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Adam: Probably. There are no bike lanes to my house. Do you need a ride? I can pick you up.
She thought about it for a few moments and decided that she liked the idea a little too much.
Olive: My roommate can drive me, but thanks for offering.
* * *
—
MALCOLM DROPPED HER off in front of a beautiful Spanish colonial house with stucco walls and arched windows and refused to back out of the driveway until Olive agreed to slide a can of pepper spray in her backpack. She walked over the brick-tile path and up to the entrance, marveling at the green of the yard and at the cozy atmosphere of the porch. She was about to ring the doorbell when she heard her name.
Adam was behind her, bathed in sweat and clearly just back from his morning run. He was wearing sunglasses, shorts, and a Princeton Undergrad Mathletes T-shirt that stuck to his chest. Out of the ensemble, the only nonblack items were the AirPods in his ears, peeking through the damp waves of his hair. She felt her cheeks curve into a smile, trying to imagine what he was listening to. Probably Coil, or Kraftwerk. The Velvet Underground. A TED Talk on water-efficient landscaping. Whale noises.
She would have given a huge chunk of her salary in exchange for five minutes alone with his phone, just to mess with his playlist. Add Taylor Swift, Beyoncé, maybe some Ariana. Broaden his horizons. She couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark lenses, but she didn’t need to. His mouth had curved as soon as he’d noticed her, his smile slight but definitely there.
“You okay?” he asked.
Olive realized that she’d been staring. “Um, yeah. Sorry. You?”
He nodded. “Did you find the house all right?”
“Yes. I was just about to knock.”
“No need.” He passed her and opened the door for her, waiting until she’d stepped inside to close it after them. She caught a whiff of his scent—sweat and soap and something dark and good—and wondered anew at how familiar it had become to her. “Tom’s probably this way.”
Adam’s place was light, spacious, and simply furnished. “No taxidermied animals?” she asked under her breath.
He was clearly about to flip her off when they found Tom in the kitchen, typing on his laptop. He looked up at her and grinned—which, she hoped, was a good sign.
“Thanks for coming, Olive. I wasn’t sure I’d have time to go to campus before leaving. Sit down, please.” Adam disappeared from the room, probably to go shower, and Olive felt her heart pick up. Tom had made his decision. Her destiny was going to be defined by the next few minutes.
“Can you clarify a couple of things for me?” he asked, turning his laptop toward her and pointing at one of the figures she’d sent. “To make sure I understand your protocols correctly.”
When Adam came back twenty minutes later, hair damp and wearing one of his ten million black Henleys that were all a tiny bit different and yet still managed to fit him in the most irritatingly perfect way, she was just wrapping up an explanation of her RNA analyses. Tom was taking notes on his laptop.
“Whenever you guys are done, I can give you a ride back to campus, Olive,” Adam offered. “I need to drive in, anyway.”
“We’re done,” Tom said, still typing. “She’s all yours.”
Oh. Olive nodded and gingerly stood up. Tom hadn’t given her an answer yet. He’d asked lots of interesting, smart questions about her project, but he hadn’t told her whether he wanted to work with her next year. Did it mean that the answer was a no, but he’d rather not communicate it to Olive in her “boyfriend’s” home? What if he’d never really thought that her work was worth funding? What if he’d just been faking it because Adam was his friend? Adam had said that Tom wasn’t like that, but what if he’d been wrong and now—
“You ready to go?” Adam asked. She grabbed her backpack, trying to collect herself. She was fine. This was fine. She could cry about this later.
“Sure.” She rocked once on her heels, giving Tom one last look. Sadly, he seemed taken with his laptop. “Bye, Tom. It was nice to meet you. Have a safe trip home.”
“Likewise,” he said, not even glancing at her. “I had lots of interesting conversations.”
“Yeah.” It must have been the section on genome-based prognostics, she thought, following Adam out of the room. She’d suspected it was too weak, but she’d been stupid and she’d sent the report anyway. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She should have beefed it up. The most important thing now was to avoid crying until she was—
“And, Olive,” Tom added.
She paused under the doorframe and looked back at him. “Yes?”
“I’ll see you next year at Harvard, right?” His gaze finally slid up to meet hers. “I have the perfect bench set aside for you.”
Her heart detonated. It absolutely exploded with joy in her chest, and Olive felt a violent wave of happiness, pride, and relief all wash over her. It could have easily knocked her to the floor, but by some miracle of biology she managed to stay upright and smile at Tom.
“I can’t wait,” she said, voice thick with happy tears. “Thank you so much.”
