“Mmm-hmm.”
“You're obviously not convinced.”
Lucius pulled at the corner of his mustache. “No, no, I'm sure that explains
all those questions you've asked Carol over the years. About Kate.”
Peter looked up. “What?”
“Yes, like, 'How's Katie been doing?' or 'Heard anything from Katie lately?'
or—”
Peter's face grew stony. “She told you?”
“Now, don't get angry. You live in a small town, remember? Everything gets
around.”
“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
