She leans back slightly, offering a smile that feels like sunlight cutting through water. “Generosity had nothing to do with it, Miss Taylor. This was earned.”
My heart flips at the certainty in her voice, but she’s not finished.
“You’re a brilliant young woman—I believe you know that,” she says. “You also received a glowing recommendation I couldn’t ignore.”
My eyebrows lift before I can stop them. A recommendation?
Blythe? Maybe she reached out after I mentioned the opportunity in one of our weekly emails. But before I can ask, a darker, wilder thought flickers across my brain like static.
Could it have been…?
Dr. Kymbert doesn’t give me the chance to find out.
“I won’t be present for the first half of the trip, but I’ll join the group toward the end. I look forward to seeing you there. Oh, and Coralie?”
I hum in answer, looking at her.
“Do email me some of the STEM romances you’ve enjoyed reading. I’m looking for a new book.”
She winks, and the laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. For the first time all day, my chest feels a little less tight. I thank her—twice, maybe three times—then step back into the hallway, still holding the smallest breath. It’s quiet now. Holden’s door is closed. Theo’s door is slightly ajar, the hum of Tame Impala floating out into the corridor.
I make my way back down the hallway, then the stairs, then out the building and toward my dorm, thinking about just how many firsts this semester has thrown at me. Every day feels like it flips a coin between inducing a full-blown panic attack or coaxing me into becoming the most courageous version of myself. And somewhere between those two extremes, I remember something Blythe told me the very first time we met.
She said life was just a matter of choosing which situations deserved your one wild brain cell. I laughed then—because of course I did. But now, I think she meant it. I can waste it on spiraling, or I can spend it soaking in the terrifying, thrilling newness of it all.
Turns out, either way, it costs the same energy. Might as well choose the one that makes me feel alive.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Traveling doesn’t just broaden the mind—it cracks it wide open. Until all that’s left is a raw, astonished sort of curiosity. Because here’s the truth: itchangesyou to witness a place that exists entirely without you. A tide that rises and falls without your presence. A coast that doesn’t notice you arriving, or leaving. You start to understand that the world is not yours to own, only to witness.
This is precisely the feeling I have as I walk off the boat after nearly two days of planes and ferries to reach the Galápagos Islands with the rest of the group. And, let me tell you, I’ve attained the highest peak of raw, astonished curiosity there is.
Our first landing was on San Cristóbal, where it quickly became clear that the sea lions are the true locals. They populate the beaches, the piers, the empty bus shelters, even the steps of the harbor cafés. We watched them swim beside our boat, agile and unbothered, darting through the water like liquid muscle, chasing fish or one another in play. I’d already fallen a little in love—first with the animals, thenwith the clarity of the water, then with the sudden understanding that I was somewhere where ecological balance had a fighting chance.
But here—this island, our base for the week—is among the most extraordinary places I’ve ever set foot on. Floreana is home to fewer than 150 people; the rest is designated for wildlife, and it shows. The island pulses with biodiversity, from the dense, endemic flora reclaiming every possible inch of land to the darting flashes of movement beneath the surface of tide pools. The water here is almost unreal—deeper and more luminous than anything I saw in Hawai‘i, shifting between saturated cobalt and translucent turquoise depending on the angle of the sun. Along the shoreline, jagged bands of basaltic lava frame the coast—remnants of the island’s volcanic origin—creating stark contrasts between the dark rock, the gleaming water, the lush green canopy, and the iron-rich, reddish soil underfoot.
This week’s research focus is deceptively simple: assess coral recovery and adaptation in the Galápagos. After the catastrophic El Niño events of the 1990s—which raised sea surface temperatures enough to bleach and decimate over 95% of local coral—ecosystems here were left destabilized. Some reefs have shown signs of slow, patchy regrowth. Others remain skeletal. The question isn’t justwhat’s survived, buthow, andwhat for.
Our job is to document those shifts. Which coral species persist, which substrates support successful recolonization, and—more importantly—what physiological or ecological adaptations have emerged in the absence of structural reef complexity. The long game, of course, is to determine whether theseadaptive traits might offer insights for reef recovery efforts in similarly degraded systems worldwide.
I’ll admit, this isn’t exactly groundbreaking research. I’m almost certain Dr. Kymbert herself has already published on this, along with a dozen others. But I also suspect that’s beside the point. This trip isn’t about discovery in the eureka sense—it’s about exposure, field fluency, and the irreplaceable experience of observing a fragile system in flux.
Take Mateo, for instance. I’ve spoken to him maybe twice, but I know his thesis is on dermal photoprotection in sharks—the compounds they naturally produce to avoid UV damage. The waters around Floreana are teeming with sharks. I imagine this trip is like Disneyland for him. Another student, whose name I haven’t committed to memory yet but will try really hard to over the next week, is researching seafloor composition, particularly the calcification patterns in post-bleaching reef structures. The benthic fields surrounding Floreana—rich in fossilized coral and unconsolidated rubble—are ideal for his work.
So maybe none of us are here to reinvent marine biology. Maybe what we’re doing is closer to scientific pilgrimage: coming to a place that exists at the intersection of survival and collapse, just to learn how to see it properly.
About fifteen minutes' walk from the wharf, we reach the small field camp that will serve as home for the next week. It’s lovely, really—simple and sun-worn in a way that reminds me of home. Five modest wooden cabins line up side by side, along with a long open-sided tent labeledEspacio Común, and two smaller canvas tents markedEnfermeríaandEquipo. The washrooms are in a sixth cabin,set apart to the side. It’s nothing luxurious, but we didn’t come all the way to the Galápagos for turndown service.
The woman who greeted us back on San Cristóbal steps in front of the group. She has a bright smile and a lilting accent that makes the language sound like music.
“Okay, everyone,” she begins. “My colleague and I will let you know which cabin you’ve been assigned to. You can settle in before dinner.”
She glances down at the clipboard in her hands and frowns slightly.
“But first… is there a Taylor here? Taylor, Coralie?”
I raise my hand, and she motions for me to step aside while her colleague begins calling out pairings. We move a few feet away, and she gives me a small, apologetic smile.
