How did it go with Tania?

  You really want to know?

  Well, of course, you said we were

  talking about me too much anyway

  Why do I feel like you’re avoiding

  something else by talking to me

  on your phone?

  Why are you so paranoid?

  I know you

  So, Tania????

  “You’re a hard one to find.”

  I take my head up from my phone, my two hands stopping through my furious typing motion of my dozens of question marks. My feet are resting over my desk and my sandwich lays on the carton plate I grabbed in a hurry from my drawer this morning, and I curse at myself for forgetting to close the door to this office.

  To be honest, nobody visits this side of the aisle. I’m on a corner, way after the meeting rooms and the other offices and I’ve always enjoyed the calm, the silence, the solitude. It’s way farther from the professors’ lounging area.

  This is one of the many rooms that had been abandoned for reasons that outdate my arrival here. My habits have taken the best of me and as I entered, sat at the desk and started unpacking my lunch, the idea of Andrew coming here hadn't even crossed my mind.

  Yes, the letter, yes, the invitation. Also, not hearing from the other part should have been enough of a sign that I refused, right? At least, that would work with normal people. “How did you find me?” I demand, finally taking my eyes off of him resting onto the threshold, arms crossed over his chest tightly imprisoned by a white shirt.

  He’s wearing more formal clothes, I notice. Does he have a meeting with the dean today? A date? “I… asked?”

  “Caroline, right?” I snort, taking my feet off my desk, and putting my phone down. The rest of the question marks shall have to wait.

  He comes in. Close the door. Why? Weird. No, I’m not panicking. “She doesn’t want to talk to me, today.” His tone is playful and for some reason he knows that I have something to do with that situation. Am I already an open book to him?

  No, I refuse. My spine straightens and I cross my fingers over the wood, plastering my best resting face. He can’t, and won’t, know what I’m thinking. “Why are you here?” If Caroline didn’t give him that information, then where did he find it? She’s the only one that knows where I hide during my lunch breaks.

  “You didn’t have my note?” His hands are now buried in his pants and he stands up right in front of me in a way that I have to angle my head to look at him. Which seems to put me in a position of weakness. Which I hate.

  “You mean the letter you’ve read that was destined to me?”

  He chuckles. “Sorry about that. The kid didn’t specify my first name.”

  My brain creates a mental reminder to destroy my father next time I see him. I can still remember his words while we were working on the applications; i

  My head and my back hurts and I’m already exhausted from this conversation. I lean on the backrest of my chair and he watches the gesture. “Why are you here?” I repeat.

  His eyes are back on mine. “You struggle finding a position in a lab.”

  “Is that a question or a fact?” My tone is harsh.

  “Both?”

  I stand up, counter the desk and stop inches from him. “If you came here to brag and laugh, I’ll make sure your semester here is the last one you’ll take.”

  His irises bubble with excitement. Even the corners of his lips curve up and what the hell is wrong with him? It’s been twice now that he makes me as mad as right now and he’s amused by it? His smell reaches me and I have to grab the side of the furniture. “I am not. I’m here to help,” he answers calmly, as if to diffuse the tension I just unleashed on him. And I’m even more pissed that I lost my composure that easily in front of him. In about seconds, I forgot the idea of concealing my emotions to him and stormed in his direction, to display everything inside. As if he asked me and I obeyed like a good little dog.

  “Help?” I wince.

  He steps back. “I was wrong. You think I’m the enemy because I’m in a position you crave.”

  My fingers play with my rings and I hold his stare despite wanting to look anywhere else. “Don’t start analyzing me again.”

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “I don’t need to. I have all the cards in hand.”

  “You have nothing.” I immediately spit but he’s controlling the moment. I’m just a dumb boy incapable of tempering his anger and his frustration. Yet, my words come out of my mouth before I can even consider them. That’s what he gets out of me. My deepest, rawest reflexes. His smile is taunting, but also hopeful I’ll just stop acting like a child.

  “Can I sit?”

  “Will you stay long enough for that?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Make it quick. I need to finish eating before my next class,” I concede, while reaching for my own chair again, on the other side. As I chew on my food, I give him a look that says .

  He ogles at my throat before speaking. “I could talk to the dean of research about lab positions in the area. She could work on a recommendation letter. Have you worked at other places than Tufts?”

  I almost choke on my food. “Do you think I was sitting on my ass while waiting for companies to call and beg me to come work for them? I’ve already met with the dean and Isabella more times than I want to admit and nothing came out of our discussions.”

  “Why?” His brows are frowned.

  “? How would I know? Ask them about it.”

  He leans on his chair and scratches his beard on his chin. He keeps it short and the light color of his hairs create the illusion that he’s almost smooth-faced. He plays with his lips and I can’t control my eyes following the movement. “What did they say?”

  “Many things.”

  “Care to be more specific?”

  “No.” I clean my hands with my napkin as I finish eating my lunch. I realize he didn’t bring anything despite asking me to eat with him. But as I stood him up, he probably waited at the cafeteria. Alone. It’s almost already 2pm.

  Is it regret I feel? And pity? And guilt?

  He stays silent for a while, the whirls of his thinking visually fuming inside his brain. I watch the clock. “I should get going.”

  “Yes.”

  We both stand up and I grab my vest, throw the plate and the plastic of the sandwich in the bin. Andrew barely moved, his eyes on the floor. “That means you should get going too.” I insist and he finally meet my stare.

  Something is happening in his head but I can’t understand what it is. What piece of information does he have that I would need to fully comprehend the stakes here? Instinctively, I take a step forward and open my mouth to ask before another voice emits from the door that swings open. “Yo, !”

  My face slowly turns toward my sister and despite feeling frustrated our conversation is cut, I’m always happy to see her.

  Brat means brother, in Slovak. Although, nobody ever uses this word to actually call on someone. Despite being born in the United-States, she’s been hearing lots of Slovak at home, since my parents usually dialogue in their native language. That might be the only thing Stefan refused to let go concerning our home.

  Her accent, though, is really just an American speaking another language.

  She immediately stops herself and shies away, her hand still on the handle. “Oh… sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “We were done.” I answer, leaving no other choice to Andrew but to nod. His fingers dive into his hair. “Elena, do you have class?”

  “I’m meeting with people in this building. Thought we could walk together.”

  “See you later, Andrew.” I say without bothering looking at him but his laugh makes me turn around. Elena watches us with much scrutiny and I already know she’ll be either spamming me with messages and calls or will follow me home to have her answers.

  “Actually, I wanted to attend your class. Would that be a problem?”

  His smile is daring. Searching. Provocative. And I won’t give him the satisfaction to see me distraught. “Knock yourself out.” I answer, shrugging, before ruffling my sister’s hair. She whines, but she stops when I kiss her on her head to apologize.

  “How was your day so far?” I demand, gazing above my shoulder to see Andrew walking with us but with an appreciative distance. I’m not sure he can hear us.

  Elena’s face blooms with eagerness. “So good! I already made friends. And my classes are so interesting.”

  “Which one is your favorite?”

  “Hard to tell. We’re only just starting.” She checks behind subtly. “Should we discuss the elephant in the room?”

  “I don’t know, we’re in a corridor.” She slaps my arm and I rest the latter on her shoulders. For now, we’re still pretty far from the classes’ buildings and nobody can see us. Not that I’m uncomfortable with being seen in the arms of my little sister, but the rest of the professors or the students could invent some whole twisted story.

  She reaches for my ear. “Are you guys a thing?”

  “If by thing you mean nemesis, then yes.”

  “You were pretty close in that room for enemies.”

  “You weren’t there to see the whole thing,” my voice is just a bit harsher but it doesn't dissuade her. We turn left and right, then left again.

  “Still. You were one breath away.”

  “As I was basically menacing him, but, again, you weren’t there.”

  “You’re slow sometimes.”

  “What?” Our conversation is cut by the invasion of other people in the room we enter. The sound of cordial chatter, scribbles over pages, and books being opened or closed fill the surroundings. Elena gives me a huge smile and waves her hand at both of us, joining her friends a little farther, in a lounging area for the students. They ogle, but I see her shake her head, probably explaining that I’m family.

  Andrew and I walk side by side in silence until we reach the door of my own classroom. “Did she call you brat?”

  It takes me a few seconds to recall what he’s referring to. “Oh. No. She called me brother.”

  “I knew you had something in common.” I don’t know why we talk as normally as this, but we are. It’s not unpleasant. Not that I want to start relating my whole life since my birth but… “How old is she?”

  “Twenty.”

  When I turn around, his smile is genuine and he watches the floor, like he’s calculating something in his head. Is he searching my own age in his memory, back when he had an obsessive episode on Wikipedia? Is he going to write in his mental palace all the information I’ll be willing to give in order to stab me in the back better in the future? “Do you have other siblings?” he eventually asks and my mind becomes blank.

  I’m not amused anymore, nor a bit infatuated by the concept of him being obsessed with me. The subject is not easy to evoke and realizing how hard it is, still, is making me even angrier. Why, after so many years, would I be this moved by a memory deeply lost in the abyss of my recollections?

  By the time my non-response becomes just a bit suspicious, students enter the room. Andrew and I gaze at each other and I don’t think I care if I look vulnerable right now. I just turn my head, greet the ones coming in and go for my desk on the dais in front of the white board.