She does look extra cute today, Olive reflected, pleased.

“Adam ‘Ass’ Carlsen?”

“Well, yeah. He is . . .” Olive looked around, as if help could come from the oak trees, or the undergrads rushing to their summer classes. When it didn’t seem forthcoming, she just finished, lamely, “He is a nice asshole, I guess.”

Anh’s expression went straight up disbelieving. “Okay, so you went from dating someone as cool as Jeremy to going out with Adam Carlsen.”

Perfect. This was exactly the opening Olive had wanted. “I did. And happily, because I never cared that much about Jeremy.” Finally some truth in this conversation. “It wasn’t that hard to move on, honestly. Which is why— Please, Anh, put that boy out of his misery. He deserves it, and above all, you deserve it. I bet he’s on campus today. You should ask him to accompany you to that horror movie festival so I don’t have to come with you and sleep with the lights on for the next six months.”

This time Anh blushed outright. She looked down at her hands, picked at her fingernails, and then she began to fiddle with the hem of her shorts before saying, “I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, if you really think that—”

The sound of an alarm went off from Anh’s pocket, and she straightened to pull out her phone. “Crap, I’ve got a Diversity in STEM mentoring meeting and then I have to run two assays.” She stood, picking up her backpack.

“Want to get together for lunch?”

“Can’t. Have a TA meeting.” Olive smiled. “Maybe Jeremy’s free, though.”

Anh rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth were curving up. It made Olive more than a little happy. So happy that she didn’t even flip her off when Anh turned around from the path and asked, “Is he blackmailing you?”

“Huh?”

“Carlsen. Is he blackmailing you? Did he find out that you’re an aberration and pee in the shower?”

“First of all, it’s time efficient.” Olive glared. “Second, I find it oddly flattering that you’d think Carlsen would go to these ridiculous lengths to get me to date him.”

“Anyone would, Ol. Because you’re awesome.” Anh grimaced before adding, “Except when you’re peeing in the shower.” —

JEREMY WAS ACTING weird. Which didn’t mean much, since Jeremy had always been a bit awkward, and having recently split from Olive to date her best friend was not going to make him any less so—but today he seemed even weirder than usual. He came into the campus coffee shop, a few hours after Olive’s conversation with Anh, and proceeded to stare at her for two good minutes. Then three. Then five. It was more attention than he’d ever paid to Olive—yes, including their dates.

When it got borderline ridiculous, she lifted her eyes from her laptop and waved at him. Jeremy flushed, grabbed his latte from the counter, and found a table for himself. Olive went back to rereading her two-line email for the seventieth time.

Today, 10:12 a.m.

FROM: Olive-Smith@stanford.edu

TO: Tom-Benton@harvard.edu

SUBJECT: Re: Pancreatic Cancer Screening Project

Dr. Benton,

Thank you for your response. Chatting in person would be fantastic.

What day will you be at Stanford? Let me know when it’s most convenient for you to meet.

Sincerely, Olive

Not twenty minutes later, a fourth-year who worked with Dr. Holden Rodrigues over in pharmacology came in and took a seat next to Jeremy.

They immediately started whispering to each other and pointing at Olive. Any other day she would have been concerned and a little upset, but Dr. Benton had already answered her email, which took priority over . . . anything else, really.

Today, 10:26 a.m.

FROM: Tom-Benton@harvard.edu

TO: Olive-Smith@stanford.edu

SUBJECT: Re: Pancreatic Cancer Screening Project

Olive,

I’m on sabbatical from Harvard this semester, so I’ll be staying for several days. A Stanford collaborator and I were just awarded a large grant, and we’ll be meeting to talk about setup, etc. Okay if we play it by ear once I’m there?

Cheers,

TB

Sent from my iPhone

Yes! She had several days to convince him to take on her project, which was much better than the ten minutes she’d originally anticipated. Olive fist-pumped—which led to Jeremy and his friend staring at her even more weirdly. What was up with them, anyway? Did she have toothpaste on her face or something? Who cared? She was going to meet Tom Benton and convince him to take her on. Pancreatic cancer, I’m coming for you.

She was in an excellent mood until two hours later, when she entered the biology TA meeting and a sudden silence dropped in the room. About fifteen pairs of eyes fixed on her—not a reaction she was accustomed to receiving.

“Uh—hi?”

A couple of people said hi back. Most averted their gazes. Olive told herself that she was just imagining things. Must be low blood sugar. Or high.

One of the two.

“Hey, Olive.” A seventh-year who had never before acknowledged her existence moved his backpack and freed the seat next to his. “How are you?”

“Good.” She sat down gingerly, trying to keep the suspicion from her tone.

“Um, you?”

“Great.”

There was something about his smile. Something salacious and fake.

Olive was considering asking about it when the head TA managed to get the projector to work and called everyone’s attention to the meeting.

After that, things became even weirder. Dr. Aslan stopped by the lab just to ask Olive if there was anything she’d like to talk about; Chase, a grad in her lab, let her use the PCR machine first, even though he usually hoarded it like a third grader with his last piece of Halloween candy; the lab manager winked at Olive as he handed her a stack of blank paper for the printer. And then she met Malcolm in the all-gender restroom, completely by chance, and suddenly everything made sense.

“You sneaky monster,” he hissed. His black eyes were almost comically narrow. “I’ve been texting you all day.”

“Oh.” Olive patted the back pocket of her jeans, and then the front one, trying to remember the last time she had seen her phone. “I think I might have left my phone at home.”

“I cannot believe it.”