"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about how we're going to end up with another homework assignment because we didn't complete this one."
"I completed my part of this," I argued. "You're the one who couldn't be bothered to write down five little things."
He turned his head and proceeded to drag his stare from my sneakers to my (again, still, always) untamed hair. "And you think that actually matters?"
I shoved my fists into my pockets. "You should've done your part last week. Or at any time prior to this exact moment."
"I'm ready now. Got an index card I can borrow?"
Before I could tell him what I thought about lending him anything, Milana swept into the hall, all smiles and silver hair. "Ah, my friends! You're back for another visit. Come. Inside now, inside."
Sebastian resumed his spot at the bookshelf and I sat on the sofa, my hands clasped in my lap. Battle stations ready.
"Don't get too comfortable," Milana called from behind her desk. "We won't be sitting today." She hefted an old milk crate onto her desk. "Playing is much more fun. We don't play enough as grown-ups, do we? It's like we forget how to do it."
"Or, after four years of undergrad, four years of medical school, another four or so years of residency, and then a year or two of fellowship, you have a bunch of socially stunted, sleep-deprived teenagers who know how to cut people open but not how to take a day off," Sebastian said. "Comes with the territory, wouldn't you agree?"
She chuckled at him. "I call it job security." With a fond smile for each of us, Milana carried the crate to the coffee table. "As I said, we'll be playing today." She beckoned to us, adding, "Up. On your feet."
I stood, shrugged out of my white coat, and draped it over the arm of the sofa. When I turned back toward Sebastian and Milana, I was greeted with a decidedly masculine snort.
I threwwhat the fuck?hands at him but he shook his head with a slight laugh. I went on glaring until he said, "It's nothing. Just"—he glanced down at my t-shirt, the one that readRunning Onand the chemical structure of ATP, the stuff that carried energy in cells—"nothing. Forget it."
"And forget we shall," Milana said as she plucked a squishy ball emblazoned with a pharmaceutical company's logo from the crate. "Since this is not my first visit to the circus, I am not going to ask you about the homework from our last session. We'll play our game and have fun instead. All right?"
"This is obviously a trap," Stremmel said.
I ran my palms over my thighs, knowing he was right about that yet completely unwilling to tell him as much.
"Trap? From me? No," Milana drawled. "I'd never." She tossed the ball from hand to hand. "All I want you to do is play a game of catch but do have a care for my plants. The string of pearls needs only a slight invitation to fall apart, and while the pothos looks hardy, it offends easily." She lobbed the ball to me. "Sara. Start us off. My one rule is we don't let the ball hit the floor."
"And if we do?" Stremmel asked.
"You won't," she said.
"If we do?" he repeated.
With a deep grin, she said, "Embrace the challenge, Sebastian, even if you don't know what might come of it."
It started out simple, just me and Sebastian throwing pharma swag back and forth across Milana's office. But then she reached into the crate and retrieved a plush pineapple. "Let's add this one," she said. "Sebastian, you're up."
He caught the pineapple after sending the ball to me. It took us a few tries to get the rhythm right but we got there while Milana slathered on the praise. Sebastian wanted no part of that. He narrowed his eyes or locked his jaw every time she acknowledged us for playing along. All of that was annoying enough but he did it while flaunting those damn arms at me too. Terribly rude of him.
Then, she said, "It's too quiet in here. Let's have a little chat."
"And there's the trap," he muttered.
"Now, Sebastian," she started, clearly enjoying his misery, "where is Sara from?"
"I don't know," he replied. "Hell, probably."
I winged the pineapple at him hard. He had to stumble backward to catch it.
"And Sara," Milana said, "where is Sebastian from?"
"If I had to guess, I'd say a defective condom."
The pineapple struck my shoulder and I had to flail a bit to grab it before it hit the floor. I glared at him with as much heat and violence as I could summon. He rotated the squishy ball in his palm as if he was finding the right grip just as I shot the pineapple back at him. The ball landed square on my chest.
