Vatruvian cell?”
“Yep.”
“Ah, now I see,” Ryan said. Behind this girl’s pretty eyes and amiable disposition had to be genuine genius, a truly gifted mind. He had read somewhere recently that thousands and thousands of people apply each semester to the Vatruvian cell doctorate programs. This girl, Kristen Jordan, was one of the two or three that must have made the cut. Ryan pulled out his cell phone and checked to make sure there was time before his Cultural Anthropology class.
“Do you want to grab a coffee?” Ryan asked. “I have class soon, but an opportunity to talk with a Vatruvian cell scientist is too rare to pass up.”
Kristen smiled with a touch of grim humor. “Only on the condition that we don’t talk about the Vatruvian cell. Sorry, but I spend way too much time stewing over that damn microscopic thing these days.”
They descended the stone stairs together and joined the flow of young people heading to the south end of campus. Students in plaid shirts, hooded sweatshirts, sneakers, and blue jeans surrounded Ryan and Kristen. The season was on the cusp of change, and a pleasant bite of chill touched the air. A clean breeze rolled across Manhattan from the west, rustling through the turning leaves overhead and across the meticulously cut lawns.
“So I have to ask,” Ryan said as he sidestepped a brunette blathering into her cell. “Where did you go to undergrad?”
“MIT.”
“And you graduated . . . ?”
“Two years ago with a degree in biology. I’ve been in New York working with Professor Vatruvia since. What year are you?”
“Sophomore.”
Kristen looked up at him casually. “So you’re twenty?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool. I’ve got you by a year.”
Ryan slowed his pace momentarily. “Shouldn’t you still be in undergrad?”
“Um.” Kristen gave a small courteous laugh. “Technically speaking, yeah. I skipped more than my fair share of grades back in the day.”
“Right. And you enjoyed being the youngest kid in your high school graduating class?”
“Oh yeah, graduated at sixteen. Nothing like it,” Kristen said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Although I then burned through undergrad in two years, and that was mostly by my own choosing. So I don’t know. I guess on some level I’m hurrying to get somewhere in life.”
“Where?” Ryan asked, noticing the sharp honesty of her words.
Kristen nodded. “Good point.”
“Well, it has clearly worked out for you. Landing a spot researching the Vatruvian cell is a status few can claim.”
“ Creating the Vatruvian cell—I was on the team before it even had a name. But we had an agreement.” Kristen held up a finger. “No talking about it.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Did you spend a lot of time preparing for that debate? I can’t imagine going against a lobbyist in front of that crowd was easy on the nerves.”
“I practically winged it, actually. You heard my position on the matter—it’s not like I needed a lot of data.”
“Mmm,” Kristen said. “Not much raw data behind naturalistic nostalgia.”
Ryan grinned at her as they turned into the walkway leading to one of the campus cafeterias. “The debate team rarely takes up much of my time, unless the subject is something that’s data intensive. For the past week I’ve been writing an essay for the class I’m heading to now. I was up pretty much all night last night putting the finishing touches on it.” Ryan patted his bag, where the twelve pages of the assignment were resting inside a spiral notebook.
“What time did you finish?”
“Too late.” Ryan said, “Only got a few hours of sleep.”
Kristen nodded. “I can certainly relate to that. My whole life is spent working past midnight. Do you think you’ll get a good grade on it?”
“Who knows,” Ryan said. Though he did know that in all likelihood, he would not be receiving a high mark. His Cultural Anthropology professor, the rather ornery Professor Hilton, had
“Yep.”
“Ah, now I see,” Ryan said. Behind this girl’s pretty eyes and amiable disposition had to be genuine genius, a truly gifted mind. He had read somewhere recently that thousands and thousands of people apply each semester to the Vatruvian cell doctorate programs. This girl, Kristen Jordan, was one of the two or three that must have made the cut. Ryan pulled out his cell phone and checked to make sure there was time before his Cultural Anthropology class.
“Do you want to grab a coffee?” Ryan asked. “I have class soon, but an opportunity to talk with a Vatruvian cell scientist is too rare to pass up.”
Kristen smiled with a touch of grim humor. “Only on the condition that we don’t talk about the Vatruvian cell. Sorry, but I spend way too much time stewing over that damn microscopic thing these days.”
They descended the stone stairs together and joined the flow of young people heading to the south end of campus. Students in plaid shirts, hooded sweatshirts, sneakers, and blue jeans surrounded Ryan and Kristen. The season was on the cusp of change, and a pleasant bite of chill touched the air. A clean breeze rolled across Manhattan from the west, rustling through the turning leaves overhead and across the meticulously cut lawns.
“So I have to ask,” Ryan said as he sidestepped a brunette blathering into her cell. “Where did you go to undergrad?”
“MIT.”
“And you graduated . . . ?”
“Two years ago with a degree in biology. I’ve been in New York working with Professor Vatruvia since. What year are you?”
“Sophomore.”
Kristen looked up at him casually. “So you’re twenty?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool. I’ve got you by a year.”
Ryan slowed his pace momentarily. “Shouldn’t you still be in undergrad?”
“Um.” Kristen gave a small courteous laugh. “Technically speaking, yeah. I skipped more than my fair share of grades back in the day.”
“Right. And you enjoyed being the youngest kid in your high school graduating class?”
“Oh yeah, graduated at sixteen. Nothing like it,” Kristen said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Although I then burned through undergrad in two years, and that was mostly by my own choosing. So I don’t know. I guess on some level I’m hurrying to get somewhere in life.”
“Where?” Ryan asked, noticing the sharp honesty of her words.
Kristen nodded. “Good point.”
“Well, it has clearly worked out for you. Landing a spot researching the Vatruvian cell is a status few can claim.”
“ Creating the Vatruvian cell—I was on the team before it even had a name. But we had an agreement.” Kristen held up a finger. “No talking about it.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Did you spend a lot of time preparing for that debate? I can’t imagine going against a lobbyist in front of that crowd was easy on the nerves.”
“I practically winged it, actually. You heard my position on the matter—it’s not like I needed a lot of data.”
“Mmm,” Kristen said. “Not much raw data behind naturalistic nostalgia.”
Ryan grinned at her as they turned into the walkway leading to one of the campus cafeterias. “The debate team rarely takes up much of my time, unless the subject is something that’s data intensive. For the past week I’ve been writing an essay for the class I’m heading to now. I was up pretty much all night last night putting the finishing touches on it.” Ryan patted his bag, where the twelve pages of the assignment were resting inside a spiral notebook.
“What time did you finish?”
“Too late.” Ryan said, “Only got a few hours of sleep.”
Kristen nodded. “I can certainly relate to that. My whole life is spent working past midnight. Do you think you’ll get a good grade on it?”
“Who knows,” Ryan said. Though he did know that in all likelihood, he would not be receiving a high mark. His Cultural Anthropology professor, the rather ornery Professor Hilton, had
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