I’m still scurrying past endless rows of lockers and students when I stop, stunned by the man walking toward me. The same must apply to Evelyn, judging from the sharp sound of her heels coming to an abrupt stop.
“Vivienne!” Dr. Anderson cheers excitedly, a large white box brimming with papers in his hand.
If I’m not mistaken, those are the organic chemistry midterms from earlier today—they have to be. Nothing else would smell like salty tears and fear.
“Nora told me you were screaming from happiness in the lab,” he muses.
I nod in confirmation. “I was just about to update you on that. Do you have a few minutes to spare?”
“Of course. I’ll be in my office. You can walk in whenever.” Dr. Anderson smiles once more before rounding the corner.
I turn my attention back to Evelyn, who’s deeply enthralled with her phone, thumbs typing aggressively despite themountainsof books nuzzled between her arms. A caller by the name of Agent Andrea pops up on her screen, but she declines the call with a grumble before looking up at me.
“Who’s Agent Andrea?” I ask out of curiosity.
Her blue eyes widen like she’s been caught. “Well, would you look at that!” Evelyn points at her empty wrist. “I think it’s time for you to go and for me toconvenientlyattend my next class. Goodbye.”
The blonde pivots without another word, glancing back every so often as her speed quickens.
I laugh at her reaction, shaking my head in disbelief as I make my way to Dr. Anderson’s office. Just like he mentioned, the door was left wide open, but I knock on it anyway.
“Hi, Doctor,” I say with a shy smile.
He gestures to the armchair across from his L-shaped wooden desk.
“I have news about the PMSA project,” I say when I take a seat. “I was able to synthesize the final compound with a decent yield and confirmed it through carbon and hydrogen NMR. The only thing left to do would be HRMS to confirm the molecular weight.”
A look of surprise crosses Dr. Anderson’s face before it turns into a bright smile. “Isn’t that amazing! Worth a good scream, I’ll admit.” He chuckles. “Well, congratulations on getting to the end of your synthesis. I always knew you could do it.”
I must be an emotional wreck today, because that last line sets off a waterworks of emotions behind my eyes.
Countless times, I’ve tried to believe in myself, and while I do in some moments, that voice of self-doubt always creeps itsway in. Hearing such praise from someone so knowledgeable andgood at what he does—lost grant aside—means more than I could have ever imagined.
“Thank you.” I accept the compliment with a smile, holding the words close to my heart.
“As you know, the next steps will include giving the compound to one of our biologists for assays and determination of biological activities. But in the meantime, you can get started on writing its synthesis for that portion of the upcoming paper.”
I mentally high-five myself—second first-author academic paper here I come! One last, and I’ll be on my way to graduate.
“And while I know this offer is a little at the last minute, and you declined it the first time, I’m sure I could call in a favor and sneak you in for a talk at ISCS now that you have new data.”
The International Symposium on Chemical Sciences is the largest global annual chemistry conference. And this year, it's taking place in Italy. Dr. Anderson asked me if I wanted to attend when it was first announced, but I declined under the guise of not having anything new to present.
Truth is, I just couldn’t stand the idea of traveling across an ocean. There’s a reason I only ever attended local or out-of-state conferences within train distance of the city, but no one ever paid enough attention to notice.
I’ve grown since then, worked my way to tolerating their sight, but I still couldn’t fathom getting on one. However, turning down the biggest opportunity of my academic career over something I should have gotten over a long time ago feels downright stupid.
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek as I look at Dr. Anderson’s hopeful eyes. He’s waiting, expecting an answer. And while Idon’t want to let him down, I can’t commit to something I’m not sure I’ll be able to face.
“When is the conference taking place again?” I ask despite the blaring alarms going off in my head.
“Mid-December in Milan.”
Three weeks. Twenty-one days. However many hours. Would it be enough to jump over the hoops that have kept me in this country for so long?
I force a smile and nod. “I’ll be sure to think about it,” I answer.
“Just let me know by the end of the day,” he says as a notification sounds off from his laptop. “I need to get this, but congratulations again, Vivienne. It’s a very big milestone.”
