Page 109 of Under Story

“Was it purple? Zollingeri,” says Laurel, after Gloria nods. “I’ve always wanted to see that in the flesh.”

“It really looked like something out of the ocean. And you know,” says Gloria, “there are all kinds of species here in town. Last week, I found three puffballs in somebody’s front yard. Just sitting there—like white rabbits!”

“Those make a good pizza crust.”

“Do they?” Gloria asks. “Oh! Up north, I saw this.”

She shows Laurel a photo on her phone. At the foot of an oak tree is a dime-sized orange cap. The mushroom reminds Laurel of Amanita muscaria, but its yellow spots suggest a rarer species.

Gloria flips through subsequent photos. “I think it’s Frost’s amanita.”

“Good guess,” Laurel says. “But I might vote flavoconia.”

“Ye-es,” says Gloria—flavoconia is a more common muscaria look-alike—“but at the base, do you see…?”

Gloria spreads her thumb and index finger, enlarging the mushroom’s spongy collar.

“You’re absolutely right,” says Laurel. “Frost’s amanita. Great work.”

Gloria beams as she puts the phone away.

“How long have you been on the road?” Laurel asks. “And have more pita. I’m getting full.”

Serving herself, Gloria smiles. “All summer.”

“Does it get tiring?”

“I like living outside. You can’t get in a fight with a tree.”

Laurel laughs. She knows that she shouldn’t show favoritism—Gloria isn’t the only student who wants to join the Rhizotron—but she can’t stop herself. Perhaps the connection she feels is only a projection of her bond with Gloria One. But maybe Laurel and Gloria would find each other in any universe, in any combination.

“Listen,” she says. “Our grant runs through the fall, which is when we’ll apply for a new one. I could offer you placement as a sophomore. If I’d had more time, I could have tried another angle, but this close to the semester…”

Gloria shuts her eyes as she absorbs this disappointment. “Mr. Ali said you were on parental leave. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“What about UC Berkeley?” Laurel hates the thought of losing Gloria, but she also wants her to be happy. “The Wei lab is doing fascinating work with fungi and climate.”

“Carbon sequestration in forests. I know. I want to work with you.” Gloria sets her fork down. “Do you mind if I ask—and I understand if you don’t want to talk about it—but after the fossil forest? I’d give my pinkie finger to know what you’re doing next.”

“No pinkies necessary,” Laurel says. “I have too many at home already.”

Gloria plays along. “In a bin.”

“Growing hands.”

They giggle. The sky has darkened by a shade. In the restaurant, hanging lanterns flicker. A server arrives to propose dessert. They order the baklawa at his suggestion.

When he leaves, Laurel says, “To be honest, I’m thinking about a new direction. It might not interest you.”

Gloria waits. It isn’t common practice to share early-stage ideas with a student, let alone a prospective one, but Laurel has never been particularly proprietary about her work. Isn’t science the practice of unearthing what already exists? If she isn’t the one to do the digging, she figures that someone else will.

For months, Laurel has been consumed by Silas. She’s barely thought about the tree in Michigan; the items she took from the cave sit in her office closet, untouched. In the light of Gloria’s interest, the details return to her. She describes the angle of the trunk, and how the cavern contained both rhizomorphs and roots. By the end of the story, she feels oddly nervous. Laurel hasn’t told Eli what she found; she still feels vaguely ashamed, and they haven’t returned to the subject.

“Oh my God,” Gloria says.

“Yeah.” Laurel laughs a little. “Weird, right?”

“It’s more than weird. This could be huge.”