“Apparently.” Peter grabbed his stapler and began forcefully stapling papers

together. “Well, you can tell Carol Harding and the rest of the town gossip club

that my questions about Kate are just out of friendliness. I have lots of other people from class I keep up with as well.” None of whom just caused him to

staple the wrong papers together.

“Sounds like you have it all under control.”

“I believe I do.” He began rummaging in the top drawer of his desk for the

staple remover.

“Just keep it scientific.”

“Yes.”

“Feelings just get us into trouble.”

“They can tend to do that, yes.”

“Just like that scene from Star Wars with the Ewoks.”

Peter sighed, not looking up from his desk. “Lucius, don't start with the Ewoks.”

Lucius took off his glasses and began cleaning them with a hanky he pulled

from his pocket. “I'm sure that now—as a full-grown, well-adjusted man—

you're never affected by crude emotions, which, as we all know, are just chemical reactions in the brain.”

Peter refused to look up, sorting test papers. “Whatever you say.”

“Emotions such as the death of a poor innocent, really, really, cute furry forest creature—”

“C'mon, Lucius. I was only, like, six or something. Cut me some slack.”

“—lying on the field of battle, his best friend weeping over his lifeless, battered body, rocking it slowly, limp dead hand flopping back and forth.”

Lucius flopped his hand in front of Peter's face.

“Knock it off.”

“Poor, poor, fuzzy little Ewok, cut down in the prime of life.”

“I will never forgive my parents for telling you that story.” Peter sniffed once.

Lucius looked up in mock concern. “Oh. I'm sorry—forgot about your

allergies.” He stuck out his hand. “Here—here's a hanky.”

“Keep it.” He gathered the now-stacked pile of papers. “I've enjoyed our little talk. I'm sure you've got some work to do. I know I do. And please, next time you think about doing some matchmaking, consider dropping a lit Bunsen

burner down your pants.”

Lucius rose from the edge of the desk, smiling. “Noted, my friend. I will see

you later.” He returned through the open door, stopping to look back once. Peter

could hear his footsteps receding down the empty hallway.

He dropped the stack of papers on the desk and leaned on it with both hands.

Feelings. Chemical reactions in the brain. Usually caused more trouble than

good, in his experience. That and trying to help someone and then getting reamed for telling the truth. He rubbed his hand through his hair. There was that

scent of Kate again. Lucky You? Yeah, right.

He went to wash his hands.

* * *

Kate rummaged through her purse. “Carol, you have anything for a headache?”

Her temples were pounding so hard it felt like her brain was going to bump out

of her skull.

Tommy the cat appeared and swirled around her leg, looking for attention.

“You're not helping,” she told him. He gave up and eased toward the kitchen.

Carol breezed in past him, a concerned look on her face. “Your head hurts?”

“Just a bit. Not sure if it was the cold air or what.” Kate slumped in the easy

chair and propped her feet up on the black ottoman in front of it.

Carol nodded. “Yes, cold air can do that sometimes.” She bustled back to the

kitchen.

Kate followed her, eyes narrowed. Seemed like every other thing Carol said

had some hidden meaning. Or was she just being paranoid?

She leaned back, hand on her forehead. Carol returned with some pills and a