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“Neither does a Venus flytrap to unsuspecting insects.”

“So, you think the building is evil?” I asked skeptically.

“I don’t know what I think about this,” he told me. “I’m tired of not understanding what’s happening in my life, and I’m done with the Milaflores Building. Let’s be done with this conversation, too,” he suggested. “All right?”

I nodded, although I was still thinking hard about what he had just said. The song had been annoying at first but I had always thought of it as benign. What if it really was leading to something evil? Was it lulling me with glitter?

“I could start talking about groundwater to distract us,” he said. “But if anything can kill a fun time, it’s that. And the plan was for you to have fun tonight.”

“I would like to understand more about your job,” I answered, shaking off my scary thoughts. “I don’t know anything about hydrogeology, except what I’ve read since we met and a few things that you’ve told me.”

“You really want to hear about it?” He looked at me doubtfully. “Are you sure?”

When I nodded, he shrugged back. “Well, ok.” He explained his job, kind of vaguely until I asked more questions, and then he got more into the nitty gritty of it. It actually was gritty, too, because it was all about underground water systems, and dirt and rocks were a large part of that.

It was interesting and I wanted to know more, particularly about how he got into that field. “It’s not something you hear about every day,” I pointed out. “I didn’t even know that it was a profession.”

“It’s kind of a funny story.”

I waited and then said, “What is the story?”

“I was always interested in science and also in water. I planned on a career in that, which was vague enough to mean anything. Thousands of different jobs,” he said. “Then, during my freshman year of college, I happened to be seated next to an old guy on a plane back to school. It was already going to be a long flight but we also got delayed on the runway and then we had to circle for a while. He introduced himself as Quincy Behrmann. Have you heard that name?”

I shook my head but added, “Remember that I led a sequestered life for a while. Was he famous?”

“In some circles. He was a hydrogeologist and he told me all about his career. He invited me to visit his company and I did an internship there, and that was it. I was hooked.”

“That sounds like a pretty normal way to get interested in a job, by meeting an expert and then learning more,” I said. “It’s not that funny.”

“Yes, you didn’t burst out laughing like I expected.”

But I did smile when he said that.

“Quincy and I were able to work together to develop a new type of peristaltic pump used to draw out water samples for testing. I won’t bore you with that,” he told me, sounding apologetic.

“I’d like to hear, though.”

“Are you sure?” I was, so he explained it. Maybe water pumps weren’t so thrilling for most people, but Oliver was obviously extremely interested in them himself and he got more and more animated as he described how the peristaltic process squeezed like an intestine. He demonstrated it on the roll from his bread plate. “The specific roller movement we created was distinct enough for us to receive a patent, which was quite a process. But it’s been very successful.”

“Like, you were able to sell it?”

He nodded. “I know it’s not an exciting way to earn a living.”

“I think anything you can do is great, unless it’s illegal.” I thought of my mom’s friends. She had tended to ignore their activities unless their problems were brought to her attention directly. That had happened when we’d been at Daisuke’s house for dinner and the multi-jurisdictional task force executed their search warrant due to the meth lab in the basement.

“It’s just not exciting,” he said again. “I’ve been told that it isn’t sexy.”

“You want a sexy job? Like pole dancing? That’s harder than it looks. You have to be very strong…” I looked at him, considering. “You’re in good shape from running and I know you lift, too. I bet you could do it.”

“I don’t think I’d make it as a pole dancer. How do you have all that information about it?” he wondered. “Did you ever—”

“No,” I interrupted. “No one would pay to see me on a pole.”

He seemed to consider the idea and I really didn’t want him to. I quickly stepped in with a different topic. “How do you feel about sweet potatoes?”

That broke him out of his reverie. “I don’t feel one way or another. Should I have an opinion?”

“Are you aware that your grandfather forbids them from his house?”