American Scientist . Underneath that is a
well-thumbed copy of Global Change .
And under that are pages and pages of handwritten notes in black pen. She has
messy handwriting.
“Is
this for your work?” I ask, looking at what looks like a list of plant
varieties. When I turn back around she’s busy putting tealeaves into a teapot
and fiddling with a packet of cookies.
“Not
really,” she mumbles without looking up. “I mean, no, it’s not. I just like to
keep up with what’s happening. And I take lots of notes out of habit. Plus, if
I write it down, I know I’ll be able to remember it and read it again in my
head later.”
“Hartley?” I say seriously, hoping she’ll realize
I’m just teasing her. “Are you a nerd?”
She
looks up suddenly and bursts into surprised laughter.
“I’m
not just a nerd, Crew,” she says, matching the seriousness of my tone. “I’m the
nerdiest.”
We
sit down at the table and try to clear some room. I make a big fuss of having
to scoop the papers into piles, and she ignores me, placing her tea cup down on
top of a piece of paper covered in hand drawn diagrams.
“Tell
me more about your work,” I say as she passes me my teacup, and I take a sip.
I’ve hated tea my entire life, but I’ll tell her that later. Maybe. She’s made it
in this little white teapot with blue and pink flowers on it, and the cups are
so little and fiddly I’m not sure how to get my hand to hold it. She notices my
struggle and tries not to laugh. I’m starting to think she’s making me look
like I’m at a ladies afternoon tea party on purpose. I give up trying to put my
finger through the handle and just wrap my whole hand around it.
“There’s
no work,” she smiles sadly over the rim of her cup. “I’m unemployed.”
“Yeah,
ok,” I say looking down at the papers on the table. “Tell me about what you
used to do then.”
A
strange look passes over her face for a second and then all of a sudden she
lights up on the inside, as if just by asking I’ve thrown petrol on a slow
burning ember.
“Well,
I used to do research and development for a company. I had six scientists
working in my team, and we were mainly in charge of monitoring the pollution
levels in water catchment areas where the company was based. But my favorite
part was the development side of it. When I left, I was working on a way to use
environmentally friendly compounds to clean up oil spills.”
She
reaches behind her and pulls a pair of glasses off a shelf. When she puts them
on, the hard ball I’ve been carrying around inside my chest loosens up a
little. I can actually feel the edges of it softening.
She
smiles over the rim of her teacup and passes me a cookie. I love the way she
talks about her work. It brings out a whole other side of her. Her eyes are
bright, and her cheeks look flushed, like it ignites the passion in her.
“What
are you planning on doing now?” I say, regretting it instantly when just like
that the light inside her eyes goes dark.
“I
don’t know,” she says quietly. “There aren’t many work opportunities for
someone with a Ph.D. in chemistry around here.”
She
looks out through the window for a second, and I start to count backward in my
head.
“Wait,”
I say when I’ve worked it out. “How can you have a Ph.D.? You’re only 23.”
She
looks back at me and sighs, as if she’s been asked this question a lot.
“I
graduated from high school when I was 13. I finished my first degree by 16.
Then I completed my post-grad and Ph.D. while I was working.”
She
looks kind of awkward like she might even be embarrassed of how damn smart she
is. And I can’t have that.
“Wow
kid,” I say, taking a sip of my tea. “You really are a nerd.”
The
uncertainty in her dissolves instantly and she starts laughing again.
“Crew,
you don’t even know the half of it.”
She
picks up a magazine from a pile on the floor and flips through it. I find a
three-day old newspaper
well-thumbed copy of Global Change .
And under that are pages and pages of handwritten notes in black pen. She has
messy handwriting.
“Is
this for your work?” I ask, looking at what looks like a list of plant
varieties. When I turn back around she’s busy putting tealeaves into a teapot
and fiddling with a packet of cookies.
“Not
really,” she mumbles without looking up. “I mean, no, it’s not. I just like to
keep up with what’s happening. And I take lots of notes out of habit. Plus, if
I write it down, I know I’ll be able to remember it and read it again in my
head later.”
“Hartley?” I say seriously, hoping she’ll realize
I’m just teasing her. “Are you a nerd?”
She
looks up suddenly and bursts into surprised laughter.
“I’m
not just a nerd, Crew,” she says, matching the seriousness of my tone. “I’m the
nerdiest.”
We
sit down at the table and try to clear some room. I make a big fuss of having
to scoop the papers into piles, and she ignores me, placing her tea cup down on
top of a piece of paper covered in hand drawn diagrams.
“Tell
me more about your work,” I say as she passes me my teacup, and I take a sip.
I’ve hated tea my entire life, but I’ll tell her that later. Maybe. She’s made it
in this little white teapot with blue and pink flowers on it, and the cups are
so little and fiddly I’m not sure how to get my hand to hold it. She notices my
struggle and tries not to laugh. I’m starting to think she’s making me look
like I’m at a ladies afternoon tea party on purpose. I give up trying to put my
finger through the handle and just wrap my whole hand around it.
“There’s
no work,” she smiles sadly over the rim of her cup. “I’m unemployed.”
“Yeah,
ok,” I say looking down at the papers on the table. “Tell me about what you
used to do then.”
A
strange look passes over her face for a second and then all of a sudden she
lights up on the inside, as if just by asking I’ve thrown petrol on a slow
burning ember.
“Well,
I used to do research and development for a company. I had six scientists
working in my team, and we were mainly in charge of monitoring the pollution
levels in water catchment areas where the company was based. But my favorite
part was the development side of it. When I left, I was working on a way to use
environmentally friendly compounds to clean up oil spills.”
She
reaches behind her and pulls a pair of glasses off a shelf. When she puts them
on, the hard ball I’ve been carrying around inside my chest loosens up a
little. I can actually feel the edges of it softening.
She
smiles over the rim of her teacup and passes me a cookie. I love the way she
talks about her work. It brings out a whole other side of her. Her eyes are
bright, and her cheeks look flushed, like it ignites the passion in her.
“What
are you planning on doing now?” I say, regretting it instantly when just like
that the light inside her eyes goes dark.
“I
don’t know,” she says quietly. “There aren’t many work opportunities for
someone with a Ph.D. in chemistry around here.”
She
looks out through the window for a second, and I start to count backward in my
head.
“Wait,”
I say when I’ve worked it out. “How can you have a Ph.D.? You’re only 23.”
She
looks back at me and sighs, as if she’s been asked this question a lot.
“I
graduated from high school when I was 13. I finished my first degree by 16.
Then I completed my post-grad and Ph.D. while I was working.”
She
looks kind of awkward like she might even be embarrassed of how damn smart she
is. And I can’t have that.
“Wow
kid,” I say, taking a sip of my tea. “You really are a nerd.”
The
uncertainty in her dissolves instantly and she starts laughing again.
“Crew,
you don’t even know the half of it.”
She
picks up a magazine from a pile on the floor and flips through it. I find a
three-day old newspaper
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