“Try me.”
“When I was twelve, my parents took us to London. Some academic conference they were speaking at. They’d just got back together after a weird break for a few years,” I smile at the memory. Mom and Dad being back together made mesohappy; we were a family again. Looking back now, realizing that Dad had been cheating the whole time makes me want to kick and scream. “Anyway, they stuck Troy and me in the Natural History Museum for the day, probably hoping we’d stay quiet and not embarrass them.”
“Let me guess - you caused chaos instead? Troy tried to steal an ancient artifact?”
“Actually, no. I just... fell inlove.” The words come easier now. “There was this guide, this amazing woman who made everything come alive. She had all these kids absolutely spellbound, teaching them about dinosaurs and evolution and the Earth’s history. And I remember thinking - that’s it. That’s what I want to do.”
Alfie’s watching me intently now, his sketching forgotten. “Teaching?”
“I want to work in museum education.” I gather my courage. “Not just research or curation - actually teaching kids. Showing them how science is full of mysteries waiting to be solved.” I let out a breath. “My parents think it’s a waste. That I should be pursuing a PhD, doing something like Alex.”
“Alex?”
“She’s at that incredible internship, working onclimate policy. Making real change.” I twist a loose thread on my shorts. “And I just want to be the person who shows a kid their first fossil. Makes them fall in love with science the way I did in London.”
“At the Natural History Museum?” His voice is careful, like he’s piecing something together.
“Their education program is incredible. But it’s not exactly the prestigious career path everyone expects from me.”
“Since when doyoucare about what everyone expects?”
The question hits harder than it should. Because he’s right - I’m Tara freakin’ Hawkins. When did I start doubting that was enough?
When you realized you’d been lied to most your life, a small voice whispers.
“Speaking of London,” I say, needing to move past this feeling. “They have this amazing kunzite stone in their geology section. Did you know about it?”
He shrugs.
“A little. It’s a type of pyroxene; it’s all the rage at the moment because it contains lithium in it which everyone wants for electric cars and stuff.”
“Yes, that’s right.” I find myself gushing, hands moving animatedly as the excitement takes over. “Anyway, they had this perfect pink stone that took years to cut. The color actually comes from manganese impurities in the crystal structure, which technically makes it a flaw, or an impurity but I think that’s the wrong perspective, you know?”
Alfie’s pencil stills on his sketchbook. He has that lookhe sometimes gets - like he’s solving a complex equation in his head.
“How so?”
“Well, if you think about it - without those impurities, it would just be another stone. It would be like a pale green color. But those ‘flaws’ are what create something unique and beautiful.” I catch myself getting philosophical about minerals and feel my cheeks heat. Here I am, probably boring him to death with gemstone metaphors when he’s trying to sketch. “Sorry, I’m probably reading too much into it.”
He’s quiet for so long I start fidgeting with loose grass stems, creating little piles beside me. When I sneak a glance at him, he’s watching me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.
“You do that a lot,” he says finally.
“Talk too much about rocks?”
“Find beauty in things most people overlook.” His voice is soft but certain. “See past the surface to what makes something special. Even if it’s not perfect. Maybe especially then.”
“Oh.” My heart does a complicated little dance. Because the way he says it - like he’s been paying attention not just to my words but tome- makes me feel so utterly seen.
A few days later,the late afternoon sun beats down as I collect trash near the science building, trying not to stare at Alfie. He’s been checking his phone every few minutes, tension visible in the set of his shoulders. He’s been likethis all week, ever since he told me about his brother coming to town. The days have crept up and now they’re arriving in three days. When it buzzes again, he practically flinches.
Apart from our conversation about museum education the other day, we’ve beenveryprofessional with one another. Well, Alfie’s been professional with me, I have basically been myself.
“For god’s sake,” he mutters, rejecting the call.
“Everything okay?” I ask casually, even though I’ve been watching him get progressively more agitated for the past hour.
“Fine.” His voice is clipped. The phone buzzes again and this time he answers, turning away. “Mother, I told you?—”
