Page 49

“Thanks, Gibbs. Yeah. I’ll stop by.”

Gibbs’s smile stretched across his entire face. “8:00.”

He bustled out and Atta returned to her research. If she skipped her morning classes, she could get it done. Get it to Sonder before her 3:00 lecture and be somewhat freer to enjoy the pub with the gang. She really did need some time off. Not as much as she needed more mycelium and mushroom samples, though.

Atta cursed. One thing at a time.

By the time noon arrived, she’d only left her room to refill her coffee and tea on a rotation, make herself drink a glass of water, and once to use the toilet.

She cited her last resource, closed all the books scattered across her bed, floor, desk and windowsill, and threw on a Trinity hoodie that belonged to Emmy. Rushing across campus, she was breathless and more than a little flushed from the cold wind when she burst into Sonder’s office.

He looked up when she entered, his face breaking into surprise before a smile crawled across his lips. She’d never seen him smile like that and it was then that she realised she herself was smiling like a maniac and he was probably mirroring her.

Proudly, she handed the thick research journal to him with a flourish. “I’ve done it.”

One eyebrow raised, Sonder took the bound stack of papers, his eyes on her instead of the research. “I’ve never seen you so. . .”

Her smile fell. This was a moment of academic achievement for her. A moment ofscientificachievement. Shouldn’t there be a marching band or fireworks? Not a bemused professor who wasn’t even looking at her paper? “‘So’ what?”

“Dressed down.”

Confused, Atta looked at the hoodie she’d thrown over brown corduroys from days ago. “Oh. Well, I haven’t done much but work on that research solook at it,would you?”

He smirked and put on his glasses.

She watched, pacing, chewing her thumbnail as he read, scratching at the rough stubble on his chin and taking notes here and there.

“Atta,” he said after a few pages without looking at her. “Please stop fidgeting or go wait in the corridor.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled and busied herself looking at the busts of William Rutherford Sanders and Elizabeth Garrett Anderson. Thrice he told her not to touch anything, and thrice she didn’t listen.

Finally, Sonder took off his glasses and leaned back in his chair. “This is?—”

He shook his head in what she thought might be dismay? astonishment? and she came to sit across from him.

“Jesus. It’s brilliant,” he finally finished.

She blinked twice before she could manage words. “Thank you. I’d like for you to turn it in to HPSC. I think it could help.”

Sonder baulked, sitting forward and covering the paper almost protectively. “HPSC? No. You can’t—” He broke off, shaking his head vehemently. “Atta, you can’t show this to anyone.”

She sat forward in her chair. “You just said it was brilliant.”

“It is.”

“Are you worried I won’t credit you? Because I did.” She pointed at the page open in front of him. “Just there.”

“Credit?” Sonder huffed a humourless laugh. “No, I’m not worried about getting credit.” He glanced at his watch. “When is your next class?”

“3:00.”

“Let’s go get some tea, then. Shall we?”

As they strolled across campus, Sonder clearly wasn’t as anxious to have this discussion as Atta was, and they talked of the group therapy session his students had taken part in a few days prior instead.

“Marguerite seems to think my students need psychiatric help after performing autopsies.” He smiled again and Atta noticed she was beginning to look for those smiles. Glimpses behind a dark curtain.

“Do you think they got anything out of the session?”