I don’t answer. If I do, I’ll drop the pipette.
Aaron shrugs, still smiling, but there’s something behind it. “Whatever. Campus is full of weirdos. Anyway—what’s the next step?”
We work in silence for a minute, measuring, pouring, logging observations. The only sounds are the gentle clink of glass and the murmur of the other lab teams. The routine of the lab settles into my bones, calming me, but then our arms brush or our hands reach for the same reagent, and it short-circuits the quiet.
He’s faster than me, but a little careless. He overshoots the acid by a tenth of a milliliter, and I correct it. My jaw tight, I risk a glance.
His eyes catch mine. “You’re not usually this tense in lab. Everything good?”
I force a laugh. “Just don’t want to blow anything up.”
He grins, then leans close, voice dropping. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you ever go to the gym?”
The question is so out of left field I almost snort. “Not really.”
He nods, like this confirms something. “You should. You’d crush it.”
I don’t know what to do with that, so I write down our progress and focus on not shaking.
We’re halfway through the reaction when he circles back. “Seriously, though. If you ever hear about Jessica, you’ll let me know, right?”
“Sure,” I say, voice barely above a whisper.
He smiles, softer this time. “I owe you one. For putting up with me.”
I almost tell him, right there. I almost say, It was me. I was her. I am her. But then he reaches behind me for the ethanol, his chest pressing against my back for a heartbeat, and my mind blanks completely. The smell of him—clean sweat, a trace of soap—washes out every thought.
I try to steady my hand, but my grip slips and the beaker tilts, sending a splash of solution across the table and onto my lab manual. It soaks the page instantly, blurring the print into blue veins.
“Shit,” I say, scrambling for paper towels.
Aaron grabs a handful and helps mop it up, laughing. “At least it wasn’t the acid.”
I nod, face hot, hands clumsy. “Sorry.”
He shrugs. “Don’t sweat it. Happens to everyone.”
We finish the experiment with a minimum of disaster, but the rest of the period is a blur. I clean our station three times just to avoid looking at him. When the TA announces the end of the session, Aaron packs up his binder and pauses.
He nudges my arm. “Hey, you good?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
He smiles, and for a second, I almost believe I can handle this.
“See you next week.”
He’s gone before I can reply.
I’m left in the empty lab, staring at the streaks of blue on the table and the memory of his touch ghosting down my spine.
I keep thinking of Sara’s half-life analogy for secrets. It really is a brilliant perspective. But mine is no longer decaying.
It’s now about to go critical.
—ΠΩ—
The echo in the hallway is the only thing keeping me grounded. Every step bounces off the tile and comes back twice as loud, like the building is trying to amplify my panic. I make it as far as the end of the corridor before I collapse against the concrete wall, breath ragged, heart whaling against my ribs.
