Chapter 2 Orion #2
“Your icebreaker assignment is to read how each scientist imagined atomic structure and then sketch a model based on their descriptions. Please label your work with a brief description.” Langford glanced at the wall clock. “You have ten minutes. Go.”
When I didn’t move, Harper glanced at me. “Ready?”
“Always.”
“You sure?” She offered a tight smile. “Tick tock, partner.”
Translation: Hurry the fuck up.
Feigning a bored sigh, I opened the book.
Day One. Let the games begin.
The paragraph was short, no more than four lines.
I set about the arduous task of forcing my ADHD brain to stay focused on the letters, building them into words, and then building the words into sentences.
The letters blurred and slid sideways, like fish beneath the water’s surface.
I could catch their shape, but there weren’t enough of them to build meaning, so I gave up.
I rested my cheek on my fist, pretending to nap while the tension in my gut coiled tight.
Like the rest of the class, Harper was done reading in moments. Every pair broke out in discussion.
“How do you want to split it up?” Harper asked. “Do you—Orion?”
“Hm?”
“We have only a few minutes. I’ll take Dalton and Thomson. You take Rutherford and Bohr. We’ll collab on Schrodinger.”
“How about you read the paragraph to me, and I sketch?”
“Why?”
“Perhaps because I like listening to your lovely voice?”
She shot me a withering stare, and I could feel that whatever little bit of something was between us—that little spark—would snuff out if I wasn’t careful.
“I’m a crack visualizer and can sketch like a pro,” I said. “You label.”
“That doesn’t give me much to do.”
“My handwriting is like that of a serial killer, and I don’t want to frighten you so early in our partnership.”
Another joke. Another shield. Another shot fired in my endless battle.
Harper looked about to protest. I clenched my jaw. “Tick tock, partner.”
“Okay, fine. But sketch fast.”
As Harper quietly read the paragraph out loud, her voice turned the chaos in my head into pictures I could actually use—a bowling ball, a muffin, a single nucleus, a solar system, a cloud—and I drew what I saw.
“Your sketches are amazing,” Harper said, “but they don’t have to be this good. We’re running out of time.”
“Two minutes,” Langford said from the front of the classroom, as if to confirm.
“Relax, love,” I drawled, keeping the irritation out of my voice. “It’s too early in the day to be this intense.”
I slid the drawings to Harper, and her eyes widened in shock at the detail. Then she got busy labeling with something like panic, as if this were a final exam and not a meaningless assignment.
“Label,” Harper said with urgency. She tapped two of my drawings without looking up. “I can’t get to them all.”
“’Fraid not,” I said. “All that sketching wore me out.”
“Can you please be serious for one minute?”
“Possibly. But only for a minute.”
“Orion.”
But it was too late.
“Time.”
Langford collected our work and gave them a once-over.
“Wow, Harper and Orion. The sketches are worthy of the Louvre. Conceptually brilliant. Too bad I have no idea what they represent.”
He moved on, and I could feel Harper’s exasperation buzzing beside me.
“Easy, love. It’s just a—”
“Don’t love me.” She stopped, her cheeks pink again. “I mean… You know what I mean.”
She gave me the silent treatment the rest of class, which made my bloody skin itch. When the bell rang, she abruptly gathered her things and strode out. I followed, feeling guilty for giving her a hard time while the old anger and exhaustion boiled below. I was so damn tired of this dance.
“Harper, hold on,” I called.
She turned around, inhaling to steady herself. “Look, chemistry is my life. We’re stuck together for the entire year. My grade is tied to yours, so I need you to take it seriously.”
Her tone was calm and collected but beneath was fear. Pressure. Survival. It glinted in her dark eyes. I recognized it because I had it too. A different shade and flavor, but a similar, incessant anxiety to succeed despite the mountain we had to drag behind us.
“I can pull my weight,” I told her. “My father is CEO of Mercer Chemicals. Perhaps you’ve heard of us?”
Her brows shot up. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”
I gritted my teeth. I’d meant to reassure, not brag. Now I was just annoyed too.
“Yes,” I said. “My background is in chemistry. My brothers are at Cambridge as we speak, learning the trade, and I’ll eventually be there too. Point being, I know what I’m doing and like to have a bit of fun while doing it. No harm in that, is there?”
I tossed her my trademark grin that helped me charm my way out of dodgy situations.
Harper saw right through it.
“Orion, you may have everyone wrapped around your finger with that smile of yours, but I don’t have time for games. My father is CEO of Walked Out the Door, and I have no direct line to Cambridge or any other college. I can’t afford to fuck around, so do me a favor and cut the BS, okay?”
Four years at the Academy and no one had dared speak to me like that. And she had no idea what she was asking. How much BS was required for me to survive this place. Heat crawled up the back of my neck, and my jaw clenched.
Harper shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to come off like a stony bitch, but I’m under a lot of pressure. I don’t expect you to understand, but—”
My eyes flared, a sudden, shocking flood of anger killing my smile. “Oh, is that a fact?”
“Yes.” She crossed her arms. “Unless you have something real you’d like to share? Or just more credentials? Maybe your bank statement?”
There it was. The biggest spark of all. Not just attraction, but a flare threatening to light a dark place no one ventured into. Including me.
But what should I tell her? The truth?
Not going to happen.
I pushed it all down, found my smirk. “Apologies. I’ll make sure to be on my best behavior from now on. Apparently having a personality is overrated.”
The moment the words left me, I wanted to snatch them back. Hurt flashed across her face, and her jaw tightened.
“Sorry to disappoint,” she said in a low voice, then turned on her heel and walked away.
“Well, that was bloody brilliant,” I muttered and rubbed my eyes. “Ace job. Truly.”
If I’d been in the boys’ restroom, I might’ve ruined another mirror.
Instead, I took a few deep breaths and waited until all the emotions sank back down beneath the surface.
Because letting them out did no bloody good, did it?
You rocked the boat, you said stupid shit you regretted, and for what?
Over some pointless sketches for a meaningless assignment?
And anyway, that girl is wound up tight and nothing but a headache. Forget her.
But I knew, even then, that was impossible.
***