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She has my luggage with her.

“Hello,” she says to me in one of those raspy, sultry voices that belongs on a noir femme fatale. “I have your luggage here.” Her bright green eyes flick over me with a sense of expectation. I feel like I’ve seen her somewhere before.

“Hi. Yes, thank you. I should probably, uh, tip you,” I say, rummaging into my messenger bag, knowing I don’t have any loose bills in there.

“No need,” the woman says, bringing my suitcase and duffel bag inside, her Pantene Pro-V commercial hair carrying a hint of jasmine. “I’m not the steward. I just saw the bags on the dock and figured they could use a hand.”

I stare at her, unsure if her beauty is blinding me or if it’s something else. “Where do I know you from?” I ask, then realize I said it out loud.

She stares at me for a moment, her expression strangely blank. Then she smiles again. “You’ve probably seen me on campus. Stanford, right? I’ve given more than a few talks to the biology department, though that’s been on the doctoral level.” She pauses. “You’re doing your coterminal master’s in biology, focus on neurobiology, isn’t that right?”

I stare right back. “You work for Madrona.”

“We all work for Madrona here,” she says. “For the next sixteen weeks, so will you.” She pauses and extends her hand, and I shake it. “I’m Everly. Dr. Everly Johnstone.”

My hand goes weak in her grasp.

Dr. Everly Johnstone is a certified genius and the head of the Madrona Foundation. No wonder she seemed familiar. It was her father, Brandon Johnstone, who started the foundation back in the day.

“Of course,” I say, feeling stupid and taking my hand back. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize who you were.”

She breaks into a wide grin, her teeth so white and perfect they have to be veneers. “Oh, that’s perfectly fine. I don’t expectpeople to know who I am. I like to linger in the shadows of my work.”

“Even so, you’re Dr. Johnstone,” I say by way of apology. “I should have known.” I’ve seen her on the occasional interview, even though she doesn’t seem to do them as much these days. It’s her father who gets more press time now since he started the offshoot company, Madrona Pharmaceuticals, leaving the foundation and its research to his daughter, or so I’ve read.

“Please,” she says with an elegant wave of her hand. “Call me Everly. We’re going to become a family here over the next while. I prefer a first-name basis.”

“Sydney,” I say, jerking an awkward thumb toward myself. “But you already knew that.”

“I know everything about you, Ms. Denik,” she says. “I’m the one who reviewed your application and approved you.” Her gaze flicks over me for a moment, as if really seeing me for the first time, and her expression softens. “I’m really glad you’re here, Sydney. You’re quite a special girl.”

I feel my cheeks go pink. I’ve never been one to handle any kind of sentimentality or compliments, and from the look on her face, it appears to be a mixture of both.

“I’m also glad to be here,” I tell her. More than she knows. Especially when there’s a chance this will all be taken from me at any moment.

I applied to the Madrona Foundation in January as part of my Senior Synthesis Capstone Project. The foundation regularly has internships for students during the summer months, so I decided to shoot my shot, even though I know that admittance is extremely competitive.

To my surprise, I was accepted. I knew my grades were good enough, I knew that the project I did last year with dark fungi had gotten a lot of attention in mycology circles, but honestly, anytime something goes well for me, I’m surprised, if not wary.Life has a way of conditioning you, and when you’ve gone to the school of hard knocks, you expect those knocks each time.

Once the shock wore off, I was more relieved than anything, especially since I would receive a stipend which would go a long way for me since room and board is included. In addition, I would help the researchers here in their quest to use fungi in neurological advancements. They’d already made promising strides in Alzheimer’s treatment with a local, and previously unknown, fungus found on their grounds, and because Alzheimer’s is so dear to my heart, I knew I could maybe make a difference here, if not produce something amazing for my capstone.

But then the knocks came, as they always do.

I fucked up.

I fucked up bigtime and made a huge mistake.

Self-sabotage has always been the name of my game.

And so, the day before yesterday, I received a phone call that I’d been dreading but knew was coming.

I’d lost my scholarship to Stanford.

Which meant I’m now unable to finish my senior year because I’m broke as fuck, and there’s no way I can afford tuition.

But I sure as hell wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass me by. I never got a chance to ask the administrator if that meant my internship at Madrona was called off, so I decided to chance it. And when I got my email from the airline yesterday, telling me to check in to my flight to Vancouver, I turned in my key to student housing, put the remainder of my belongings in my friend Chelsea’s garage, and this morning picked up my bags and got on that flight.

Once I landed in Vancouver, I hurried to the seaplane terminal downtown, hoping and praying that I’d be allowed on board for the final journey to Madrona. The pilot asked if I wasSydney Denik, and then I got on that plane with the two staff members and Amani.