His smile softened. “And if not, at least it will be over.

“You’re not going to slow down your pace to match mine, are you?”

“Of course I am.”

the dubious privilege of slaughtering fruit flies in the name of science for ninety cents an hour.

I . . . maybe. I must say, the line between excellent career choice and critical life screwup is getting a bit blurry.”

have no idea if you’re good enough, he’d told her. What matters is whether your reason to be in academia is good enough.

Adam: My arm hurts.

She initially thought that he was giving her a reason why they couldn’t meet up. Then she remembered waking up and rubbing her own achy arm.

Olive: From the flu shot?

Adam: It’s really painful.

She giggled. She truly had not thought she was the type to, but here she was, covering her mouth with her hand and . . . yes, giggling like a fool in the middle of the lab. Her mouse was staring up at her, its tiny red eyes a mix of judgment and surprise. Olive hastily turned away and looked back at her phone.

Olive: Oh, Adam. I’m so sorry.

Olive: Should I come over and kiss it better?

Adam: You never said it would hurt so bad.

Olive: As someone once told me, it’s not my job to work on your emotion regulation skills.

Adam’s answer was one single emoji (a yellow hand with a raised middle finger), and Olive’s cheeks pulled with how hard she was grinning. She was about to reply with a kiss emoji when a voice interrupted her.

“Gross.”

She looked up from her phone. Anh stood in the lab’s entrance, sticking out her tongue.

“Hey. What are you doing here?”

“Borrowing gloves. And being grossed out.”

Olive frowned. “Why?”

No, why are you grossed out?”

Anh made a face and plucked two purple gloves from Olive’s stash. “Because of how in love you are with Carlsen. Is it okay if I take a few pairs?”

“What are you—” Olive blinked at her, still clutching her phone. Was Anh going crazy? “I’m not in love with him.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” Anh finished stuffing her pockets with gloves and then looked up, finally noticing Olive’s distressed expression. Her eyes widened. “Hey, I was kidding! You’re not gross. I probably look the same when I’m texting Jeremy. And it’s actually very sweet, how gone you are for him—”

“But I’m not. Gone.” Olive was starting to panic. “I don’t—It’s just—”

Anh pressed her lips together, as if biting back a smile. “Okay. If you say so.”

“No, I’m serious. We’re just—”

“Dude, it’s okay.” Anh’s tone was reassuring and a little emotional. “It’s just, you’re so amazing. And special. And honestly, my favorite person in the whole world. But sometimes I get worried that no one but Malcolm and me will ever get to experience how incredible you are. Well, until now. Now I’m not worried anymore, because I’ve seen you and Adam together, at the picnic. And in the parking lot. And . . . every other time, really. You’re both crazy in love, and over the moon about it. It’s cute! Except that first night,” she added, pensive. “I maintain that was pretty awkward.”

Olive stiffened. “Anh, it’s not like that. We’re just . . . dating. Casually. Hanging out. Getting to know each other. We’re not . . .”

“Ol. I just want you to know that . . . I was very worried about you getting hurt from my dating Jeremy. But now I’m not anymore. Because I know what you really look like when you . . . Well.” Anh gave her a sheepish grin. “I won’t say it, if you don’t want me to.”

She left with a wave of her hand, and Olive stood frozen, watching the doorframe long past the moment Anh had disappeared. Then she lowered her gaze to the floor, slumped on the stool behind her, and thought one single thing:

Shit

It was all her fault. Her stupid doing. She had known, she had known, that she’d begun to find Adam attractive. She had known almost from the very beginning, and then she’d started talking with him, she’d started getting to know him even though it was never part of the plan, and—damn him to hell for being so different from what she’d expected. For making her want to be with him more and more. Damn him. It had been there, staring at Olive for the past few days, and she hadn’t noticed. Because she was an idiot.

Olive fell silent, absorbing the information. “You didn’t tell Holden about us, either. That it’s not real.”

“No.”

“Why?”

Adam looked away. “I don’t know.” His jaw tensed. “I think
I just didn’t . . .” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head before giving her a smile, small and a little forced. “He speaks very highly of you, you know?”

“Holden? Of me?”

“Of your work. And your research.”

“Oh.” She had no idea what to say to that. When did you talk about me? And why? “Oh,” she repeated uselessly.