He let out a noise somewhere between a groan and a whimper.
I raised a brow, amused despite myself. “So? What’s the big deal?”
He rocked forward on the bench, eyes wide with alarm. “The auditorium. They moved me to the damn auditorium. It’s too big. Too… echoey. I’m afraid I’ll stand up there and my mind will go blank—completely void. My thoughts, research, everything I’ve worked for will get swallowed up in that hollow space like it’s falling into a black hole.”
I stared at him, barely resisting the urge to roll my eyes. This man, whose knowledge I needed more than anything, was unnerved by a change of venue. Pathetic. He was one frayed nerve away from a breakdown. Still, I had to play nice.
I conjured the softest voice I could muster and touched his shoulder. “I’m sure your dissertation will be a success.”
He blinked and turned his head toward me, as if seeing me for the first time. “You’re just saying that. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
And then, true to form, he stood and vanished down the path like he’d never been there.
I headed to my Anthro 101 class, my mind still tangled in thoughts of Jack James. As class ended, Professor Jones stepped forward and raised his voice.
“Everyone! Quick announcement,” Professor Jones said with theatrical flair. “At 4:30 P.M., in the Jacobson Hall auditorium, a grad student—Jack James—is presenting his dissertation on time travel.”
He paused, his lips twitching with amusement, before he added, “Check it out if you want a good laugh. Class dismissed.”
This was my opportunity to observe others’ reactions and learn what they thought of Jack James beyond whispers and pity.
“That Jack James,” Rick Marshall scoffed in the hallway, loudly enough to draw a few chuckles. “What a total loser.”
Monique, his ever-attached girlfriend, rolled her eyes dramatically. “Can you believe he thinks his theories are legit? Might be fun to hear him embarrass himself.” She wrapped her arm around Rick’s and pulled him toward the exit.
I followed at a distance, slipping through the flow of bodies until Jacobson Hall loomed ahead.
Inside, I found a seat in the far back corner of the auditorium. Jack was already onstage, pacing like a man on the edge of collapse. His steps were uneven, and every few strides he’d stop, scanning the dim room as though staring into a black hole—hoping, perhaps, it would open and swallow him whole.
A few students shuffled in, snickering under their breath as they claimed seats in the back. I remained silent, watchful.
The front rows were occupied by professors, scientists, and a handful of well-dressed officials—none of whom looked particularly eager to be there. Their expressions were stony and unreadable.
Dr. Tim Wong, the department chair, sat in the second row. Hissour expression and pointed goatee gave him the look of a disgruntled billy goat. He checked his watch, sighed, and then glanced toward the exit—only to catch me staring directly at him.
I didn’t blink. I didn’t smile. I held his gaze, daring him to mock Jack and make this harder than it already was.
Then I turned my attention to Jack. He was whispering something under his breath—repeating lines, perhaps, or clinging to fragments of a speech he’d rehearsed a thousand times in the safety of his room.
Finally, he stepped to the podium, placed his hands on either side, and began.
“In 1905,” he said, voice steady but quiet, “Albert Einstein proposed the theory of special relativity. This theory suggests that photons can travel through space at a constant pace of three hundred thousand kilometers per second. Not only is this speed difficult to achieve—it is, by current understanding, impossible to surpass.”
He paused.
“Yet,” Jack continued, eyes burning with a flicker of defiance, “across the cosmos… particles are accelerating.”
“We all know the theory of special relativity, Mr. James,” Professor Rubenfield said flatly, her deep voice booming through the auditorium. Her broad shoulders and no-nonsense scowl made her look more like a linebacker than a lecturer.
“Right, right,” Jack stammered, wiping sweat from his brow as it streamed down his face in steady rivulets. “Understood. I’m just… building to my point.”
“Well, get on with it then,” she said, flicking her hand as if swatting away a gnat.
From the front row, Dr. Wong glanced at his watch again, his sigh loud enough to be heard several rows back.
Jack cleared his throat, his voice cracking slightly. “In 1915, Einstein proposed the theory of general relativity—the idea that gravity bends the fabric of space and time, and that time moves slower or faster depending on speed and mass. This process is known as special relativistic time dilation.”
He rushed the sentence like it burned on his tongue, then forced a strained smile in Rubenfield’s direction. “I know you already know that, Professor. Just bear with me.”
