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Sebastian Miller-Callahan is still in my head, that’s why.
That stops now. I have lab work to focus on. A study abroad program to get into. A future to plan—hello, NASA—that’s far away from New Jersey and the di Angelo family, thank you very much.
None of that involves a certain green-eyed baseball player.
I’m the one who walked out on him, anyway.
I bet he hasn’t thought about me at all.
“Enter,” Professor Santoro calls.
I push open the door gently.
Professor Beatrice Santoro is a major reason I chose McKee University over all the other offers, some with better scholarships, when it came to college acceptances. She’s a badass older Italian woman who took one glance at me and understood my background, both the challenges and the love. And now, after two years spent working my ass off in this department to earn credibility, I’m finally in her lab. She rarely lets undergraduate students into her inner sanctum unless they’re rising seniors, but I earned this spot. Impeccable lab work and attendance. Fluency in Python and C++. Volunteering at the campus planetarium. Attending every visiting lecture and symposium.
My grandfather had been the only one to tell me he believed in me—until Professor Santoro.
You have a bright future, Mia. A future in the stars, if that’s what you want. If you’re prepared to work for it.
I’ve spent two years working to be worthy of those words, and now I’m ready to prove it.
“Mia,” she says in a warm voice. “How are you today?”
Professor Santoro’s office is a little nook of a room. Books everywhere, framed photographs of space and stars on a gallery wall, her degrees in a row behind her desk. She takes notes by hand, regardless of the computer program she’s using, and stacks of those little notebooks line her desk like sentries.
As I sit, she adjusts her thick black glasses, which give her gracefully older face a touch of quirkiness. Her silver-threaded hair hangs loose around her shoulders.
I manage a smile, even though I want to hurl on her desk. “Great. How about you?”
Professor Santoro leans back in her chair, pressing her fingertips together. “I’m well. Very happy to have you as my undergraduate researcher for the summer. I think this assignment will be a good challenge for you, given your interest in exoplanet discovery.”
I nearly bounce my leg in excitement, but manage to reel it in. Exoplanets are a relatively recent discovery—they were theoretical, officially speaking, until the 1990s—and now, scientists have discovered thousands. They’re simply planets that orbit a star other than our own. Out of the billions out there, one might be capable of sustaining alien life. Professor Santoro has been involved in this research since the beginning, and the thought of working alongside her, even on a small scale, to discover and classify these planets, is enough to make everything else fade away.
“Alice will email you the lab schedule,” she says. “You’ll have assigned readings for our weekly roundtables, so make sure you come prepared. I want you to work with her to rewrite the program we’ve been using to measure these planets’ atmospheres. I think your eye for code will help us streamline it. I want a mock version up and running for when they release the new James Webb data, so it can be part of the analysis for my current paper.”
I nod. “Absolutely.”
Her gaze turns shrewd. “How are things, Mia? How is your family?”
“Fine.”
“Do they still think you’re student teaching?”
My face flushes. I stare at my lap. My family’s big idea for a woman’s career is temporary—teaching until I have children of my own. My nana did it. My mother and her sister. My older sister Giana is teaching for one more year before squirting out kids with her husband, never mind that growing up, she wanted to become a lawyer. It’s what they think I’m studying, and I haven’t corrected them. But if I get into the Geneva program, I’ll be able to use it as concrete proof that I’m meant to be in this field and explain everything to them. It’s not like I want to lie about something this huge, after all.
“It’s easier this way. They won’t—they won’t understand.”
“Nevertheless,” she says, “they’re your family. My parents didn’t understand my desire to bury my face in a telescope either, but they came around.”
“Your father was a doctor,” I say. “My dad installs HVAC systems.”
She takes off her glasses, folding them carefully. “I’m hosting a symposium at the end of June. Colleagues from several universities will be coming, and I want you to give a presentation on our research.” She holds my gaze. “Do you understand?”
My breath catches in my throat. “Yes.”
“Do well, and you won’t need a recommendation from me for the Geneva program. Robert Meier will hear you yourself. I’ve already told him he’ll be able to see my most promising student when he attends.” She stands, signaling my dismissal. I slide my bag over my shoulder. “I hope you will consider inviting some family members to see it.”
I can tell it’s not much of a suggestion, but I don’t touch it. Not now, when the only person I’d want to invite is dead. I nod. “See you on Monday.”
