Chapter Text
“Okay, what’s wrong?”
Mel glances up, just in time to get hit in the face with a balled-up napkin. “Hey!”
“I asked you at least three times if you were going to eat your cookie,” Trinity says, unapologetic. “Other action was necessary. Now, what’s up? You’re being weird.”
“I’m not-,” but Mel gets cut off by yet another projectile, although this time she successfully bats the crumpled paper out of the air and she glowers at Trinity.
“Liar,” Trinity says. “You have your stress wrinkle.”
Mel sighs. “It’s nothing serious.”
“Your forehead says otherwise,” Trinity points out through a mouthful of Gatorade. “And you would’ve already mentioned any tests, so.”
“It’s,” Mel breaks off, chewing on her lip. “It’s stupid.”
“Not the point, Melatonin,” Trinity says, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table. “We’ve been over this.”
“It’s just-,” she sighs, gazing up at the ceiling. “I have bio next. And we’re picking partners for the final project.”
A few months ago, Trinity would’ve likely scoffed and told her to get over it, but then Mel had accidentally gotten too drunk at Samira’s birthday party and called Trinity out for her occasional callousness. It had been a tense few days, following that, but Trinity’s been making an obvious effort since then to curb her tongue, and their friendship is all the stronger for it. So, now Trinity just tilts her head, something in her expression clearing. “This is senior bio.” Mel nods tightly. “And you don’t know anyone in this class.” Mel nods again. “Who’s teaching that?”
“Heller.”
“I’ve heard that she’s pretty reasonable,” Trinity says carefully. “She doesn’t seem the type to turn partner selection into a humiliation ritual.”
Mel shrugs, wringing her hands. “No idea. That’s the anxiety-inducing part.”
“Okay,” Trinity says. “I can see how that could be stressful for you. Do you think Heller would do anything if you asked? We could go ask now.”
“I don’t know,” Mel says. “But I don’t want to-”
“Bother her?” Trinity interjects, eyebrows raised. “She’s the teacher, Mel. If she’s a dick about it, at least you tried, and then we have a free pass to hate on her for the rest of the semester.”
Mel sighs. “Yeah, okay. And yes, you can have my cookie.”
Trinity grins at her. “Thrilling.”
Unfortunately, when they poke their heads in the classroom, Ms. Heller isn’t there. They hang around in the hall for a few minutes, but she doesn’t show, so Trinity excuses herself with a supportive punch to Mel’s arm and Mel enters the classroom with a sigh and takes her seat. Ms. Heller doesn’t turn up until about ten seconds before the bell.
In an ideal world, Mel always sits in the second row, second seat in. She finds it easier to focus at the front, and especially in a class where she has no friends, sitting closer to the door gives her the option of escaping as fast as she can. In this class specifically, where she’s surrounded mostly by seniors, none of whom she knows – well, Mel has been dreading the group presentations since day one when she read about it in the course outline.
Mel is hoping that Ms. Heller will bring it up at the beginning of the class so she won’t have to spend the entire period stressing about partner selection. Unfortunately, she doesn’t, so Mel spends the entire period stressing about partner selection; her notes on cellular energetics are disappointingly boilerplate.
“Alright,” she says, with one minute left on the clock. “For your final project, you’ll be presenting in pairs. All of the specifics are in the syllabus, but we’ll go over it tomorrow. I’ll have a sign-up sheet for presentation dates at the front, and you’ll have until the end of the week to inform me of your topic.” The bell rings. “Okay, I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
With that, everyone starts to gather their things. Mel tries not to panic. It’s the worst group selection process she could’ve hoped for – absolutely no structure. She tosses her notebook and pencil in her bag, and lingers at the front, waiting for Ms. Heller to finish gathering her own supplies.
Ms. Heller turns to her. “How can I help you, Mel?”
“Yes, hi,” Mel says, shifting in place. “I was hoping to talk to you about the final project.”
“Sure,” she says, waiting.
“It’s about the partners,” Mel says carefully. “I don’t really know anyone in this class, and I…” she trails off, not entirely sure how to phrase it.
Ms. Heller nods. “I see.” She pauses and leans back against the desk. “If you stick around after class for a few minutes tomorrow, I might have a solution. Either way, we’ll figure it out. Does that work?”
“Oh, yes,” Mel says, relieved. “Thank you.”
Ms. Heller smiles at her. “Of course. Thank you for coming to me.”
It’s not perfect, Mel still doesn’t have nearly as much information as she’d like, but it’s better than before. She suspects that she’ll be able to sleep tonight.
Trinity nods supportively when Mel tells her on their ride home that she probably has a solution. That sorted, Mel listens patiently as Trinity complains about her mother’s increasing fixation with Trinity’s switch from gymnastics to wrestling.
“It’s just not feminine,” Trinity says, in a startlingly good impression of her mother. “What will the boys think? Like I care! God, I can’t wait for college.”
Mel nods sympathetically. She’s heard Trinity give this exact speech at least half a dozen times in the last few months. She’s happy to listen, though – if someone had asked Mel at 12 if she ever thought that she’d be one of Trinity Santos’ closest friends, 12-year-old Mel would’ve probably put money on the world ending first.
After Trinity drops her off, Mel’s evening is pretty much bog-standard. She makes quick work of her stack of schoolwork, makes dinner – nothing fancy, just spaghetti and pre-frozen meatballs – and spends the rest of the evening rewatching old episodes of Buffy with Becca. She sleeps well and, for the first time all week, wakes up in the morning without a stress headache.
Sure enough, that day is much easier. Mel is actually capable of paying attention during her classes, and she’s relieved to learn that her note-taking abilities have returned to her normal (superior) standards, including in biology. Thankfully, her distressingly average notes on cellular energetics from yesterday probably won’t tank her GPA.
After the bell, Ms. Heller waves her over. “Frank Langdon needs a partner as well,” she says right away. “He’s been out of town all week, but he told me before he left that he’s happy to work with anyone, I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t working with anyone else first.” She pauses and smiles slightly at the blank look in Mel’s eyes. “He sits in the back. Don’t worry, he’ll pull his weight.”
Mel breathes a sigh of relief, even though she still can’t put a face to the name. “Okay, great. Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“Not until Monday,” she says. “I can give you until the end of next week to get back to me with a subject.”
Students have started streaming in for the next period, so Mel thanks her again and leaves the classroom, racking her brain for a Frank. She comes up blank, though, and decides to consult her sources after school, and puts it out of her mind for the time being.
Trinity makes a face as she turns the key in the ignition. “Frank? What 18-year-old is named Frank?”
Mel shrugs, fingers drumming on the armrest. “Don’t know. Never met him- or, looked at him, anyways.”
Trinity side-eyes her. “This is why you need to get Facebook.”
“No,” Mel says. “I will not be doing that.”
“Whatever,” Trinity says, rolling her eyes. “Did you get a last name?”
“Langdon.”
Trinity’s eyebrows flick up as she backs out of her spot. “Okay, interesting.”
“What do you mean?” Mel asks, immediately on guard. “You know him?”
“Langdon? He’s on the hockey team.”
Mel groans. “An athlete?”
“Yolanda knows him,” Trinity offers. “I think she likes him okay. I’ve never heard her complain about him, anyways, and she’s not one to hide her contempt.”
“That’s something, I guess,” Mel says weakly.
“I’ll ask her tomorrow,” Trinity says. “You want Starbucks?”
Mel shakes her head. “I appreciate that, but I’d rather you didn’t – I think in this one instance, it’s better if I have less information. And sure, if you want.”
Trinity snorts. “You say that like you haven’t already built a full picture of him in your mind based solely on the word ‘hockey’.”
Mel waves her off since they both know it’s true, and Trinity takes the turn for Starbucks.
While Mel is still apprehensive about this Frank Langdon guy, having a partner does alleviate most of her anxiety, and she figures that at the very least, partnering with an athlete means that she can probably do the bulk of the work and still get the grade she wants. That’s always been her MO, she can work with this. It’ll be fine. She puts it to the back of her brain, and focuses on more pressing concerns – namely, her weekend’s workload. Her calculus teacher is trying to kill her, and that’s significantly more stressful than some faceless, AWOL hockey player.
When Mel gets to class the next Monday, she scans the other students sitting in the classroom, but nobody leaps out at her as a Frank, so she takes her seat and decides to figure it out later. The day’s subject – enzymes – genuinely interests her, so she has no trouble paying attention. She’s very pleased with the quality of her notes.
At the end of the period, Mel hesitantly gets up and goes to the front of the class to ask Ms. Heller which one is Frank, when she senses a presence beside her.
“Mel?”
She glances over, then up, to meet a pair of bright blue eyes. She thinks she recognizes him as one of the guys who sits in the back left, but he’s not one of those hockey players, thank god. Mel nods at him. “So you’re Frank,” she says.
He huffs out a laugh. “Technically correct,” he says, tilting his head towards the door, “but nobody calls me that.”
“I’ve never met a Frank under the age of 50,” Mel says as she follows him out to the hall.
Langdon’s mouth tugs up at the corner. “Exactly. So,” he says, gesturing at her stack of notebooks and binders. “What are you thinking here?”
“Great question,” she says, searching through her stack for her green notebook. “I made a list of potential subjects for each sub-unit.” She rifles through her notebook awkwardly, trying to find the page. “I’d probably prefer something in genetics or natural selection, but- why are you laughing?” She tries to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest.
“I’m not laughing at you,” he says, smiling. “I just- wow, I might actually get a good grade on this, huh?”
“I certainly hope so,” Mel says, still on guard as she passes him her notebook, watching as his eyes dart across the page.
“I could get into genetics,” he says, passing it back to her. “Maybe some of the ethical concerns. Biotechnology, something like that.”
Mel nods, relieved. “I can work with that. Do you have any time this week to meet up and figure out a plan?”
“Sure,” he says, leaning against the wall. “I can do tomorrow afternoon, if that works for you.”
“Okay,” she says. “In the library after last class? We can brainstorm some ideas.”
He grins at her. “You seem to have done enough of that already, but yeah. Sounds good.”
Mel smiles back. This partnership seems, at the very least, manageable.
“So,” Trinity says as she struggles with her backpack. “You met the hockey boy today.”
“Yeah,” Mel says, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she waits for Trinity to finish packing up her locker. “It went okay. He doesn’t seem awful.”
“Yolanda does like him – or, tolerates him, anyways,” she offers, grimacing as she tries to shove what appears to be a third sweater into her backpack. Mel isn’t foolish enough to try and offer her any assistance. “A good sign, all things considered.”
Mel nods. “We’re meeting up tomorrow after school to pick a topic.”
Trinity grunts in satisfaction as she finally gets her backpack closed, and slams her locker shut. “Promising.”
“Not too bad,” Mel agrees. “The dread is mostly gone.”
“He’s not stupid,” Trinity says as they head down the hall. “Yolanda told me that he got a full ride to U of M on a hockey scholarship.”
“Oh,” Mel says, pleasantly surprised by the news. “Okay, that’s good to know.”
“So if this works out, you might know someone on campus when you go,” she says, elbowing Mel in the ribs. “Which- is good for you.”
“Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Mel says. “He’s still a hockey player.”
Trinity grins at her. “I knew you’d say that. You wanna stop for ice cream?”
“Trin, it’s like 40 degrees out.”
“Yeah, but we won’t be eating it outside.”
Mel can’t argue with that logic. Besides, after the hell Abbot had put her through over the weekend, she deserves cookies and cream. Try as she might, differentiation will just never be interesting to her.
The next afternoon, Mel gets to the library before Langdon, and as she spreads out her notebooks, she’s a little worried to note that her stomach has started to twist itself into knots. What if he doesn’t show up? What if he’s dropped out of bio between yesterday and today and she has to find another partner? She doesn’t know anything about him, really. He’s an unknown quantity. Mel hates those. Thankfully, he shows up before she’s gotten too far into her spiral, sliding into the seat across from her with a smile and a casual hey.
“Okay,” she says after greeting him. “I know we have one of the later presentation dates, but this is worth a decent chunk of our grade, so I’d like to get a head start.”
“Sure,” he says, slouching back in the chair. “Whatcha thinkin’?”
“Well, you saw my list yesterday,” she says, sliding it to him across the table anyways. “But I did add a few more things to the list.”
His eyebrows flick up as he peers at her notebook. “So, you’re really into this stuff, then,” he says, looking up at her.
“What stuff?” Mel asks, bemused. “Science?”
His lips curl up at the sides. “Yeah.”
Mel shrugs. “I guess so, yeah. I mean, I like school.”
“I can tell,” he says, leaning across the table and examining her open notebooks and planner. “Jesus, look at the colour coding.”
Mel rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling slightly. “So,” she says, pointedly putting her list of subjects on top of the other notebooks. “Bioethics with a genetic twist, is that what we’re thinking?”
“I’m good with that,” he says, clicking his pen against the table. “If we’re getting specific – designer babies feels too obvious, subject-wise.”
Mel nods. “I don’t disagree. And I don’t particularly care about GMOs.”
“Okay,” he says. “Consider that crossed off the list. Bioweapons?”
Mel grimaces. “Interesting, but bleak. Are clones too similar to designer babies?”
Langdon tilts his head to the side. “No, and I’m not opposed to that, or moving into sci-fi territory more generally.”
“Good to know,” she says. “What about genetic security?”
His eyebrows draw together. “In what sense?”
Mel shrugs. “Data privacy, biobanks, ancestry testing. The fact that human DNA can never actually be anonymized, problematizing informed consent. Insurance overreach and coverage denial.”
“Lots there,” he says, tapping his pen against the table. “I’d be down for any one of those.”
Mel smiles. “Great.” She makes a note in her notebook, checking off the possibilities. Time to make a shortlist. “How are you feeling about this class in general?” she asks, trying not to be too obvious in her investigation. She still doesn’t have a solid grasp on who he is, although she’s not apprehensive – just curious. “It’s a tough workload, huh?”
“It is if you do all the reading,” he replies, lips twitching in amusement. “Which I don’t.”
Mel draws back, her mouth pressing into a thin line. “Interesting strategy.”
He shrugs. “Heller loves me. I’m not super worried about it.”
“Well, I’m happy for you,” Mel says sharply. “But some of us need scholarships, and not the athletic kind.”
Langdon’s eyebrows flick up. “Ah.”
“Sorry,” she says immediately. She’s not, but she was raised right. “It’s not your fault you play hockey. Or, well, maybe it is.”
He actually laughs. “It seems I’ve been prejudged.”
“Sorry,” she says again. She can tell that her face is red.
Langdon waves a hand. “Honestly, you’re not wrong for it. We’re not exactly an oppressed class.”
Mel tilts her head to the side. “True. Arguably, you could use more of it.”
“More what,” he says, eyebrows raised. “Prejudice?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Exactly. Against you,” she clarifies. “To be clear. Not from you.”
“Am I a spokesperson for all hockey players now?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest, although he does look amused.
“Yeah,” Mel says promptly. “Since I do try and avoid your kind on principle.”
He laughs again. “My kind?”
“Hockey players,” Mel says again.
“I’m more than just a hockey player,” he points out.
“Your scholarship says otherwise,” she says, tapping her pencil against her palm.
Langdon opens his mouth, closes it, then grins. “Got me there. I like you, King,” he says after a moment, leaning his chair back on two legs and balancing himself on the table. “You’re meaner than I would’ve guessed.”
“I’m not mean,” she counters peevishly, shoving her glasses up her nose. “I think you’re just coddled.”
“Coddled?” he says disbelieving, grin still firmly in place. “Have you met the people on the hockey team?”
“Unfortunately,” Mel mumbles. “But that’s not mean, that’s just – what’s the word, chirping?”
Langdon lets out a surprised laugh. “Yeah, that’s it.”
Mel tilts her head to the side pointedly and looks back down at her notes. Her biology highlighter is the green one, obviously, but projects are usually highlighted in yellow…
“Besides, I didn’t say it’s a bad thing,” he adds after a moment.
Mel glances up at him. “Oh?”
“Honestly, I’m thrilled Heller paired me with you,” he says, flipping his pen across his knuckles. “I like Nathan, mostly, but he thinks pulling his weight has to do with weightlifting.”
Mel snorts. “Point taken.”
He grins at her crookedly. “So, should we pick a subject?”
“I mean we can,” she says. “But I’d like to do some more reading first. We could just tell Heller that we’re interested in bioethics and genetics for now,” she says thoughtfully. “Unless other people are doing similar things, we can narrow down a specific topic later. I’m working on a reading list for background research; I’ll get that to you later this week.”
“Works for me,” he says, shrugging. “How do you want to do this?”
“Look,” she says, heaving a sigh. “We can divide and conquer, but I’ll tell you now that I’m a bit controlling when it comes to group projects.”
Langdon laughs. He does that a lot, Mel notices. He has a nice laugh. “Good to know. So, are you saying that you’d prefer to supervise?”
“Supervise is a bit much,” she says. “But it would be nice to structure all of the work into a specific time period, at least for the near future. I need all the spare time I can get when it comes to calculus. If that works for you.”
“Yeah, totally,” he says. “I’m a bit of a procrastinator, so setting up a specific time to work on this is probably better, honestly.”
“Great!” Mel says, relieved. She pulls out her planner. “Does this time work for you? Tuesday afternoons?”
Langdon nods. “It should. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
“Great,” she says again, marking it down for the next few weeks. “Anything else?”
He grabs her notebook and scrawls something in the corner. “My phone number,” he explains. “Just in case. Faster than email.”
“Makes sense,” Mel agrees, tucking her notebook into her bag. “I’ll text you later.”
“Sounds good,” he says. “Where you headed?”
“Towards the gym,” she explains, as she puts the rest of her stuff away. “A friend is giving me a ride home, I’m meeting her there.”
“I’ll walk with you,” he says as he stands and stretches. Mel gets to her feet too, heaving her backpack over her shoulders. “So, who do you have for calculus?” he asks as they walk out of the library. “Abbot or Robby?”
Mel’s eyebrows draw together. “Robby?”
“Robinavitch,” he supplies. “I’ll take it you have Abbot, then.” Mel nods. Langdon nods back, fiddling with the straps on his backpack. “Abbot’s not bad. Tough, but fair.”
“Yeah, and he’s funny,” Mel offers. “I just don’t love the subject, which isn’t his fault.”
“Yeah, fair enough,” he says. “Actually, I’m decent at it, if you ever want help. Not that you need it, probably,” he adds. “But- offer’s on the table.”
Mel smiles up at him. “Thanks. I do have a friend who’s really good at it, but that’s good to know.” They reach the gym hall, the ever-present stench hitting like a wall as they pass the change rooms. “Well,” she says, a touch awkward. “This is me.”
Langdon grins at her. “Lovely place you’ve got here.”
Mel wrinkles her nose. “So you don’t smell that?”
“Nah,” he says. “I’m immune.”
She sighs. “I should be so lucky.”
“Comes with the territory,” he says, smiling. “See you tomorrow.”
“You too,” she says, lifting a hand in a vague wave. He waves back and then Mel turns and enters the gym, scrunching up her face as the smell intensifies.
Trinity’s at the far end, talking to a guy Mel vaguely recognizes as the wrestling coach, although she looks up as Mel walks in and holds up a finger. Mel nods and sits down on the bench to wait. She’s pleasantly surprised by how that went. Langdon’s more interesting than she’d expected – a sense of humour and good at calculus. She hesitantly decides that she’s probably good to give him the benefit of the doubt, at least for the time being.
She pulls out her notebook to condense the subject shortlist, when she remembers that she promised to text him. She flips open her phone and adds him as a contact.
MK: Hey, it’s Mel.
She pauses, then adds:
MK: King.
She puts her phone down beside her and keeps working on their shortlist while she waits for Trinity. Her phone buzzes.
FL: appreciate the clarification
FL: i know so many mels
MK: Do you?
FL: no
FL: well maybe but youre the only important one
MK: I’m flattered.
FL: one might even say that youre the king of mels
Mel groans at the ceiling, but she is smiling.
MK: That was bad.
FL: undoubtedly
MK: Alright. I’ll get you that shortlist tomorrow.
FL: sounds good
Mel does indeed get him their shortlist the next day, each subject annotated with a list of potential thesis statements, books, and other relevant resources. He grins at it. “Jesus Christ, Mel.”
“What?” she protests. “It’ll make it easier!”
He just shakes his head. “I really lucked out with you, huh?”
“Whatever,” Mel says, waving him off, hoping he doesn’t spot her flushed cheeks. “Don’t think flattery will get you off the hook for your part.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, eyes twinkling.
Sure enough, the next Tuesday afternoon, Mel finds him ready and waiting for her in the library, with a stack of books and an open notebook.
“Someone’s raring to go,” she says, amused.
Langdon shrugs. “My chem teacher keeps trying to recruit me for the Science Olympics, so I usually try to get out of there as fast as I can.”
“Right,” she says dryly. “Winter Olympics or bust, is that it?”
He grins at her. “Exactly. Anyways, I was looking through this list, and I really would be happy with any of them. Some are a little more outlandish than others, though.”
“Yeah, I can’t decide how far into sci-fi I want to go,” she says thoughtfully. “I don’t know where Heller stands on it.
“Yeah, fair,” he says. “Do you like sci-fi?”
“I do,” she admits. “My dad’s a big sci-fi geek, so I grew up on reruns of Star Trek and Twilight Zone.”
“My parents weren’t big on Star Trek, but my sister loves the X-Files,” he says. “And I got really into sci-fi and horror a couple summers back. The Thing changed my life.”
Mel puts down her pencil. “I love The Thing,” she says, smiling. “The practical effects are incredible. That’s another one of my dad’s favourites. That, and Alien.”
“The classics,” he agrees, leaning forward again, resting his elbows on the table. “Terminator, Blade Runner, Total Recall. Terminator 2: Judgement Day.”
“Oh, yeah, Blade Runner!” she says. “I can’t believe I forgot that one – given how many times my dad’s watched it, I think I’ve probably seen it at least ten times, five minutes at a time.”
Langdon smiles. “It’s like that. Have you seen The Fly?”
Mel’s eyebrows furrow. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s more body horror,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Jeff Goldblum turns into a fly, the special effects are pretty gnarly.”
“Sounds Kafkaesque,” she says, nodding.
“Oh, yeah, we read that story in English class a couple years ago,” he says, tilting his head and squinting slightly. “The Metamorphosis?”
“Yeah,” Mel says, trying to contain her surprise. “That’s the one.”
“Contrary to popular belief, I do know how to read,” he says wryly. “For the sports coverage, obviously.”
“Sorry,” she says, ducking her head. “I know, I know.”
“Right,” he says, but his mouth is twisted in amusement. “So, is it just hockey players you’re biased against, or athletes in general?”
Mel tilts her head back and forth. “Some sports are worse than others. It’s a ranked list.”
Langdon laughs. “Say more.”
“Hockey and football are the worst,” she says, putting down her pencil. “Here, at least. I don’t really care after that. I have nothing against curlers.”
“Curlers?” he asks, eyebrows raised. “You watch curling?”
Mel shrugs. “Sometimes. It’s mostly just that the best curlers are all older. It’s satisfying to watch a sport where the best athletes are often over 25.”
“Oh, so it’s an age thing,” he says, tapping his pen against the table. “I see. Is it fair to assume that you don’t subscribe to the age-old saying that high school is the best time of your life?”
“I certainly hope it’s not,” Mel scoffs. “God.”
“Yeah, I don’t disagree,” he says. “I’m looking forward to getting out of here, honestly.”
“Yeah, why’d you choose Michigan?” she asks, genuinely curious.
“Other than the full scholarship?” he replies, an amused slant to his mouth. “I’d say that’s a pretty good reason on its own.”
“Well, sure,” Mel says. “But you have to have considered other options.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I considered Penn State pretty seriously, but I just liked U of M’s vibe more.”
“I get that,” she says. “What do you want to study?”
Langdon lifts a shoulder. “Not sure yet. I like math. Chemistry is cool.”
“I like chemistry,” Mel offers. “I learned the periodic table song for extra credit in middle school and performed it in front of the class.”
Langdon grins. “Do you still know it?”
“Of course,” she says, waving a hand vaguely. “Mind you, it’s been updated since then.”
His eyebrows flick up. “Updated?”
“Well, they’ve discovered new elements,” she explains. “Tennessine, in 2009.”
“Tennessine,” he repeats. “Totally.”
“Named after Tennessee,” she offers. “The state. It’s a halogen. Tennessine, I mean – not the state.” Her brain catches up with her words and she grimaces slightly.
“I don’t believe you,” he says, mouth tugging up at the corner.
Mel blinks. “About tennessine? I’m sure they have an updated periodic table somewhere in the library.” She glances around – she’d swear they had one on the walls, but-
“No,” he says, spinning his pen between his fingers. “I don’t believe you still know it.”
Her eyes narrow. “Is that a challenge?”
“Only if you can still do it,” he says, arching an eyebrow at her. “Otherwise it’s just a statement.”
“Your provocations won’t work on me,” she says, glancing back down at her books. “I’m secure in my knowledge.”
“Whatever you say,” he says. In her peripherals, Mel can see him look down at his books as well, but she can hear the laughter in his voice.
Mel sighs. She’s going to regret this. “There’s hydrogen and helium, then lithium, beryllium. Boron, carbon everywhere, nitrogen all through the air, with oxygen so you can breathe and fluorine for your pretty teeth. Neon to light up the signs, sodium for salty times. Do I need to keep going?”
He’s clearly biting back a smile as he shakes his head. “Anyone can memorize the first 11, Mel,” he says. “I’m going to need more than that.”
Mel glares at him, but he just raises his eyebrows in response, so she rolls her eyes. “Magnesium, aluminium, silicon, phosphorus, then sulfur, chlorine, and argon, potassium so you’ll grow strong. Scandium, titanium, vanadium and chromium and manganese.” She pauses, trying to gauge if she’s proven her point yet, but he’s just leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, still grinning. Mel sighs, but continues: “Iron is the 26th, then cobalt, nickel coins you get, copper, zinc and gallium, germanium and arsenic. Selenium and bromine film, while Krypton helps light up your room.” She hears a snort of laughter and pauses. “That’s 36,” she says. “And I’m stopping now, because I have dignity, and you’re mocking me.”
Langdon clearly does his best to school his expression into something more neutral and raises his hands in the air. “I’m not mocking you,” he says. “It’s cute.”
“Cute?” Mel can’t decide if her face is turning red because she’s offended or flattered. Probably both.
“Cute,” he agrees, still grinning.
“Science isn’t cute,” Mel protests. “It’s- serious! And important!”
“Says who?”
“Says me,” she says defiantly. “Objectively, I’m better at science than you are.”
“Oh, undoubtedly,” he says. “Objectively, you’re also really fucking cute.”
“That is in no way objective,” Mel says. “That statement would not hold water, scientifically speaking. Also, it feels patronizing.”
Langdon’s eyebrows flick up. “I can assure you that’s not how I meant it.”
“How did you mean it, then?”
“You have a dictionary right there,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the stack of books in front of her. “Look it up.”
Mel shoots him a look, but sighs and opens the dictionary, flipping to the ‘C’ section and runs her index finger down the list:
Cute: adjective
- Attractive, especially in a dainty way; pleasingly pretty.
- Appealing and delightful; charming.
- Affectedly or mincingly pretty or clever; precious.
- Mentally keen; clever; shrewd.
“There are four definitions here,” she says, glancing back at him. “Many of which could be construed as patronizing. I take offense to ‘precious’ in particular. Also don’t love ‘dainty’.”
Langdon grins and crooks a finger at her, indicating that she should slide him the dictionary. “I mean, you’re definitely mentally keen,” he says after a moment, looking up at her. “Shrewd – maybe.”
“Yeah, but that’s the atypical definition,” she says. “Singing about the elements isn’t shrewd."
He winks at her. “Figure it out. You’re definitely clever enough.”
“Oh, whatever,” Mel sighs, looking back at her book. Maybe if she focuses hard enough on informed consent, her heartbeat will slow back down to normal. Langdon does not take the hint.
“Any plans tonight?”
Mel huffs out a laugh. “With this workload? Yeah, it’ll be me and my desk until midnight.”
“Have you ever heard of having fun?” he asks, flicking a pen in circles on the table. “I think you might like it.”
“I have fun,” Mel protests. “I do things. Fun things. Hobbies and such.”
“Right,” he says. “Rereading your textbooks doesn’t count, Melissa.”
“I read other things,” she retorts. “I’ll have you know that I read lots of fiction.”
“Like this?” Langdon snatches a book off the top of her personal pile. “Song of Solomon?”
“Toni Morrison,” Mel says with a nod.
“Yeah, I can read, remember?” he says dryly, gesturing pointedly at the cover.
“That one’s for pleasure,” she says smugly. “I had English last semester.”
“I know,” he says, mouth tugging up at the corner. “I was in your class.”
Mel pauses. “Wait, what?”
“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “You really don’t turn around at all, huh?”
She shakes her head, distracted. “Wait, really?”
“Yeah,” he says again, smile widening. “You were in my direct line of sight for the better part of five months.”
“Okay,” she says, blinking. “My bad.”
“No need to apologize,” he says. She’s relieved to note that he still seems amused. “You made some very astute comments about Antigone.”
Mel’s mouth falls open slightly at that. “Thanks, I guess.”
Langdon shrugs. “I always notice the smart ones. Although – can I ask what you have against the back of the classroom?”
“Nothing personal,” she says quickly. “It’s just easier to focus if I don’t think about it. Somehow, it’s easier to ignore people staring at the back of my head than it is to ignore the backs of other people’s heads? I don’t know.”
“Sure,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Hey, whatever works, right?”
“Pretty much,” Mel replies. Her face feels warm. She takes a sip of water. “Okay, so, I found this passage on the pseudonymization of genetic materials…”
“Hey, is it cool if I come over tonight?”
Mel takes a deep breath. She doesn’t want to glare too much at Trinity, even though she knows Mel is stressed about her calc test. She takes another deep breath as she glances up from her textbook, and- oh. “Trin, you never have to ask,” she says gently. “Even if we’re not there, you know where the spare key is. You’re always welcome.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Trinity says, waving her off, but the set of her mouth tells Mel that she’s grateful.
“Besides, it’s Thursday, and you’re the only other person we know who likes Jersey Shore,” Mel offers. “Becca will be thrilled.”
“A fair point,” Trinity says, nodding, before taking another bite of her sandwich. “I can’t believe you don’t like it. It’s practically a sociological study that we get to watch every week. What are those people on?”
Mel shakes her head. “I’d rather not guess.”
“Yeah, okay, I’ll let you study,” Trinity says. “Good luck.”
Mel smiles at her. “I’ll see you tonight. Feel free to bring dumplings, if you’re so inclined.”
Trinity rolls her eyes as she stands. “Don’t get greedy, Melodrama.”
Still, as Mel watches her walk away, she’d put the odds of Trinity bringing dumplings tonight at 90%.
Trinity does indeed bring dumplings, and while Mel will maintain that she hates Jersey Shore until the day she dies, watching it with Trinity and Becca is always a good time. Trinity crashes on their couch overnight. Mel doesn’t ask.
This weekend is significantly more relaxed, given that Mel’s calculus unit test is finally over and done with, and her next assignment isn’t due until the following Thursday. Langdon’s words ring in her ears, and she decides that she’s going to take Saturday off – properly. She calls Samira, who is equally guilty of chronically misunderstanding what fun is, and persuades her to go out for the afternoon, finally winning her over when she promises they can go on a tour of the used bookstores downtown. They get Thai for dinner. It’s all very pleasant. While Mel does spend a good chunk of Sunday doing homework, she also goes for a walk, calls her grandmother, and makes cookies with Becca. It’s the most relaxing weekend she’s had in recent memory. In the back of her mind, she’s also satisfied that on the off chance he asks, she’ll actually have an answer for once.
“Do you have a favourite colour?”
Mel glances up from her book. “In any particular context?”
Langdon shrugs. “No. Pick one.”
She cocks her head to the side, thinking. “Well, I do like purple, but – you know how people who like purple really like purple?”
Langdon’s eyebrows draw together. “No.”
“Well, they do,” she says. “I like purple a normal amount, so I usually say blue.”
“What shade of blue?”
Mel taps her pencil against her lips. “Deep,” she says finally. “Like midnight blue.”
“That’s a good one,” he says, nodding.
“I like all colours, though,” she says, putting her pencil down. “Every colour has a best shade and a worst shade.”
“That’s probably true,” he agrees. “I could’ve guessed you like colour in general, just based on your notes. You have every colour of the rainbow in there.”
“Well, it’s a helpful mnemonic,” she says. “Colour is already associated with everything else, so, it’s kind of natural – I just have to externalize it.”
He’s been nodding, but now he stops and squints at her. “Wait, what?”
“Everything has a colour,” Mel explains, a touch hesitant. She’s tried to explain it often enough to know that this doesn’t always go over well. “In my brain. Everything, everyone. It’s involuntary.”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugs. “It’s kind of hard to explain. Like – you’re sort of a deep, hazy green,” she says. “Forest green, but on a cloudy day.”
“Like an aura?” To her relief, he looks genuinely intrigued.
“Not quite,” Mel says, tilting her head back and forth. “More like a background? Or – I don’t know, I’m not explaining it very well. Okay, if I say, like, cranberry, do you picture the colour?”
Langdon blinks. “I guess.”
“Does it show up in your head?”
“Sure,” he shrugs. “I can visualize cranberry.”
“It’s like that,” she says. “You’re green, so whenever I think about you, the thought is – green.”
“Does everyone get colours?”
“Not everyone,” Mel explains. “I have to have some idea of who they are as a person, first. It sort of emerges.”
“Does it ever change?”
Mel nods. “Sometimes. My friend Trinity used to be burgundy, but now she’s kind of a deep orangey red. But Becca’s been turquoise our entire lives. My twin sister,” she clarifies.
“That’s so interesting,” he says, fingers tapping on the table. “Synesthesia’s more of a cognitive psychology thing, I guess. Otherwise, it could’ve been an interesting subject,” he says thoughtfully. “I guess we could’ve done colour perception in general, but optics is maybe more physics? Although, photoreceptor cells could apply, cones and rods and whatnot.”
Mel tilts her head, intrigued by this minor tangent, but she tables that for later consideration. “I do have synesthesia too, but that’s not really it,” she says. “It’s kind of its own thing. My colours aren’t connected to any other senses.”
“Does Becca also have this- colour thing?” he asks, waving a hand vaguely.
“Not that, but she does have synesthesia,” Mel says. “And we have a decent amount of overlap. Not everything, but – numbers and colours we can agree on, for example. One is red, two is blue, three is green, four is purple, and so on.”
“That’s so interesting,” he says again, resting his head on his hand. “Is it the other senses too? Scent? Taste?”
“Yeah. Again, though, it’s kind of hard to tell. It’s automatic,” she explains. “I don’t really think about it much. So, like, sometimes when things get confusing, I have to stop and think about what bits are connected. Like, okay, you know Ms. Allwood?” Langdon nods. “I like her as a person, but I couldn’t stand to be in her class,” Mel says, glancing around and leaning in closer. “I couldn’t listen to her. Her voice sounds like how old velour feels, kind of- crusty? Do you know what I mean?”
“Not even a little bit,” Langdon says, mouth twisting in amusement. “Old velour?”
Mel shrugs. “Yeah. So it can be hard to pinpoint because it’s so specific, but the links are intrinsic and inextricable. It’s just a fact of life at this point, truthfully. I hardly think about it. Two plus two is four, four is purple, end of story.”
“Wow,” he says, shaking his head. “You really do colour code everything.” He’s smiling, though, and his eyes are soft when he looks back at her.
Mel smiles and ducks her head. Then – “Oh!” she says, looking back up. “I never asked you about your favourite colour.”
Langdon’s lips curl up at the sides. “Green.”
The more she thinks about it, the more Mel realizes that she likes working with Langdon. While having a partner who actually does their part means that she doesn’t have complete control, she decides that this is preferable. Even if it’ll take longer, just knowing that she doesn’t have to dread the prospect of presenting with someone she dislikes, let alone distrusts – well, the prolonged timeline is worth the peace of mind.
The research is interesting, but it’s not particularly hard, so she often finishes reading her sections long before he does. Mel is a notoriously fast reader, so while she often uses the time in between to get other things done before their discussions, she finds it equally interesting to watch him, mostly because he never stops moving. He’s constantly shifting in place, drumming his fingers on the table, fidgeting with his hair, clothing, pens. His personality isn’t dissimilar – Langdon’s brain seems to be as restless as his hands, and Mel has to gently nudge him back on track not infrequently.
The other thing is that she genuinely likes him as a person. He’s easy to talk to, he’s funny, and surprisingly open-minded. He actually reminds her a lot of Trinity, not that Mel would ever tell her that – restless, impulsive, confident. And his brain goes places hers never would, moving laterally instead of linearly, meaning that he’ll point out angles and considerations that wouldn’t have necessarily occurred to Mel.
She likes his side-tangents, too. He suggests a lot of movies, most of which Mel has never even heard of. She’s not sure when she’d have time to get around to all of them, but she’s started writing down his recommendations at the back of her notebook, mostly because he looks so pleased every time she does.
Still, the range of behaviours and habits he’s exhibited over their last few meetings has triggered something in Mel’s brain, one she’s having increasing difficulty ignoring. Case in point: Mel is trying her best to read about biobank governance, but Langdon is particularly distracted today.
“Have you seen Minority Report?”
Mel narrows her eyes, thinking. “Spielberg, right? Tom Cruise?”
“That’s the one,” he says, fiddling with the hood strings on his sweater. “Precrime.”
“That’s getting a little out of the realm of bioethics,” Mel reminds him, but she’s smiling. At least his distractions are usually semi-related.
“Eh, I think the argument could be made,” he counters, gazing up at the ceiling. “The possibility of predictive genetic policing is horrifying.”
“You’re not wrong,” she agrees. She bites her lip. “Have you ever been tested for ADHD?”
Langdon’s head jerks down and he sits up straight. “What?”
“I don’t mean to overstep,” she says quickly. “I just- I’ve got a sister with special needs, and I’m really familiar with the criteria, and you- have them,” she finishes awkwardly.
“No,” he says, clipped. “I haven’t been tested.”
“I’m not trying to offend you,” she says quickly, cursing herself internally. It had been going so well. “It’s-”
“You didn’t offend me,” he says, in a tone that Mel would probably describe as offended. “What criteria?”
Mel lifts a shoulder, casual. “You have trouble sitting still,” she offers. “And you get sidetracked a lot. You’re a self-proclaimed procrastinator, and, well, I’ve seen your notes. And your locker. But you’re also very creative,” she adds. “You think laterally – your brain goes in directions mine doesn’t. It’s not a bad thing, though, not at all.”
At her explanation, his seeming offense does dissipate, but he’s obviously subdued for the rest of their session, saying very little and just giving her a tight smile and a quiet see ya on the way out.
Mel doesn’t talk to him at all the next day, and he won’t catch her eye in class. She regrets mentioning it at all – he’s clearly doing well in school, and she knows that most people have a pretty strong misconception about what ADHD and ASD actually look like in reality, and she didn’t bring it up as smoothly as she would’ve liked. She just hopes it won’t entirely tank their relationship.
As such, she’s a little surprised when she shuts her locker at the end of the next day and finds him behind it. “Oh!” she says, startled. “Hi.”
“I overreacted,” he says, right off the bat. “On Tuesday. I’m sorry.”
Mel shakes her head. “No, I overstepped. It wasn’t my place.”
“Why not?”
She straightens up. “What do you mean?”
“Why wasn’t it your place?” Langdon says, leaning against the bank of lockers. “The fact that people don’t think it’s their place is probably why nobody had ever fucking mentioned it before, even though it might’ve been useful information for me to have.”
Mel really doesn’t know what to say to that, so she doesn’t say anything at all, just watches him carefully.
“Anyways,” he says. “You may be right, and I’m looking into it. So, thank you.”
“Oh,” Mel says, something sparking in her chest. “You’re welcome.”
He sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets. “It actually explains a lot.”
“Does it?” she asks gently.
Langdon shrugs. “My grades were good enough that it was never really a concern, but,” he pauses, and she can see the muscle in his jaw twitching. “My dad did always say that I was wasting my potential.” The air quotes are obvious.
She blinks. “You got full ride to U of M.”
“Yeah, you’d think that would be enough for the man, wouldn’t you,” he says wryly.
“Yeesh,” Mel says. “Well, that’s on him, then, if he can’t see how smart you are.”
Langdon smiles slightly. “You’re too kind.”
“I’m serious,” Mel insists. “You’re a great partner. I was skeptical at first, but I can admit when I’m wrong.”
Langdon laughs. “Oh, I see how it is.”
“Oh, you know what I mean,” she says, waving a hand vaguely. “One of the first things you ever said to me was that you weren’t worried about studying because Heller loves you.”
“She does, though,” he says, a smirk flashing across his face. “That’s just fact.”
“Congratulations,” she mutters. “But you can understand my skepticism.”
He grins. “Maybe.”
“You are smart, though,” Mel says again. “And I’m really glad you’re my partner.”
His face softens and his smile is almost awkward now. “Thanks.”
Mel smiles at him. This went way better than she was expecting. “Of course. See you tomorrow?”
“You got it,” he says, giving her a casual salute.
Mel heads towards the gym to find Trinity, and she finds that she can’t stop smiling. She hadn’t realized how worried she’d been that she’d ruined everything with Langdon, and the fact that he’d actually taken her advice? A pleasant warmth settles in her chest, and it’s almost enough to counter the noxious smell of the gym hallway.
It was never going to be a good day. Mel knew it was coming, and it settles into her the minute she wakes up. She decides then and there to do whatever necessary to get through the day. Her dad has already left to drop Becca off, and he’ll head to work straight after, so Mel has the house to herself.
She usually has rules for herself – no sweatpants outside the house, hair brushed, no sweaters with hoods. Today, she lets herself wear her track pants and her favourite, oversized sweatshirt. Instead of her normal, neat braid or ponytail, she ties it in a messy knot on top of her head. She brings herself an extra travel mug of earl grey tea, and instead of doing any schoolwork on the bus, she puts her headphones in and listens to Songs of Love and Hate on her iPod and tries not to cry.
Mel isn’t the type to answer every question a teacher asks, but she does usually contribute. Not today, though. Today, she keeps her head down, focuses on her notes, and tries to avoid eye contact with anyone and everyone. Trinity knows and forcibly drags her out of the building during lunch hour, carting her around the nearby strip mall in search of snacks, helpfully maintaining running commentary throughout so Mel doesn’t have to be alone with her thoughts. She also buys Mel a bottle of Snapple and cool ranch Doritos without asking, which actually gets Mel choked up. They both ignore it. The rest of the day goes by without incident, just as she’d hoped.
After the final bell, Mel is standing by her locker. She’s never wanted anything more than to go home and lie in bed. She’s tucked her headphones back into her ears and has just taken out the Snapple, considering the merits of opening it now versus on the bus, when she hears a voice from behind her.
“What are you listening to?” Mel starts and whips around, to see Langdon looking down at her. “Whoa,” he says, raising his hands. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“All good,” Mel mutters, taking her headphones out. After a moment, she hands him her iPod.
“Leonard Cohen?”
“My mom’s favourite,” Mel explains, swallowing hard. “Big fan of his poetry, too.”
“Huh,” he says, handing it back. “I’ve never listened to him.”
“You should,” she says. “There’s no one quite like him.”
Langdon nods thoughtfully. “Good to know.” Mel gives him a tight smile and turns back to her locker. “Hey, are you good?”
“Yeah,” she says, avoiding his gaze. “Not feeling great.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, leaning against the locker beside hers. “Anyways, I just wanted to-”
“YO, LANGDON,” and then he’s being forcefully bodychecked into the locker by a large blue blur. Mel flinches instinctively and drops the bottle. It shatters and Mel can’t do anything but stare at it, the broken glass, the juice spreading out across the floor, staining her shoes.
“Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you,” Langdon says angrily, stepping between her and his bodychecker who, unfortunately, Mel recognizes.
“Relax, man, I was just-”
Langdon waves him off. “Just- get out of here, okay?” He turns back to her. “Are you okay?” She looks up at him, dazed. “I’m sorry about him,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “He’s been concussed a lot.”
Mel realizes absently that this was probably intended to be a joke but can’t find it in herself to pretend to laugh, not today. Suddenly, she’s having trouble breathing and it’s just too bright.
He steps in closer, eyebrows knitting together. “Mel?”
Embarrassingly, humiliatingly, she can’t respond, instead squeezing her eyes shut and covering her face with her hands, fingertips pressed against her eyelids.
“Mel,” he says softly. “Look at me. We’re going to get you out of here, but I need your eyes to be open, okay?”
Mel reluctantly opens her eyes, although it’s still too bright, and sees him glancing around quickly. “Okay,” he says, slamming her locker shut and waving her into the empty classroom behind them, ushering her towards a desk in the front row. Mel’s chest is heaving and her eyes are wet and she tugs her hood up, some semblance of a security blanket.
“Sit on the desk, here. Deep breaths,” he instructs, as he looks around, and mercifully, goes to turn off the lights. He comes back and sits down on the desk beside her, giving her space.
“Sorry,” she says blankly a few moments later, glancing over at him. “It’s my mom’s birthday.”
Langdon blinks. “Okay.”
“She’s dead.”
His eyes widen. “Okay.”
“And it sucks, being here,” she says. “And then it was loud and there was juice soaking through my shoes and it was bright and just – too much.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I get that.”
Mel nods and glances down at her damp shoes. “You seem to know what you’re doing,” she says quietly.
He shrugs. “I was a lifeguard over the summer; mental health first aid was covered in training.”
He would be a lifeguard. That really wasn’t a visual she needed, though. “Well,” she says, awkward. “Thanks.” He shrugs. “Why are you friends with him?”
Langdon glances up at her. “Who, Jackson?” At her nod, he sighs and rubs his forehead. “I don’t know, convenience? Friends is a bit of a stretch, to be honest.”
“He’s an asshole.”
His eyebrow flicks up. “I don’t disagree.”
“He, uh. He sort of made my sister’s life a living hell,” she says quietly, wringing her hands in her lap.
Langdon goes very still. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Back in ninth grade, they ended up with lockers in the same hall, and he- well, that doesn’t really matter. She’s at Central now, they have a really good program, and she was going to transfer at the end of the year anyways, but she left halfway through the first semester.”
“Jesus,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “Is she okay? Like- emotionally, I mean,” he adds quickly.
“Oh, yeah,” Mel says. “She’s sort of- irrepressible, is the word my dad uses. Central is way better for her, although I do still miss going to school with her. It’s weird being on the bus alone- oh my god,” she says, sitting bolt upright and looking around wildly for her backpack. “I missed the bus. Trinity has wrestling practice and there’s juice and broken glass everywhere and-”
“Okay,” he says, holding up a hand. “Take a breath, Mel. I can give you a ride, no problem.”
“You really don’t have to do that,” she starts, but he waves her off.
“Yes, I do. I want to,” he clarifies. “If you’re comfortable with that.”
“Sure,” Mel says. “Thank you. I don’t really want to take the bus right now.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Very fair. Do you want to sit here for a bit longer?”
“If that’s okay,” she says quietly.
“I’m not in any rush.” His eyes flit over her face, then he nods. “Okay. I’m going to go see about getting that cleaned up. I’ll be back.”
“You don’t-,” but he waves her off.
“Yes, I do,” Langdon says firmly. “Just- sit tight, okay?”
Mel nods and he pauses, hand awkwardly outstretched like he’s going to pat her on the arm, but he just smiles at her and leaves. Mel takes the time to focus on her breathing, and once she feels passably normal, she heads back to the hall to gather her stuff, careful to avoid the broken glass, waiting with her stuff a safe distance away. Langdon smiles slightly when he sees her waiting, assures her that the custodian is on the way, and with that, they head out to the parking lot.
Mel’s eyes widen when she sees his car. “This is fun.”
“Thanks,” he says. “It’s – it was my grandfather’s.”
She glances at him. “Cool. What is it, exactly?”
He smiles. “It’s an old Datsun,” he says. “My grandfather rebuilt it.”
“Okay,” she says again, admiring it. “I like the green.”
“It’s really impractical,” he says as he unlocks the doors. “It’s noisy and it’s terrible on gas and it’s fucking cold.”
“But it’s cool as hell,” Mel says. “And better than the bus.”
Langdon grins at her. “You get it. So,” he says as they pull out the parking lot. “I’ve been meaning to ask. You love science.” Mel nods, bemused. “What kind of science are you interested in, exactly?”
“Oh,” she says, relaxing. “I want to go into medicine.”
“Oh yeah?” he says, fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. “Doctor King?”
Mel shrugs and rests her head on the window. “That’s the dream.”
“What kind?”
Mel considers telling him that she’s not sure, yet, but- “I’m interested in endocrinology,” she says quietly.
“Okay,” he says, glancing at her sidelong. “That’s interesting. Can I ask why?”
Mel chews on the inside of her lip and he glances at her sidelong. “My mom died of cancer,” she says, keeping her voice even as she keeps her eyes fixed ahead of her. “A malignant pheochromocytoma. I just- I don’t know, I learned a lot about it at the time, and I’m interested in research, I think. But we’ll see. That’s a long way off still.”
“That must have been tough,” he says. “Cancer research is a pretty noble aspiration, though.”
“Yeah, and I like lab work,” she says. “I do some research assistant stuff at the university a couple hours a week.”
Langdon turns to look at her, eyebrows raised. “You’re a lab tech at 17? Is that even legal?”
“It’s for a friend of my dad’s,” she says. “It’s nothing super complex, but I like it.”
“That’s a good thing to know,” he says. “Do you know where you want to apply yet?”
“Actually, I’ve always wanted to go to U of M too,” she says, gazing out the window. “My mom went there, and her family’s in Detroit. I don’t know, I visited the campus when I was a kid, and I’ve been set on it ever since.”
She looks back at him, and her stomach flips when she sees that he’s smiling. “Oh yeah? You gonna join me in Ann Arbor?”
“If all goes according to plan,” she says.
“I don’t see how it couldn’t,” he says. “Any school would be lucky to have you.”
Mel smiles and ducks her head. “That’s an exaggeration but thank you.”
“It’s really not,” he says. “My grandmother died of cancer,” he says after a beat, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Last month. That’s why I was away when this project was assigned.”
“Oh,” Mel says carefully. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
He shrugs. “She was 85. She went relatively quickly – she died only a few weeks after being diagnosed with lung cancer, which was probably for the best.”
“I get that,” Mel says quietly. “Watching them suffer is worse.”
He nods. “Exactly. She would’ve hated wasting away in a bed. She raised me for a while,” he adds. “I lived with her and my grandfather out in Seattle for a year when I was young. We moved my grandfather into assisted living, and cleaning out their house was a lot. I did get the car, though,” he continues. “Last month, I would’ve been right there with you on the bus.”
“That’s quite the drive back,” she says. “You drove this here from Seattle? In January?”
Langdon grins. “Like I said – noisy, terrible on gas, and fucking cold.”
“Sounds like quite the trip,” she says. “Does this CD player work?”
“Most of the time,” he says, glancing at her. “There’s a CD case in the glove box.”
Mel opens it curiously, flipping through the CDs. “Pretty random selection,” she observes.
“A lot of those are from my grandparents,” he says. “If you can’t tell.”
“Yeah, I don’t know if I would’ve pegged you as an Elvis guy,” Mel says wryly, gratified when he laughs.
“Yeah, not quite. Though, admittedly, he did get me through a good chunk of South Dakota.”
Mel grins. “Yeah, I bet that was bleak.”
“You have no idea,” he mutters.
She settles on Disintegration, one of her dad’s favourites, although they’re barely through the first track when they pull onto Mel’s street. To her surprise, Becca’s on the front porch when he pulls into her driveway, and she immediately walks over.
“Hi,” she says as Mel gets out.
“Hey, Becs,” she says. “This is Frank Langdon, my partner for that science project I mentioned. Langdon, my sister Becca.”
Langdon, who was clearly raised right, also gets out of the car. “Hi, Becca,” he says. “Good to meet you. Mel’s told me lots about you.”
“All good, I hope,” Becca says primly.
“Only the best,” he says, leaning back against the car.
Naturally, Becca notices. “Oh, cool car,” she says. “How fast is it?”
Langdon laughs. “Not nearly as fast as I’d like, unfortunately. It’s old.”
Becca nods contemplatively. “Hmm. Too bad.”
“Agreed,” Langdon says, running a hand through his hair. “Anyways, I’ll let you go.”
Mel smiles at him. “Thanks again for the ride,” she says. “And- earlier. I really appreciate it.”
“Anytime,” he says easily. “Take care, Mel. And nice to meet you, Becca.”
“You too,” Becca calls cheerily. “So,” she says, the second he pulls away. “What was that?”
Mel’s eyebrows draw together. “He gave me a ride home. He’s my partner for that science project, remember?”
“Oh, I know who he is,” Becca says as they walk inside. “You just never said that he was cute.”
Mel blinks. “Is he?” She stops and considers it – is Langdon cute? The answer comes faster than expected – duh. Mel suspects that she might’ve passively observed that before, maybe once or twice, and now she just feels kind of stupid. Becca pointedly raises her eyebrows. Mel sighs. “Yeah, okay.”
Something about Becca meeting Langdon, however briefly, does lift the mood, and rather than wallowing in her bed all night, Mel and Becca and their father hang out, order pizza, and watch The Princess Bride, her mother’s favourite movie. It’s not as sad as she’d anticipated; actually, all things considered, bittersweet is about as good as she could’ve hoped. It’s also made a little easier by the fact that Mel now has something to stew other than missing her mother. He is cute. How had she missed that?
Trinity can never find out.