“In some capacity. I’m a particle physicist at the University of Michigan,” he explains. “Post-doc researcher and professor, to be exact.”
“My dad used to do research in the astrophysics space.” The excitement in my voice rings clear. “And he also taught.”
“Salvon’s in town for the holiday and wanted to see Ivernia’s facilities,” Mrs.Vidar-Tett says. “But he could also use a second pair of eyes on his grant proposals. Isn’t that right?”
Salvon shrugs, reaching into his shoulder bag to remove a stuffed manila envelope. “How about it?”
“I can try.” I perch on a lab stool. “I used to write forThe Herald, but journalism wasn’t my strong suit. Although I did like the research part.”
“That’s my preference as well.” Salvon takes the seat acrossfrom me and empties the envelope onto the desk. “You won’t be writing, though. I’ve already got that part down. Your dad ever tell you about the grant process?”
“Just that it’s like gravity. If both feet are on the ground, then it’s constant and expected.”
He releases a full belly laugh as he looks at Mrs.Vidar-Tett. “I like her.”
For the next few hours, Salvon walks me through his proposal and answers the twelve thousand questions I have about his career trajectory. Was it difficult? (Yes.) Did he ever get discouraged? (Yes, but that’s what fuels the fire.) I learn it took him eight years to earn his doctorate and that he prefers working on accelerator-based experiments. His eyes light up when he tells me he gets to try to answer questions about the universe for a living. It’s the same glow I remember seeing in my dad’s face.
I’m so wrapped up in listening to him that Mrs.Vidar-Tett has to interrupt us when it’s time for lunch. The three of us head to the dining hall to grab the last turkey sandwiches, and I pepper Salvon with questions about UMich while we eat. He tells me about the undergraduate physics program and how there’s a graduate program specifically for astronomy. Listening to him incites a fire in me, burning bright like the sun. I remember Sabine talking about the University of Paris—is this how she felt? Passionate, even excited for a future that made sense?
After, we all head back to the lab where I spend the next hour combing through his proposal and making suggestions in themargins while Mrs.Vidar-Tett reads in a desk chair at the front of the room. Its execution is direct, laying out the importance of the research he’ll undertake over the course of the next year. Even though I try to focus, I can’t help asking more questions about Michigan and student life and classes and coursework. He tells me that the architecture and foliage reminds him of Ivernia, and I should hop over to Ann Arbor and take a tour sometime.
It’s the first time in weeks I’ve allowed myself to imagine my future instead of dreading what’s already been taken away.
When my adrenaline wanes, resurfacing the bigger problem at hand, I impulsively reach into my bag for my dad’s journal and turn to the simplified equation we’ve almost cracked.
“It’s a long shot,” I begin, “but would you mind looking at this?”
His eyes widen. “This is extremely advanced math.”
He doesn’t knowhowadvanced. It doesn’t deter him from pulling out a graphing calculator along with a sheet of notebook paper and taking a stab at it. I’m not sure how long we continue on like this, me working on the proposal and him jotting through ideas, but Mrs.Vidar-Tett breaks the silence. “This seems like a good stopping point.”
Salvon uses his eraser to tap the page in front of him. “Can I get back to you?”
My last glimmer of hope dies, but I don’t let my disappointment show. “Yeah, of course. Thank you.”
“It’s you I should thank.” He collects his proposal and slides itback into the folder. “Give me a holler if you think Michigan might be in your future.”
“I will,” I say in earnest.
Beside me, Mrs.Vidar-Tett beams. Then she ushers us out and locks the door behind her. The three of us pull on our coats as we reach the double doors. Outside, a salt-like downpouring of snow drifts toward the ground and melts on impact.
“I was promised the best hot chocolate on this side of the country,” Salvon says as he pulls on his gloves.
“You’re clearly not talking about Ivernia’s cafeteria,” I say. “But there’s a cute Parisian café in town that won’t disappoint.”
“And that’s exactly where we intend to go.” Mrs.Vidar-Tett flips her jacket hood over her head. “Oh, before I forget. There’s a few items on the gala checklist that you can complete before Monday to catch yourself up on community service hours.”
“I’ll prioritize it,” I assure her. “And—thank you. For this. It was really cool.”
Salvon releases an excited gasp. Off his reaction, Mrs.Vidar-Tett shakes her head. “A teenager admitting particle physics is cool? He’s going to ride this high for months.”
“Years,” Salvon insists.“Years.”
She smiles at me. “You have a mandatory stay-over policy meeting in the student lounge in twenty minutes,” she says. “But after that, please go enjoy your break.”
With a wave, they both step into a sudden gust of snowfall and head toward the parking lot. Instead of navigating to thestudent lounge around the corner, I veer in a different direction. Half of the fluorescents are off, casting a dim light down the corridor. My loafers emit a dullclackwith every step I take, the sound echoing down the hall, but I don’t stop walking until I’m climbing the steps toward the astronomy lab.
Mr.Kovacs is snapping his briefcase closed when I open the door. “Miss Carmichael,” he says genially. “What a surprise. I’m afraid I can’t be of assistance to you, as I’m expected at my daughter’s house soon.”
