It wasn’t the sun high in the sky that woke her up, nor housekeeping—thanks to Adam, likely, and a Do Not Disturb sign on the door. What got Olive out of bed, even though she really, really didn’t want to face the day, was the frantic buzzing on the nightstand.

She buried her face in the pillow, extended her arm to grope her way to her phone, and then brought it to her ear.

“Yeah?” she bleated, only to find that it wasn’t a call but a very long string of notifications. It included one email from Dr. Aslan congratulating her on her talk and asking for the recording, two texts from Greg (Have u seen the multichannel pipette? Nvm found it.), one from Malcolm (call me when you see this), and . . .

One hundred and forty-three from Anh.

“What the . . . ?” She blinked at the screen, unlocked her phone, and started scrolling up. Could it be one hundred and forty-three reminders to wear sunscreen?

Anh: O

Anh: M

Anh: G

Anh: OMG

Anh: Omg omg OMFG

Anh: Where the hell are you

Anh: OLIVE

Anh: OLIVE LOUISE SMITH

Anh: (JK I know you don’t have a middle name)

Anh: (But if you did it would be Louise FIGHT ME you know im right)

Anh: Where ARE U?!?!?

Anh: Your missing so much YOU ARE MISSING SO

Anh: WHERE THE HELL IS YOUR ROOM I’M COMING TO YOU

Anh: OL we need to talk about this IN PERSON!!!!!1!!!!!!!!

Anh: Are you DEAD?

Anh: You better be IT’S THE ONLY WAY I’LL FORGIVE YOU FOR MISSING THIS OL

Anh: Ol is this real life is iT jUST FANTASY SJFGAJHSGFASF

Anh: OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL

Olive groaned, rubbed her face, and decided to skip the other 125 messages and text Anh her room number. She went into the bathroom and reached for her toothbrush, trying not to notice that the spot where Adam’s had been was now empty. Whatever Anh was freaking out about, Olive was likely going to be underwhelmed. Jeremy had Irish step-danced at the department social, or Chase had tied a cherry stem with his tongue. Great entertainment value, for sure, but Olive would survive missing either.

She dried her face, thinking that she was doing a great job of not thinking of how sore she was; of how her body was buzzing, vibrating like it had no intention of stopping, not two, not three, not five hours from now; of the faint, comforting scent of Adam on her skin.

Yeah. A great job.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, someone was about to tear down the door. She opened it to find Anh and Malcolm, who hugged her and started talking so loudly and rapidly, she could barely make out the words—though she did catch the terms “paradigm-shifting,” “life-altering,” and “watershed moment in history.”

They chattered their way to Olive’s unused bed and sat down. After a few more moments of overlapping babbling, Olive decided to intervene and lifted her hands.

“Hold on.” She was already coming down with a headache. Today was going to be a nightmare, for so many reasons. “What happened?”

“The weirdest thing,” Anh said.

“Coolest,” Malcolm interrupted. “She means coolest.”

“Where were you, Ol? You said you were going to join us.”

“Here. I just, um, was tired after my talk, and fell asleep and—”

“Lame, Ol, very lame, but I have no time to berate you for your lameness because I need to catch you up with what happened last night—”

“I should tell her,” Malcolm gave Anh a scathing look. “Since it’s about me.”

“Fair enough,” she conceded with a flourishing gesture.

Malcolm smiled, pleased, and cleared his throat. “Ol, who have I been wanting to have sex with for the past several years?”

“Uh . . .” She scratched her temple. Off the top of her head, she could name about thirty people. “Victoria Beckham?”

“No. Well, yes. But no.”

“David Beckham?”

“Also yes. But no.”

“The other Spice Girl? The one in the Adidas tracksuit—”

“No. Okay, yes, but don’t focus on celebrities, focus on real life people—”

“Holden Rodrigues,” Anh blurted out impatiently. “He hooked up with Rodrigues at the department social. Ol, it is with utmost regret that I must inform you that you have been dethroned and are no longer the president of the Hot for Teacher club. Will you retire in shame or accept the treasurer position?”

Olive blinked. Several times. An inordinate amount of times. And then heard herself say, “Wow.”

“Isn’t it the weirdest—”

“Coolest, Anh,” Malcolm interjected. “Coolest.”

“Things can be weird in a cool way.”

“Right, but this is pure, one hundred percent cool, zero percent weird—”

“Hold up,” Olive interrupted. Her headache was growing a size or two. “Holden is not even in the department. Why was he at the social?”

“No idea, but you bring up an excellent point, which is that since he’s in pharmacology, we can do whatever we want without having to tell anyone.”

Anh tilted her head. “Is that so?”

“Yep. We checked Stanford’s socialization regulations on our way to CVS to get condoms. Basically foreplay.” He closed his eyes in bliss. “Will I ever step inside a pharmacy again without getting a boner?”

Olive cleared her throat. “I’m so happy for you.” She really was. Though this did feel a bit weird. “How did it happen?”

“I hit on him. It was glorious.”

“He was shameless, Ol. And glorious. I took some pictures.”

Malcolm gasped in outrage. “Okay, that’s illegal and I could sue you. But if I look good in them, do send them my way.”

“Will do, babe. Now tell us about the sex.”

The fact that Malcolm, usually very forward with the details of his sex life, just closed his eyes and smiled, spoke volumes. Anh and Olive exchanged a long, impressed glance.

“And that’s not even the best part. He wants to see me again. Today. A date. He used the word ‘date’ unprompted.” He fell back on the mattress. “He’s so hot. And funny. And nice. A sweet, filthy beast.”

Malcolm looked so happy, Olive couldn’t resist: she swallowed the lump that had taken residence in her throat sometime last night and jumped on the bed next to him, hugging him as tight as she could. Anh followed and did the same.

“I’m so happy for you, Malcolm.”

“Same.” Anh’s voice was muffled against his hair.

“I am happy for me, too. I hope he’s serious. You know when I said I was training for gold? Well, Holden’s platinum.”

“You should ask Carlsen, Ol,” Anh suggested. “If he knows what Holden’s intentions are.”

She probably wasn’t going to have the opportunity anytime soon. “I will.”

Malcolm shifted a bit and turned to Olive. “Did you really fall asleep last night? Or were you and Carlsen celebrating in unmentionable ways?”

“Celebrating?”

“I told Holden that I was worried about you, and he said that you guys were probably celebrating. Something about Carlsen’s funds being released? By the way, you never told me Carlsen and Holden were best friends—it seems like a piece of information you’d want to share with your Holden-Rodrigues-fan-club-founder-and-most-vocal-member roommate—”

“Wait.” Olive sat up, wide-eyed. “The funds that were released, are they . . . the frozen ones? The ones Stanford was withholding?”

“Maybe? Holden said something about the department chair finally easing up. I tried to pay attention, but talking about Carlsen is a bit of a buzzkill—no offense. Plus, I kept getting lost in Holden’s eyes.”