Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
PRESTON
My lungs burn as I run up the stairs to Professor Graves’s office on the fifth floor of the science building on the Grantham University campus. My meeting with him was supposed to start ten minutes ago, but I got distracted by… I don’t remember now. Must not have been important.
I skid to a stop a couple steps short and brace a hand on the wall as I catch my breath. Stairs really aren’t my friends. Any kind of physical activity, really. The only sports I have any interest in are the ones played on a computer screen.
When I’m confident I won’t pass out on Professor Graves’s floor, I push away from the wall, grab the doorknob, and let myself in. Only to stop short—there’s already someone here with him. Someone I don’t recognize. I can’t be that late, can I? He hasn’t moved on to his next meeting, has he?
“Preston, come in.” Professor Graves waves me in. “I want you to meet Fitzgerald Green.” He gestures to the guy sitting in a chair in front of Professor Graves’s desk—the chair I normally sit in.
“Oh, it’s just Fitz. Fitzgerald sounds so pretentious. Hey, nice to meet you!”
Just-Fitz holds out his hand and I stare at it for a moment before my body clues in on what it’s supposed to do.
I take it—squeeze it firmly, only one pump, exactly the way Dad taught me to do years ago.
It’s supposed to communicate confidence, assertiveness, and leadership, he said, even if I don’t have any of those qualities.
Just-Fitz’s handshake is also firm, with only one pump. And the way he leans back in the chair, smiling casually, makes him appear equally confident, assertive, and leader-like.
“Take a seat, Preston.”
I sink uncomfortably into the second, empty chair. It’s facing the wrong direction. The seat cushion is lumpy in a different way from the chair I’m used to. Why couldn’t Just-Fitz have taken this one instead?
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Preston. I’m really excited to get to work with you this year.”
I do a double-take because why is he talking to me? That’s not what I’m here for. Then my head snaps just as quickly to Professor Graves. What does he mean, “work with me this year?”
“What?” I practically spit out.
Professor Graves has that look on his face, the one he gets when he has to tell me something I’m not going to like.
“Fitz is the new grad student in our department. I announced he was transferring in during our meeting last week.”
I don’t remember that, but I tend to not remember things I have no interest in, so it’s possible Professor Graves mentioned it and I just forgot.
“What does that have to do with me?” As the question leaves my mouth, I get a sinking feeling. The only reason he would have for introducing us, the only way I would end up working with Just-Fitz, is if I’m assigned as his mentor.
“Because you’re his mentor—”
“No.” The objection flies out before I can stop it.
Professor Graves closes his eyes for a second like he’s gathering his wits. “You’re his mentor, Preston. And Fitz will be assisting you in the lab.”
Another objection hangs from the tip of my tongue, but I manage to swallow it down when Professor Graves lifts a hand to stop me.
“I know this is difficult for you. You prefer working alone. But being a mentor is a requirement for graduation, remember?”
Which is what I need to discuss with him. “About that.” I shift to the front of my seat. “I—” I cut myself off this time when I realize Just-Fitz is still in the office with us.
Professor Graves takes advantage of my hesitation and continues on. “Fitz will help you with the last of the experiments you’ve got planned before you defend your dissertation in the spring. In return, you’ll supervise his literature review.”
“Can’t you assign someone else? Everyone knows I’m not a good mentor.
” The department tried to sic me with a mentee last year and it was a disaster.
The guy didn’t know what the hell he was doing in the lab and he didn’t understand a single thing I tried to explain.
I ended up ignoring every email he sent me and he eventually requested a new mentor.
Good riddance. I don’t even remember his name now.
Professor Graves shakes his head. “No, we can’t. Everyone else has been paired up. Some of your colleagues have two mentees. Besides, Fitz did his undergraduate thesis on Stable Diffusion, so not only are you the last person available, but you’re also the most obvious choice.”
“I’ve read the papers you’ve published,” Just-Fitz jumps in. “Your work is really fascinating. It’s exactly the type of research I want to do.”
My research has evolved over the years, but it generally involves the use of artificial intelligence to further understand how the human brain works. The development of Stable Diffusion, an advanced artificial intelligence model, has really pushed my work forward by leaps and bounds.
But if Just-Fitz thinks he’s going to impress me because he read a couple journal articles about the AI program, he’s got another thing coming. I’ve got better things to do than babysit someone who can’t keep up.
“See? It’s a perfect match.” Professor Graves sets both hands down on the table with a finality that hits me with dread. “It’s settled then. Preston, make sure you do an orientation with Fitz and get him up and running by the end of the week.”
He turns back to his computer as if the meeting is over. But I haven’t even told him my problem yet.
“Wait. No. I. But—” My tongue can’t decide which words it wants to form, and Professor Graves and Just-Fitz stare at me in confusion.
Finally, Professor Graves glances at Just-Fitz. “Why don’t you get settled in the grad student office, Fitz. Preston will catch up with you later.”
Just-Fitz nods, utters some meaningless pleasantry, and lets himself out.
About time. I take back my chair, collapsing into it as the air caught in my lungs pours out in one long whoosh.
Professor Graves leans forward, arms folding across his desk. He gives me a few seconds to gather myself before he levels his gaze at me. “What’s the matter, Preston?”
I breathe in experimentally and when my lungs don’t seize, I forcefully slow my thoughts so the words don’t get jumbled up as I speak them.
“I don’t need to mentor anyone because I’m not graduating this year.”
Professor Graves’s mouth opens, then shuts. He tilts his head like he didn’t hear me correctly. “Why aren’t you graduating this year?”
“I’m not ready.” My research isn’t anywhere near complete. I still have so much to do and not enough time to do it. But most importantly, the thought of graduating chills me to the bones. “I can’t.”
Professor Graves sits back in his seat, his chair squeaking under the movement, and he reaches up to adjust his glasses. “I don’t understand. You were on track at our last check-in. Has something changed since then?”
“No…” Nothing’s changed, per se. It’s just that the closer graduation gets, the less I can ignore the reality that’s looming in the distance. I don’t want to join the family company. I don’t want to take over Boyer Pharmaceuticals. I never have.
“So why would there be a delay in our timeline?”
“I just— I don’t— there’s not enough time!” My lungs feel tight again as I try to suck in a breath.
I don’t want to graduate. I don’t want to leave academia. It’s the only place I’m remotely useful. It’s the only place where I know what I’m doing and won’t fuck something up. I can’t be trusted anywhere else, or doing anything else.
Just ask Sawyer and Madison how many times they’ve had to rescue me when I’ve unwittingly dug myself into a hole.
Or had to physically drag me away from my desk because I’ve become so engrossed in my work that I forget about everything else.
The only way I survive the society functions my parents drag me to is because Madison usually comes with me.
The only way I don’t die of starvation or thirst is because Sawyer is there to feed me and make me drink water.
I’m good at what I do. My research is important. I’m going to be one of the best neuroscientists in the world. Why would anyone want to make me do anything else? That’s a question only Dad can answer.
Professor Graves furrows his brow. “There’s still eight months until your defense. That’s plenty of time to complete the rest of your research. Plus, now you have Fitz to help you.”
I shake my head. He doesn’t understand. “I don’t want help. I don’t need help. I just need more time.”
His expression turns grim and sympathetic. “I’m not sure I’m seeing the whole picture here, Preston. But unless there’s an unexpected setback with your research, we don’t have a legitimate reason for pushing back your defense.”
He raises his hand again when I try to stammer my way through another objection.
“Either way, it’s too early to be postponing anything. Let’s get through this semester and re-evaluate your timeline in January. If the timing appears too tight, we’ll deal with it then.”
That doesn’t resolve my problem, but I’ve known Professor Graves long enough to know when he’s done putting up with my shit.
“Is there anything else?” he asks with a warning in his voice that my answer better be “no.”
“No,” I mutter dutifully. If there’s one social behavior I’m good at, it’s backing down in the face of authority.
“Great. Make sure you schedule that orientation with Fitz. I expect it done by the end of the week. That means you’ve got less than three days.”
I nod and listlessly push to my feet.
“Shut the door behind you, please,” Professor Graves says, eyes already glued to his computer screen, fingers flying over the keyboard.
I manage to get halfway down the hall before I slump against the wall. If there weren’t so many people from my department in this part of the building, I’d slide all the way down to the floor and curl up in a ball.
That did not go as planned. But then, what had I expected?
Professor Graves is young for a tenured professor—only a handful of years older than I am—and he’s got a reputation for being the “cool advisor” in our department.
But that doesn’t mean he’s a pushover. The chances that he would have let me delay my defense just because I wanted to were slim to begin with.
Something buzzes against my thigh, the vibrations magnified by contact with the wall. I jump and scramble for my phone, almost dropping it in my haste.
When I manage to unlock it, there’s a message on the screen from Sawyer.
Sawyer
Remember we’re having lunch today. I’m in the quad, but if I don’t see you in five minutes, I’m coming to get you.
Oh, shit. Sawyer. Lunch. I totally forgot. Today is Sawyer’s day on campus and we usually try to eat together before he goes to work at the gym.
The quad is on the other side of campus and it’ll take me at least five minutes to get there unless I run. My poor legs. My poor lungs. They’ve already been overtaxed today.
Still, I rush down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the world’s slowest elevator.
I have to squeeze my way through a group of undergrads loitering in the doorway and then do my version of a sprint—which is more like a fast walk with some hopping every few steps—across campus.
I only let myself slow down when I see Sawyer’s silhouette in the distance.
Oh, good. I haven’t missed him.
His back is to me. Wide shoulders fill out his fitted long-sleeve t-shirt.
The sleeves are pulled up to his elbows, leaving his forearms exposed.
His jeans are faded and worn, but they accentuate how long his legs are.
Legs that are much more used to running than mine are—legs he put to good use on our high school rugby team.
Sawyer throws his head back and his laugh rings through the air. I would recognize that sound anywhere. Hearing it always makes me feel better. No matter how shitty my day has been, no matter what I’m worried about, it’ll all get worked out once Sawyer’s here.
My lips start curling into a smile but then freeze halfway when Sawyer shifts to the side.
I didn’t notice that he was talking to someone.
The smaller person was hidden behind Sawyer’s tall frame.
But now that I’m closer and our relative positions have changed, I can see who Sawyer’s talking to. Laughing with.
Just-Fitz.
My attempt at a smile melts off my face as irritation scratches at me. Just-Fitz has already ruined my meeting with Professor Graves, and now he wants to ruin my lunch with Sawyer? Who the hell is this guy anyway? Where the hell did he come from?
Just-Fitz’s gaze shifts over Sawyer’s shoulder as I stalk toward them. I see the moment he recognizes me, followed immediately by a look of wariness.
Sawyer notices and follows his gaze, turning halfway until he spots me. The smile that lights up his face fills me with gratification, and it grows when he starts walking in my direction, leaving Just-Fitz trailing after him.