March 19 2004
MacArthur University
San Diego

Joel Richards was a nerd. He'd never owned a pocket protector; the bridge of his glasses wasn't mended with tape – he wore contacts; his clothes were unremarkable in style and color and fit properly. His handheld was state-of-the-art, but it resided in his bookbag, not a belt holster. Just the same, he was the biggest geek in school. When it comes down to it, geek is what geek does.

Joel and his sister had picked MacArthur for different reasons: she for its Southern California lifestyle and accomplished art school, he for its first-rate tech programs, which rivaled those of a rather bigger and more famous school in nearby Pasadena. He was doing third-year work at twenty, and intended to graduate at the very top of his class at twenty-one and take his pick of the obscenely generous job offers the tech outfits would dangle. He avoided fluff courses like poison; even his forced electives were skull-crackers, albeit outside of his field. He couldn't afford to be slowed down.

As far as the rich panoply of college life was concerned, Joel took a narrow view. He had zero interest in sports, school politics, or social events. Gossip he overheard in the halls was just goose-gabble; he never knew who the people he overheard were talking about, and usually didn't know who the speakers were, either. After nearly two years at MacArthur, he recognized more teachers' names than students', and knew no more than three people he'd spend an hour with by choice. He told himself he didn't mind the glances he got from other students in the halls or classrooms; didn't mind that girls looked right through him, or that he always ate alone. He was sure there'd be time for friends when he could afford to buy the kind he wanted; women, too. Until then, he kept mostly to himself and studied like his whole future depended on it.

And yet, rumors of the new kids in school managed to penetrate his cocoon. They'd only hit campus two days before, but wherever he went, the gossip, usually scattershot and easily ignored, was focused solely on them, and some of it stuck to his mind as he went about his business.

There was a lot to gossip about, apparently. Starting with the fact that there were five of them. They arrived at school together every day, he'd heard, but they didn't look like a family. Speculation had it that at least two of them were adopted. Even Joel was impressed by the kind of money it must cost to put five kids through MacArthur at once; only his nearly free academic ride allowed his parents to put his mopey sister Melanie through her expensive but worthless liberal-arts education.

Another thing was the odd time they'd picked to change schools. This late in the semester, he hadn't known it was possible even to enroll; the school was already filling seats for summer classes. Money again, he supposed. He idly wondered what their folks did for a living that paid so well yet forced them to pull up roots with so little warning. His parents had moved near campus and changed jobs to cut housing costs for him and Mel, but they'd planned the move a year in advance.

And then, apparently, they were all hot. Three of the five were girls, and they were monopolizing the fantasy lives of the local wolves. Guys around here were always looking for strange, and any new girl who didn't spit between her teeth was bound to get some attention, but he'd never sensed this degree of fascination before. And the local skanks were behaving the same way over the two boys. He hadn't seen any of them yet, but he was sure he'd recognize them from the way the other students drooled at their approach.

Second class on Friday was a physics lab. The class mostly divided into assigned pairs at the worktables around the room, and developed experiments to prove or disprove assumptions provided by Professor Zysik. There were seventeen students in the class this time, however, which Joel took as an opportunity. He'd requested his own bench, rather than get stuffed in a threesome with two random numbers. Over the past two years, he'd carried plenty of lab partners rather than risk getting his grade pulled down, and this class had been kind of a relief.

He was always the last one into lab, because his previous class was all the way across campus. He didn't mind. The first five minutes of Zysik's class was usually socializing anyway, so he arrived just in time to start work.

But before he even entered the classroom, he knew something was up: the crowd noises inside the room were different. Rather than half a dozen conversations vibrating the walls, only one or two voices at a time came into the hall. And one of them was always female, like it was a question-and-answer session. He opened the door and stepped into the big room, and saw he'd been right about the new students. They were easy to spot by their wakes.

The class's three regular female students stood by their benches, pretending to be setting up but not getting much done. All the guys in class were gathered around a new girl at the back corner, a very sweet-looking redhead. Joel could only see her from the neck up; she was completely surrounded by jostling admirers two and three deep, and looked like she was standing on one of the lab's little footstools to keep from being trampled. Guys were firing questions at her faster than she could answer, and you could see she was getting flustered.

Zysik, a little guy with a wild shock of black hair and thick round glasses, looked up from a conversation with one of the girls at his desk. "Enough, already," he said in his faint accent. "Everyone to their benches and let's start." He got up and approached the crowd.

The mob parted reluctantly and drifted to their benches, and Joel got a couple of surprises. First, he got a better look at the new redhead. She hadn't been standing on a stool; she was just six inches taller than anyone else. And even in slacks and a loose sweater, it was obvious she had the body of a Vegas showgirl. Second, Joel suddenly realized, the event had taken place at his workbench, and she wasn't going anywhere.

Zysik approached her, smiling; as he did, he turned to Joel and gestured impatiently, and that was when Joel realized he'd frozen at the door. The professor smiled up at her and cupped a hand to the side of his mouth, as if to tell a secret. She bent down, turning her ear to the little nerd and her face to Joel at the same time. She smiled at Joel briefly as Zysik spoke a few words, then straightened.

Zysik's voice was crisp. "Well, Mr. Richards. Your life of isolation is about to end." He nodded towards the girl. "Caitlin Fairchild, Joel Richards. You'll be partners for the remainder of the semester. Try to get along."

It was all he could do to keep from groaning out loud. This was absolutely the last thing he needed. Not only was he saddled with this prom queen through his last and most important lab, there'd probably be guys cluttering his work space all the time, hampering his progress.

The redhead's look of relief as she looked him over and offered a hand did nothing for his outlook. "I'm sure we will, Professor." No doubt she was glad to be foisted off on the class's high scorer, so he could pull up her GPA while she checked her makeup.

He gave her a one-second handshake, just a squeeze, really, and Zysik nodded. "I really don't expect you two to have problems getting up to speed. But if you do, call me. Please." He left.

Best to get the nuts and bolts of their "working" relationship out in the open, he thought, and establish their roles. "Here. I've got the prelims worked out already. Take a look." He passed his notes to her, and waited for it to sink in how out of her depth she was, sharing a table with him. Then he'd offer a couple of options.

She made a good show of looking through the six pages of close-written formulas and description. About halfway through, he said, "You know, you could probably get any guy in class to switch partners for you."

"Why break up a team that's been together all semester?" She didn't even look up. "I'm guessing the Professor had his reasons for pairing us off anyway." So much for option number one, he thought. She reached the bottom of the last page, and looked down at him. "Are these your only copy?"

About what he'd expected: she'd add her name to a copy of his report and let him do the work. It was the best he could have hoped for. "Yeah. For now."

"Then I won't mark them up. But I think we're going to need to do a redesign."

The world seemed to tilt a degree. "What?"

She flipped back to page two and tapped a paragraph. "Starting here. I suggest we give some thought to reducing the environmental variables. Otherwise, half our report's going to be attempts to explain why our observed data don't match the values predicted by theory. I'd rather spend my time tightening the experiment beforehand than making excuses afterward." She gave him a direct and candid look. "Wouldn't you?" She took out a notebook and made a quick sketch, followed by a couple of graphs. "Look this over and compare it to your concept."

He blinked at it. He could clearly see where she was headed, and it would work, and probably yield better results. He couldn't believe he'd missed this option when he'd been turning the experiment over in his head.

Something made him glance to the front of the room. From his desk, Zysik was watching them, a strange little smile on his face. "Caitlin. Right?"

"Call me Kat. Almost everyone does."

"Kat, what did Zysik say to you when I first came in?"

Her eyelids drooped. "He said, 'Go easy on him. He thinks he's the smartest guy in the room.'" She spread her textbook out on the bench and pulled up a seat. "I suppose it amused him to put the school's two biggest overachievers on the same team, so we can annoy only each other."

Zysik gave a short lecture about the lab subject, then turned the students loose to work on their projects. As he'd expected, several guys had decided to make a project out of Kat. She was polite, but made it clear she was busy and wanted to get back to work, and they drifted back to their tables. She looked at him with a little crease between her eyebrows. "How do you get anything done?"

He refrained from pointing out that all their visitors had come to see her; most hadn't wasted more than a word or two on him. "The Professor runs a loose ship," he observed. "He's got a lot of respect for initiative."

She was crunching numbers on a handheld that was identical to his. He watched, fascinated, as her fingertips blurred over the tiny keys. She turned the unit around and showed him the final number. "There. MOE down to three percent so far. I think we can still find lots of fat to trim on the second series."

"I've been working on that." He showed her a sketch and eleven lines of notes.

She studied it, then nodded. "It's going to be good working with you, Joel."

The remark flustered him. "Ah, thanks. You too. I'm surprised."

The girl raised her eyebrows. The bright green eyes reminded him of a cat crouching in a garden. "Surprised how?"

He tried to pass it off as a joke. He gave her a smile and an eyebrow shrug. "Girls who look like you aren't supposed to be smart."

Her eyes dropped back to her book. "And guys who look like you are supposed to be charming. I guess we both break the mold."

The classtime spooled out, and he began putting things away. Two guys sharing a nearby bench had their stuff stowed already and were just sitting, apparently waiting; which was odd, since Zysik didn't make a big deal about early exits. He stood and hoisted his bag, and saw the other two suddenly do the same. Aha.

"We're supposed to start running experiments Monday, but I don't think we're ready yet." Kat tapped a pencil eraser against her lower lip. "What are you doing this weekend, Joel?"

The floor tilted again. "What?"

She was still sitting, but she didn't have to tip her head very far to meet his eye. "I need this lab. It's all the teacher will have to judge me on, and this class is a pass-fail for me. And it's a prereq to the physics class I'm taking this summer."

He knew the class she was talking about. "Nobody takes that in the summer. It's got something like a thirty percent drop-fail rate the rest of the year, and summer session's three weeks shorter."

"And it's a prereq to one I've got my eye on for fall. I can't afford to waste time." She hesitated. "If you don't want to get together, I understand. I'll just work it up and let you look it over."

His skin felt oddly stretched and prickly. "Kat, are you offering to carry me?"

"If I have to. It's not like you're not capable, we've just got time constraints."

His pulse thudded in his ears. "Name the time and place."

"Tonight, around six," she said decisively. "In case we need to gather resources and get back together Saturday or Sunday. Do you have Internet at home?"

"Home? Uh, sure. DSL."

"Done then. I'll need your address and number."

While he was writing it down, the two guys drifted towards the door, probably planning to ambush her in the hall. She watched them go. "Are you leaving, or staying to talk?"

"Out of here, or I'll be late to class."

"Walk me out?"

Other students were glancing their way; just looking her over, or watching how the two of them were getting along? "Sure."

As they walked out the door into the hall, she kept up a running chatter, leaving the two loitering at the door no opening for a conversation. "I didn't know MacArthur's Science and Technology school was a Caltech affiliate. That explains the course quality. Have you ever picked up a distance learning course from Pasadena?"

"Not yet. Won't, if I don't have to. I prefer my teachers face-to-face." They walked down the hall to its first junction, and they hesitated. "I go this way."

"I go the other." She flicked a glance back down the hall, where their two classmates were pretending not to watch. "Thanks."

Feeling uncharacteristically charitable, he said, "They're not dangerous or anything. They just want to get to know you."

"I don't want them to get to know me. I don't have time for that."

He smiled at her, which felt right and kind of weird at the same time. "What, exactly, is this goal you're rushing towards?"

"I want to finish my postgrad work and be out of here by the time I'm twenty-one." She turned down the hall.

"Post-" He took a step after her. "How old are you now?"

"Seventeen and a half," she said without slowing. "But people say I'm very mature for my age."

As the afternoon progressed, he noticed something curious. He wasn't picking up snippets of gossip in the hallways anymore. People shut up whenever he got close.