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Brooke shoved the rest of her brownie in her mouth rather than dignify that with a response.
“I love that you’re playing it cool,” Tara said with an approving nod. “No one would ever guess you two are an item from the way you were glaring daggers at all those undergrads flirting with your man.”
Brooke scowled. She hadn’t meant for her displeasure to be so obvious. Hopefully her students were too busy being mesmerized by Dylan to have noticed.
“He’s not my man,” she said. That much, at least, was true. Tomorrow Dylan would go back to his life in New York and back to being only a long-distance friend. “He’s free to flirt with whoever he likes. I just think it’s ridiculous how obvious they’re all being.”
“Don’t be such a grampus,” Tara said, taking the opportunity to work in one of her favorite sea mammal puns. “Let the kids have their fun. It’s not often they get attention from a hot older man.”
Brooke glanced over at Dylan, who was now posing for selfies with the students. She supposed Tara was right. There was no harm in it. She would have been just as enraptured by him at their age if Dylan had been a stranger to her.
“Did you see Mathias brought potato salad?” Tara said. “I signed up for potato salad. That Nordic bastard stole my dish.”
“You need to chill,” Brooke told her.
Tara’s lips pursed as she stared daggers in Mathias’s direction. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to fight him here. I’m just going to suck my teeth and move on. But I won’t forget this. I nurture my grudges as if they were my children. I keep them healthy and well-fed, and make sure they take their vitamins every day. My grudges will outlive me.”
“Sometimes you scare me a little.”
“Heads-up,” Tara murmured. “Professor Lassman incoming.” She grabbed the last brownie out of the pan and moved off, most likely to torture poor Mathias somehow.
Brooke looked up and saw her advisor approaching. Dr. Lassman was one of the younger professors in the department, only about ten years older than Brooke. She had a round, friendly face with a perpetually distracted look these days, thanks to her brutal teaching load this semester.
Dr. Lassman greeted Brooke with a smile. “I hear you brought brownies that aren’t to be missed.” The professor’s eyes landed on the empty brownie pan and her face fell. “Ah. I see I was too slow. That’ll teach me to get into a conversation with the dean.”
“You can have the rest of mine,” Brooke offered, holding out her half-eaten brownie.
Dr. Lassman’s nose wrinkled. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. I actually wanted to talk to you about something.” She glanced at a group of cell biology students grazing at the other end of the potluck table and cocked her head toward a nearby picnic table. “Let’s go over there.”
Her curiosity piqued, Brooke followed her advisor to the picnic table. They didn’t sit down, which felt a bit ominous.
“It’s about the NAMMC award.” Dr. Lassman smoothed the hem of her T-shirt. “I happen to know one of the committee members, so I gave them a call yesterday. Just to, you know, put in a good word for you.”
“Wow, thank you so much!” Brooke didn’t really expect there to be any news yet, because the deadline had only just passed and academics typically took forever to do anything, but she appreciated that her advisor had gone the extra mile for her.
Dr. Lassman rubbed the back of her neck. “So here's the thing: you’re not going to get it this year.”
“Oh.” Brooke felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. “Okay.” She swallowed, trying not to let her disappointment show. “I’m just—I’m surprised to hear that, since the deadline was only Wednesday. I wouldn't have thought they’d have had time to read all the papers yet.”
“They haven’t.” Dr. Lassman pressed her lips together in an apologetic grimace. “But she said they prefer to give the award to someone who’s at the end of their doctoral program, and since you’re only in your fourth year…”
“It didn’t say anything about that in the awards call.” Brooke had read all the requirements carefully. She was positive there’d been no mention of how far into their program candidates needed to be.
“No, it didn’t. It’s a soft norm—if no one currently on the job market applies, they’ll give it to someone earlier in their program. But preference is given to more advanced candidates.” She paused, looking pointedly at Brooke. “And since Monica also applied—”
“She’s going to get it,” Brooke finished for her, not bothering to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
“Not necessarily. It may go to someone else entirely. But she’ll have an automatic edge on you, I’m afraid, by virtue of being a year ahead.”
Brooke nodded, looking down at the ground as a dark flush heated her cheeks. Although she’d tried not to let herself think she had a real shot, she’d still harbored a measure of hope. Utterly false hope, as it turned out.
Dr. Lassman’s voice grew softer. “I know you worked really hard on this submission, and I know you’re disappointed. But it happens. Next year when you apply again you'll be a year deeper into your dissertation and closer to being on the job market, which means you'll have an even better chance.”
Brooke tried to keep the disappointment out of her expression. “Thank you for letting me know—and for putting in the call.”
She bit back angry tears as Dr. Lassman walked off. The award had always been a long shot, but Brooke was still crushed. It’d be one thing if she’d been given due consideration and lost fair and square because someone else was better. But they hadn’t even had time to read her paper. All that work, pushing herself to make the deadline, and it had all been for nothing. She wasn’t even in the running.
Suddenly, all the doubts and fears she tried to keep at bay began to whisper in her ear.
