Is that good or bad?
“You don’t fancy being a pharmacist?” Auggie asks.
“I’m not exactly a people person.”
He snorts. “Do you have to be a people person in order to hand out medication?”
“There’s more to the job than that. People go to pharmacists for advice. Got a rash? Ask your pharmacist. It’s faster than getting a doctor’s appointment. Anyway, I want to help develop life-changing medication.”
“Why?”
I stare at him.
“No one wakes up and thinks ‘hey, I want to develop a new drug for cancer today’ without a reason.”
“My gran developed trigeminal neuralgia when she was in her fifties.”
“I have no clue what that is.”
“It’s severe facial pain caused by pressure on the trigeminal nerve. Sometimes it can be treated through surgery, but sometimes it can’t.” I thread my fingers together.
“Let me guess. Your gran fell into the latter category.”
“Yes. She had medication which helped but caused other problems. It wrecked her liver, for example. She went from being a vivacious, outgoing woman to a shadow of herself because she was in so much pain all the time. It was awful.”
“You’re talking in the past tense.”
“She died five years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. But that’s why I want to research new medicines. It must be possible to create ones with less severe side effects or that are more effective in general. I can’t do anything for Gran, but I could help make someone else’s life more bearable.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“You’ve got a noble goal, and you’re aiming straight for it. I’m in awe.”
I stare at the table, unsure what to say.
“How’s my essay?”
I blink at the abrupt change of subject. “It’s okay. If you make a couple of corrections, you should get a decent grade.”
“That’s good to know.” He leans forward.
I home in on the shape of his lips. What would they feel like pressed against mine? Would his beard and moustache tickle or scrape?
“Care to tell me what’s really on your mind?”
“No.” Did I squeak my reply? Shit. I did. “Here.” I hold the essay out to him, looking at the floor at the side of my chair.
He takes it from me. Paper rustles. He must be looking through the corrections I made. At least, I hope he is.
He clears his throat. “I couldn’t have done this without you. Thanks. Here’s your payment, as promised.”
I glance up. He’s holding a wad of notes in my direction. I snatch it from him and put it in my pocket before someone sees and tries to steal it.
