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  They all watch each other with round eyes and open mouths. I can hear their whispers. What? Really? Is it over? But we have thirty minutes left… What’s happening?

  Eventually, they leave the room, the door wide open. Andrew watches the exit, as if he finally understood the fact that he’s alone with me again, and my expression is close to a bull looking at a red cloth at the moment.

  He’s still seated, and I haven’t moved an inch. My knuckles are blanching from how hard I hold the edge of the desk. After a few seconds, he sighs and buries his face in his outstretched arms on the table. “You’re angry.”

  “Angry? Angry’s a word too soft, Andrew.”

  He shivers. Why? Is he afraid of me? Afraid I’ll harm him? Of course, I’ll throw away my very thin chance of having the job that I desperately want by bashing the skull of a fellow professor against where his head is currently lying.

  “You did ask me to assist one of your classes.” He whines and finally stands up in time to see me approaching him.

  “Assist. Not disturb. Or interrupt. Or annihilate.” I hiss. His shoulders slump a little. Like he’s feeling defeated. I should feel like that. I should be the one annoyed. What is he even trying to do? Why does he need me to understand his damn non-science so much?

  “I’m sorry. I tend to be like that.”

  “Insufferable?”

  “I meant talkative.”

  “This has to stop. Why are you here?”

  The only movement that occurs is the bobbing of his throat, and I’m forced to follow the motion. “You haven’t come to lunch.”

  Indeed. Finding out he had eyes on a deeply private aspect of my life was shameful enough. To have agreed to a meeting he set for us? I might as well flee the country. Indifference works better than hate, right? I figured not hearing from me sufficed as an answer.

  “What do you want?”

  “I wanted to apologize for what happened,” he admits, leaning against the table behind him. We both know this is not exactly his fault. We do have the same last name. “And for assuming what your goals were, yesterday.”

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  I cross my arms, not sure what he’s expecting from this conversation. A thank you, perhaps? Well, he can unpack his tent right here, because that’s not going to happen.

  Before the start of an answer springs to mind, he proceeds. “You’re searching for a position in a lab.”

  “Is that a question?”

  “No, that’s a fact.” His pretentious nod and smile stir the dangerous whirl of emotions inside my stomach.

  The words are out of my mouth in an instant, uncontrollable. “If you came here to brag, I’ll make sure this semester is the last one you’ll take.”

  His torso leans backward, just to distance himself from me. But his expression remains the same. Which tells me I might have misinterpreted his reaction. “I’m just here to offer my help.”

  Well, that’s amusing. Rather than having to crawl to him for a crumb of advice, he’s willingly coming to provide his aid.

  He takes my silent rambling as an opportunity to elaborate. “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.”

  His laughter merges with a sigh. “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 own spit. “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 furrowed.

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

  He turns his head to the side, chews on his lower lip. “What did they say?”

  “Many things.”

  “Care to be more specific?”

  “No.”

  Why would I share this with him? Why would he even want to help me in the first place? Out of… what? Kindness? Altruism? Pity?

  He watches me with hooded eyes, as if assessing my stubbornness in refusing him. But I certainly do not want to owe him anything. That might be the first thing this career path ever told me: nobody should call on you for a favor.

  I watch him back, ready to turn around and pack my papers, when an energetic voice I would recognize between a thousand erupts in the classroom. “Yo, brat!”

  Elena barges inside, only to cut herself short when she sees I’m not alone. From where she’s standing, Andrew’s almost concealed behind me.

  The latter’s expression is funny. He can’t possibly know ‘brat’ means ‘brother’ in Slovak. But Elena should know because I told her multiple times that it’s never used this way. “Oh… Am I interrupting?” she innocently asks.

  “We were done.” My voice is harsh. Definitive. Surely, he understood the underlying meaning.

  He doesn’t move when I gather my things inside my bag. Nor when Elena approaches me. “Can you drive me home? Should we eat together tonight?”

  “Sure, ségra.”

  She links our arms together and almost unscrews her head when we pass in front of Andrew.

  I don’t bother sparing him another glance.