Grateful, Clara grabbed the clutch and transferred her stuff—with the exception of the wallet, removed by Cat with a laughing, “You know you won’t need this”—and hustled on out.
As she rushed across campus, or attempted to rush in her heels, she wondered how people had survived before texting. A quick tap into her iPhone and Alek would know she was on her way. The chunk of black plastic that had passed for her cell phone back in college did nothing but place calls! She might as well be back in the days of cavemen, carving drawings of antelopes into rock.
Passing a large clock on a building she saw it was nearly 6:15. In less than an hour she’d be in Brad’s arms with the chance to change everything. Giddy, nervous, she took a deep breath and coached herself to calm it down. She’d made it this far, she could hold out just a little while longer. She slowed as she approached the hideous cinderblock of a science center.
Down in the dungeon-like basement of the building, Clara’s footsteps echoed on the hard floor. She remembered how happy she’d been to finally finish her astronomy class; how ironic now here she was having to go to yet another TA session.
Inside, long, black lab tables lined the room in rows. Cabinets above and computers below flanked the circumference. Alek sat at the desk in front, a gi-normous textbook open in front of him.
“Hey, I’m so sorry I’m late!”
Alek marked his place in his book and closed it, running a hand up into his thick, black hair. When he looked up at Clara his eyes widened. He exhaled sharply as if someone had hit him hard, directly in the chest. Looking down, he coughed a bit, then took a long gulp of water out of his Nalgene bottle. Clara hesitated at his desk, unsure whether she was supposed to join him there or head to a computer station.
Alex cleared his throat. Keeping his gaze still mostly averted and down, he commented dryly, “You dressed up.”
“I’m heading to a party afterwards.” Clara suddenly felt silly and overdone in her come-hither attire. “I didn’t dress up for the lab.”
“Oh, I know it’s not for me.” He turned his back to her and leafed through some papers. “Anyway. Final lab.”
“Yes.” Clara exhaled with relief. Opening her sleek black clutch, she withdrew her packet. Midway through the unfolding process she realized Alek was watching her, one corner of his lips curved in the start of a wry smile. “I had to fold it so it would fit,” Clara explained self-consciously.
He nodded and headed over toward a computer station. Obediently, Clara followed, and noticed there was music playing: the unmistakable, haunting melodies and rhythms of Radiohead. Looking over at the CD player, she exclaimed, “Is this Kid A? I loved that album.”
“It’s Kid A.” Alek set the papers down and looked at her, disbelieving. “You listen to Radiohead?”
“Yeah! I’d never heard of them but then I had this roommate who was obsessed with them and…” Clara trailed off, realizing she was talking about something that had happened after college when she’d lived with a bunch of hipsters in the Mission district of San Francisco. Also, Alek was looking at her with a smidgeon too much dark, brooding intensity. She gave a quick, nervous laugh. “Who’s this band again?”
He looked at her for another moment, then shrugged and sat down at the computer. “How far did you get?” His voice drooped with the burden of an ox hitched to a cartful of stupid.
Clara bit her bottom lip, settling into a chair next to him. The packet in front of her was blank. Or, worse, it had no marks on it that she’d made but under the heading “Measuring the Properties of Binary Stars” it had plenty of dense, typed instructions.
“Right.” He clicked his way into a program on the computer and began explaining how the lab required that they use spectral data and a light curve from a star system, helping them determine orbital velocities and other characteristics. Clara nodded along, the words washing right over the top of her head. She noticed that he was wearing a thick flannel shirt, the kind she’d never seen any guy wear in California. Nothing trendy about it, no thin fabric to show off muscles, not embroidered with gold thread with a hipster nod to the cowboy. Just rugged and warm. She nearly reached out to touch it, before realizing Alek was asking her a question.
“…the Hertzsprung-Russell diagram?”
Swallowing nervously, she looked into her tiny purse. Maybe she had one in there?
Alek turned back to the computer, resigned. “I’ll show you.”
“It’s so funny,” she chattered nervously. “When I signed up for this course I remember I thought it was going to be all stargazing. I figured it would be a breeze to get rid of that final science requirement.”
“That’s the first time you’ve told me that.”
His deadpan tone made her laugh, then blush. “I’m sorry I’m so stupid, Alek.”
“Alek? Not Vlad?”
Her blush turned deeper red. She murmured, “That’s right, I used to call you Vlad.”
He shrugged. “It’s OK. You call me Vlad. I call you Barbie.” He glanced at her. “And you’re not stupid.”
“I sure don’t understand this stuff.” She gestured at the gobbledygook on the computer screen.
“It’s not that bad.”
“Not everyone is a genius like you. Most people didn’t start doing calculus at age six.”
The wry half-smile returned. “I was 13.”
“That old?”
“It was multivariable calculus.”
“Oh, OK then.” Shaking her head, she added, “You sure know how to have fun.”
He looked away, the angles and planes of his face cast down. He did not share her amusement. “Why are Americans obsessed with fun? Everything has to be fun.”
“What’s wrong with fun?” Clara asked, half-defensive, half-curious.
“Forget it.”
Turning his attention back toward the computer screen, Alek began explaining the lab again. Clara found herself studying his profile. Such a strong jawline and a hint of stubble. She hadn’t been attracted to him back in college, had she? Just look at those eyelashes; they should be illegal on a man. And his shoulders were so broad.
“You’re tall,” Clara mused. “What are you, like 6’2”, 6’3”?
“Mm-hmm.” His focus remained on the lab.
“But you probably only weigh, what, 170?”
He looked at her, taken aback. “You’re asking me how much I weigh?”
“I’m just calculating BMI… mass. You know, the physics of mass. And weight.” Clara stammered, unable to explain that she’d been struck by how much he’d filled out in his future magazine cover photo compared to now.
“I’m trying to gain weight.”
“You’re not too skinny.” She’d go with rangy or lean, but he didn’t look flimsy enough to call skinny. In fact, those chiseled cheekbones gave him the cut look of a Hollywood actor. Not that she would notice that kind of thing about him. But if she did, she would have said that he looked like a cross between that Croatian guy who replaced George Clooney in ER and that French guy Richard Gere bashed over the head with the snow globe in the movie where he found out his wife had been having an affair.
“I’ve started drinking protein shakes for breakfast.” He stopped and developed a sudden interest in his pen, fiddling with the cap.
Clara found herself blathering. “It’s so annoying when guys try to gain weight. I don’t think a girl has ever done that. We’re always trying to lose weight.”
“You’re not trying to lose weight, are you?” He looked at her, incredulous. “You don’t need to lose a pound.”
“I know, right!” Clara exclaimed in delight, looking down to admire her hot bod.
Alek burst out laughing. At her. Clara turned deep red, realizing she sounded insanely vain and self-absorbed.
“I mean, that’s nice. Thanks.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
He shrugged, dismissively. “You already know you look good.”
“No, I don’t.”
He rolled his eyes before returning his attention to the lab.
Clara couldn’t help but feel rattled; he really did not like her. Growing up, she’d always been popular, even taken it for granted. True, her sister, Shelly, had hated her but that was just because they were so different.
Shaken, she conducted an inventory of College Clara:
1) Smart & hard-working? Check: almost all straight-A’s.
2) Pretty and social? Absolutely: invites to every party, dates to every dance.
3) Athletic and outdoorsy? You betcha: cross-country team captain along with swimming, tennis and skiing.
4) Philanthropic? Out to save the babies of the world!
What was not to like? She’d been so lighthearted in college. Clueless, perhaps, but fun to be around. In direct contrast: Couch Clara. She shuddered at the memory. Couch Clara was a rain cloud on a summer’s day. But College Clara? A walking party. She wasn’t going to let Alek’s grouchiness ruin it.
Clara glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes to go. She needed to stay focused and get outta there.
But as he explained the calculations that she was completely incapable of making and she dutifully watched him talk—such full lips he had!—she got distracted again. How funny that he had no idea he was going to be on the cover of Cornell’s alumni magazine in 10 years. He was going to become famous. For what, exactly? She’d never gotten around to reading that article.
“What are you studying again?”
“What?” He looked at her confused, not seeming to follow her question. Probably because it had nothing to do with what he’d been talking about.
“You know, what’s your focus? Like, for your…”
“Dissertation?”
She nodded.
“Unstable isotopes. I got access to a database from a superconducting cyclotron laboratory, so I’m developing a regression model that predicts the statistical occurrence of rare and unstable isotopes.”
Occasionally his words had a kind-of cool Eastern European edge; she liked it.
“Sound good to you?” he asked.
“No, I just… I noticed that you pronounced ‘that’ ‘zat.’ Sometimes you have an accent. But most of the time you don’t.”
“My father wanted me to get rid of it when we came over here. To make things easier.”
“How old were you when you moved?”
“14.”
“Just starting high school.” She remembered that as such an exciting time. She’d scored rides to school from a neighbor who was not only a junior; she drove a red convertible. It didn’t get more California.
“I tested in as a sophomore.”
Of course he did. “Were you psyched to move to America?”
He examined his pen again and gave an abrupt, short laugh, the kind that didn’t actually express any enjoyment. “Picture me at this height only I weighed forty pounds less.”
“Forty?”
He nodded. “I had two pairs of pants that I wore every day—and I do mean pants, not jeans. I had a thick accent and I joined chess club and mathletes. High school wasn’t the best time for me.”
She nodded, thinking he was the definition of a late bloomer. Telling him would only complicate matters, though.
“Same for you? In high school?” he asked. Clara was about to disagree until she realized that he was teasing her. “I bet you were a cheerleader.”
“No.” Clara answered reflexively, defensively. “I ran cross-country.” And yet… a smile played at her mouth. “And in the winter I did pep squad.” She remembered how seriously she’d taken it, how she’d insisted that her mother dry-clean the uniform after every game.
“Pep squad.” Two words Alek had likely never uttered prior to that moment.
“I felt strongly about boosting school spirit.” She pictured her upbeat, peppy teen self in that hideous maroon-and-gold outfit.
“I bet you did” He gave her the start of a crooked smile.
She couldn’t help but laugh and he did as well, a low chuckle. As their eyes met her stomach did a slow flip. She looked down. What was that about?
He cleared his throat. “So, last lab.”
“Last one.” She looked up, remembering. “Did I go to every single one of your office hours?”
“No. You missed two. You had the flu in February.”
“Oh, that’s right!” Clara remembered she’d had to stay in bed for three days straight.
“And you took that long weekend in April.” He stopped talking. Closing his eyes for a moment, he brought his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose.
“You sure keep great track of attendance.” Clara pictured a complex Excel spreadsheet with rows for every student and columns for each session. He probably charted it all, too.
Alek coughed lightly into his hand. “Anyway.” Turning back, he added brightly, "This is your last lab. You must be relieved. You’re all done having to waste your time on this.” He gestured in front of him.
Clara nodded but didn’t feel right about it. That didn’t seem like a particularly nice thing to say to a physics major, someone who probably loved this stuff. “I mean, it wasn’t exactly a waste of my time,” she offered. He had spent an awful lot of time helping her. She really would have failed without him.
He shifted in his chair and his leg brushed against hers. They both jolted away as if from a hot stove.
Which brought Clara back to her senses. This wasn’t how things had been back in college, playing footsie with the TA, feeling guilty about taking up so much of his time. That was not in keeping with 21-year-old Clara, hotter than a pancake on a griddle and promised to Brad Wilkins.
“I mean, I don’t care,” she added nervously. “Whatever.” She put her face in her hands; now she just sounded crazy.
“Are you feeling OK? You seem… different.” He extended his hand as if to brush her hair from her face. Stopping in a mid-course correction, he brought it to his own hair and raked it back.
“I’m sorry, I’m having a really unusual day.” She didn’t want to meet his eyes so instead looked right at that thick flannel shirt. He had the top button unbuttoned. She bet if she slipped her hand in along his neck and then down his chest his skin would feel hot.
“You came over at the park today.”
“Hmm?” Clara glanced up. He really did have the most distractingly intense eyes.
“Who’s the girl you’re with every Saturday?”
“Oh, Jessica.” What was with the thermostat in that lab room? Did they have it cranked up to eleven? Fanning herself, Clara glanced nervously at the clock. “It’s so late!” She jumped up abruptly. “I have to go! Can you just finish this?” She gestured to her lab.
“Are you asking me to do your lab for you so you can go to your party?”
“No! I mean, could you?”
“No, I couldn’t.” He stood up angry. But after a deep exhale, he dismissed her. “Go to your frat party.”
“You make it sound like a crime. What’s wrong with frat parties?”
“A bunch of meatheads getting girls drunk so they won’t remember what happened the next day? What a great time.”
“Not all frat brothers are like that.”
“Oh no?”
She shook her head no, picturing her shining star, all she’d ever dreamed of and more.
“Let me guess.” Alek took a step closer to her, dripping with sarcasm. “Your boyfriend is different.”
“He is!” Clara insisted. “I mean, he parties, but he’s not a jerk.”
“Does he play football?” If you googled an image for “mocking”, a picture of Alek’s wry expression would pop right up.
“Lacrosse.” Clara felt nervous, flushed.
“Wears his baseball cap backwards?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
He just laughed. She took a step closer, sticking a pointed index finger into his chest. “He’s president of the recycling club.”
“Why didn’
t you say so?” Alek leaned toward her. “I can’t believe I haven’t read about him in the paper. Is he up for a Nobel prize?”
“You’re so angry!”
“You’re so spoiled!”
They stood glaring, inches away from each other, nearly panting. She could feel heat coming off of him. He looked at her as if he were hungry. And gazed at her lips. Which made her lick her lips. Which made him begin to lean down.
With a clatter, the heavy door to the lab room slammed open. “Sorry.” Whoever had begun to enter the room turned and made a quick exit.
Clara stepped away. With her back toward Alek, she took a deep breath. What. Was. That? Had that happened before? She didn’t think so. She definitely didn’t remember that.
But then, in sudden, vivid detail, she did remember exactly what had happened when they’d said good-bye on that very night 10 years ago. They’d been standing. She’d reached up for a quick, friendly hug and found herself wrapped in a strong embrace against the broad, hard chest of a swash-buckling pirate rogue. Her soft cheek against the rough stubble of his jaw. A slight turn of his head—or was it her own, or both? The quick peck she’d planned for his cheek brushed slowly along the corner of his full lips. Suspended, breath caught, heart beating, she’d reeled with the possibility of the moment.
But, no, she’d put a hand to his chest in stop mode. Pushed some space between them. Turned, walked away and never saw him again. In fact, she’d never mentioned it to anyone. And, to be honest, in the hustle and bustle of breaking up with Brad and finals and packing and graduating and moving, she’d pretty much forgotten all about it.
“OK then!” Clara sang out bright and chipper. “Look at that clock! Seven on the dot!” Grabbing her black clutch with shaking hands, she shoved her lab packet into it. “Thank you so much!”
She risked a glance at him. He stood there burning with intensity, looking absurdly dark and sexy.
With a super big smile, she called out, “Fist bump!” and brought up her right fist. He looked at it confused and she realized back 10 years ago fist bumps hadn’t quite made their way yet into the mainstream social fabric. It was, after all, years before the US had a president who fist-bumped on a regular basis.
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