Read Online Allergic To Time by Crystal Gables - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Crystal Gables
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— which, at 8am on a Tuesday it usually would be. But of course Connie was ruining that.
“Like what?” she said suspiciously, looking up at me over the rim of her glasses. She was probably hoping I had some good gossip for her. As strained as our friendship could be, I was one of the only social outlets she had. “Did something exciting happen?”
“You could say that.” I looked back down at Connie and thought for a moment. Connie was a scientist, after all: she might be able to be of help to the situation. Not that she knew anything about time travel: her PhD thesis was on the physics of ice cream or something equally as stupid. I’d never really bothered to ask her. She might at least have an opinion though. I wasn’t sure how much I could trust her.
“Well?” she said. “Sit down then! We’ve got a bunch of stuff to get through.” Right, the bloody study date. She rearranged a bunch of papers on her desk which appeared to be notes taken from the previous day’s lecture. “You ran out of class so fast I didn’t even have time to discuss any of these issues with you.”
As if there could have seriously been any issues after the introductory lecture, I thought, but I gingerly took a seat on the edge of the chair, still glancing around for Robert and Martin. I adjusted the black beret on my head, which I was still determined not to remove, even indoors. Couldn’t be seen with hat hair, even that early in the morning. I glanced at myself in the reflection of the window opposite us, to make sure I at least looked passably presentable. Locks of my jet black hair were making their way free from under the beret’s rim, and I noticed that my eyes looked almost as dark and smudgy as Robert’s. I sighed.
“Where are your books?” Connie asked, looking around me.
“I don’t need any.”
“Well, then what was the point of us meeting up!” she snapped, slamming a pen down on the table.
I sighed again. “I’m sure you will manage to take down enough notes for the both of us.” I couldn’t help the anxious tone that was creeping into my voice.
Connie paused. She took on a gentler tone and asked if I was okay. I looked over at her, surprised that she’d managed to pick up on any social cues, which wasn’t usually her strong suit.
“Actually, no, I’m not.”
She sat up straighter, adjusting her hoodie. She was probably thrilled at this little titbit, to hear that I was not doing okay. I could only imagine what horrible circumstances she was hoping had befallen me. “Is this about your thesis?” she asked, trying to conceal the glint of delight that crept into her eyes anyway.
I gave her a long, slow look. “No, it is not about my thesis.” Well, I supposed it was, tangentially, but I wasn’t about to give Connie the satisfaction. She prided herself on being Martin Anderson’s little pet student, when in reality I suspected he probably found her dull and only favoured her because her thesis was not going to ‘tarnish his reputation’ the way mine apparently was. My thesis, “Towards A Working Theory Of Time Travel”, posited that time travel could be possible with the simple use of a computer code. Of course, no one in the faculty took it seriously, and Martin seemed embarrassed to even discuss it with the other members of staff.
“Oh,” she said, sitting back disappointed. She seemed lost for any other guesses. “What is it then?” I wondered over the fact that Connie couldn’t even imagine a problem that wasn’t academically related. I could have been having relationship problems, suffering from a broken heart, for all she knew! Then again, that was a fairly unlikely scenario.
I didn’t know how to even begin answering her question. ‘Oh, well, you know, there’s this guy who claims to have travelled 40 years forward in time and now there are people trying to kill us. And also, your beloved supervisor Martin Anderson? Is a lying hypocrite who is in
“Like what?” she said suspiciously, looking up at me over the rim of her glasses. She was probably hoping I had some good gossip for her. As strained as our friendship could be, I was one of the only social outlets she had. “Did something exciting happen?”
“You could say that.” I looked back down at Connie and thought for a moment. Connie was a scientist, after all: she might be able to be of help to the situation. Not that she knew anything about time travel: her PhD thesis was on the physics of ice cream or something equally as stupid. I’d never really bothered to ask her. She might at least have an opinion though. I wasn’t sure how much I could trust her.
“Well?” she said. “Sit down then! We’ve got a bunch of stuff to get through.” Right, the bloody study date. She rearranged a bunch of papers on her desk which appeared to be notes taken from the previous day’s lecture. “You ran out of class so fast I didn’t even have time to discuss any of these issues with you.”
As if there could have seriously been any issues after the introductory lecture, I thought, but I gingerly took a seat on the edge of the chair, still glancing around for Robert and Martin. I adjusted the black beret on my head, which I was still determined not to remove, even indoors. Couldn’t be seen with hat hair, even that early in the morning. I glanced at myself in the reflection of the window opposite us, to make sure I at least looked passably presentable. Locks of my jet black hair were making their way free from under the beret’s rim, and I noticed that my eyes looked almost as dark and smudgy as Robert’s. I sighed.
“Where are your books?” Connie asked, looking around me.
“I don’t need any.”
“Well, then what was the point of us meeting up!” she snapped, slamming a pen down on the table.
I sighed again. “I’m sure you will manage to take down enough notes for the both of us.” I couldn’t help the anxious tone that was creeping into my voice.
Connie paused. She took on a gentler tone and asked if I was okay. I looked over at her, surprised that she’d managed to pick up on any social cues, which wasn’t usually her strong suit.
“Actually, no, I’m not.”
She sat up straighter, adjusting her hoodie. She was probably thrilled at this little titbit, to hear that I was not doing okay. I could only imagine what horrible circumstances she was hoping had befallen me. “Is this about your thesis?” she asked, trying to conceal the glint of delight that crept into her eyes anyway.
I gave her a long, slow look. “No, it is not about my thesis.” Well, I supposed it was, tangentially, but I wasn’t about to give Connie the satisfaction. She prided herself on being Martin Anderson’s little pet student, when in reality I suspected he probably found her dull and only favoured her because her thesis was not going to ‘tarnish his reputation’ the way mine apparently was. My thesis, “Towards A Working Theory Of Time Travel”, posited that time travel could be possible with the simple use of a computer code. Of course, no one in the faculty took it seriously, and Martin seemed embarrassed to even discuss it with the other members of staff.
“Oh,” she said, sitting back disappointed. She seemed lost for any other guesses. “What is it then?” I wondered over the fact that Connie couldn’t even imagine a problem that wasn’t academically related. I could have been having relationship problems, suffering from a broken heart, for all she knew! Then again, that was a fairly unlikely scenario.
I didn’t know how to even begin answering her question. ‘Oh, well, you know, there’s this guy who claims to have travelled 40 years forward in time and now there are people trying to kill us. And also, your beloved supervisor Martin Anderson? Is a lying hypocrite who is in
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