Page 107 of Under Story

“Have we met?” she asks.

This shouldn’t be a blow, but it is. Laurel longs for a glitch in the matrix, just once—for the person she knows to punch through.

Well, Gloria might have said, this is worth coming out of retirement.

And Laurel could say, I got your letter.

But this Gloria is confused, and waiting for an answer.

“I think,” Laurel says, stalling, “that maybe, one of my colleagues—”

“—mentioned me?” Gloria finishes. “I’ve been badgering Samir Ali all summer. He said I’m out of luck, but I’ve been told that I’m persistent.”

She leans on a simple wooden cane. Laurel’s wealthier students opt for the iCane, which senses obstacles, responds to vocal commands, and comes in three colors: platinum, rose gold, and a matte black called coal. Gloria’s model has seen better days. Atop the handle is one of the novelty attachments that are all the rage among Laurel’s freshmen. This one is shaped like a lion.

“Please,” says Laurel. “Sit down.”

She clears a stack of paper from the armchair. Gloria wears a black linen dress, puckered by mending, and a pair of lace-up boots. She holds a canvas backpack in her lap.

“Can I offer you coffee?” Laurel asks.

“Oh,” says Gloria, with yearning.

In the antiuniverse, coffee is a relatively new invention. Before 2080, it was too hot for the Coffea plant to survive. In 2075, an Ethiopian farmer found it growing wild. After environmental efforts yielded a drop in temperatures, the Latin American coffee belt expanded. Laurel can only assume that the reverse will happen in her world. (“We’ve been using the wrong tactics,” she told Eli. “Americans don’t care about droughts and extinctions. Just tell them that climate change will take away their coffee.”)

While she heats the water, Laurel collects herself. She’s afraid that Gloria will mistake her silence for rudeness, but when she turns, Gloria is watching her with reverence. It’s the same way that Laurel once looked at Gloria One.

“Are you a student here?” Laurel asks.

“A prospective one,” says Gloria. “I graduated from high school in the fall with my equivalency. I was accepted here; that isn’t the problem. I’m trying to decide between offers.”

Gloria looks older than most of Laurel’s students, which means, in this universe, that she is younger. An equivalency degree implies that she graduated early.

“That doesn’t sound like a problem, either,” says Laurel, pouring the coffee. “Sugar?”

Gloria’s eyes widen. “Please.”

Laurel passes the sugar bowl. Gloria heaps three tablespoons into her mug. She is thinner than Laurel’s Gloria, who was reedy in old photos but had, after Lyme, become plump.

“Which other schools are you considering?” asks Laurel.

“UC Berkeley. Cornell. Yale.” Gloria seems torn between pride and bashfulness. “With scholarships.”

“That’s wonderful.” For a moment, Laurel’s delight is such that she does feel like Gloria’s elder. But if tuition isn’t at issue, she can’t imagine why Gloria would choose Wisconsin. After finding her at last, Laurel will have to let her go.

Gloria picks at the hem of her dress. Her knees have a fine coating of dirt. “The problem is that Mr. Ali said there’s no space in your lab.”

In her shock, Laurel nearly laughs. She sees her blunder right away: to Gloria, her reaction seems dismissive.

“I can show you my transcripts,” Gloria says. “I graduated with a perfect GPA. I have a high honors score from the GED and credits for college-level coursework. And I was a finalist for the Regeneron Science Talent Search.”

Regeneron is the most prestigious high school research competition in the country. Placing in the top three hundred virtually guarantees admission to a student’s school of choice.

“I have no doubt that you’re incredibly gifted,” says Laurel hastily. “And I’d love for you to join the lab. What Samir meant is that we’ve planned our budget for the year.”

“I’ll work for free.”

“I couldn’t let you do that.”