Formal offer.

No. No, no, no. There is lead in my belly. Blood thumps in my ears, and—

I take a step back, and for a split second my mind skitters to a place far away: my apartment. The computer I left on the bed. The half-written manuscript on it—the one I was finally going to finish when I got the MIT job.

But I didn’t get it. George did, George who’s with Jack, and it’s over.

I gave it my all, and it wasn’t enough.

“Elsie,” Jack starts. He must have moved, because George and Cece have disappeared behind him. His throat bobs. “Unsuccessful candidates are not notified until all paperwork is complete.”

I shake my head and he falls silent. His eyes are full of compassion, of sincere, heartbreaking sorrow. I cannot bear to watch it.

I turn around slowly. Step away just as slowly, barely taking in the sidewalk. The man walking his husky. The group of students feigning excitement for an upcoming Truffaut retrospective. I walk past them and I walk some more, unhurried, like everything’s going to be fine.

Everything will be all right.

I’m at the red crosswalk light when I hear, “Elsie?”

It’s Cece, calling from where I left her behind. I ignore her.

“Is everything okay?” George. “Shit, did I do something?”

Cece doesn’t answer her. “Elsie, let’s . . . let’s just go home.”

Silence. Then Jack: “Elsie. Come back, please.” He sounds like his eyes looked, and it’s simply intolerable.

The crossing light turns green. I take a deep breath, let the cold air fill my lungs, and start running.

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I run one block.

One and a half.

Two.

Snowflakes stick to my skin. My lungs burn. My pod catches on the waistband of my leggings, and yet it feels good.

I’m no athlete. I’ve only ever run for the bus and passing PE grades, but this is nicely all-consuming. I focus on the slap of my boots against the sidewalk, the oxygen that’s never quite enough, the taste of iron in the back of my throat. My thigh muscles clench, protest, but the feeling of getting away makes up for it. The snow thickens, forming a tunnel, a cocoon to tune everything else out. I’m making my way through a wormhole to a separate point in space-time. A different timeline, in which I’m not a failure, I won’t spend one more year without healthcare and the money to live like a fucking human being, I won’t disappoint my mentor and my friend and—

Fingers close around my wrist. I lose my balance. Stumble. Fall on my face—no, not quite. Something stops me. Strong hands on my waist straighten me, set me on my heels, and then Jack is towering in front of me, the colossus of everything that’s wrong in my life. I want to scratch my nails down his face and see him in as much pain as I am in right now.

I could. We’re virtually alone. Hundreds of feet away from Cece and George—

Shit. I just ran away from them like I’m fucking bananas. Like I’m an entire fruit salad.

“You weren’t supposed to find out like that,” he says, barely winded. I cannot breathe. Fuck this shit—I’m never exercising again. “She has no idea you were the other candidate. You were supposed to be notified on Monday—”

“Fuck you,” I spit out.

Jack is taken aback, and so am I. Did not expect for that to come out of my mouth, but in desperatio veritas. We share a second of surprise, then he collects himself. “It was never going to be you, Elsie.” His tone is not unkind, but it’s not compassionate, either. Like he knows I could take neither. “Volkov and his team were never going to vote for you, because—”

I walk around him, but he grabs my wrist.

“—because it was never a fair competition. I told you that George would get the job—”

“It was just posturing!”

“It was not. I told you as much as I could without divulging confidential information. This entire search was mishandled, and making you aware of who the other candidate was was a huge misstep on Monica’s part—”

“Well, clearly I had no clue who George really was.”

He exhales. “Elsie.” A flake settles on his cheekbone, right under the slice of blue. It instantly melts. “Elsie, you never stood a chance.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s fine. Hate me. But know this: it was a bad-faith interview.” He takes a step closer. His warmth makes the chill bearable, and I hate him for it. “Elsie. I am sorry.”

“Bullshit.”

“Elsie—”

“Do you even realize what this means for me? For you it’s—it’s The Hunger Games, The Academe Edition, but this is my lousy future and everything I’ve worked toward for my entire adult life. I needed that job.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t know.” I press my hands against his chest and push him away. He doesn’t budge, which makes me explosively mad. “You don’t know what it feels like to have a chronic condition and no health insurance! To have to be perfect, to have to be on all the time because everyone around you expects you to be! And it’s pretty fucking hard to be perfect when you’re working fifteen-hour days for no money at a job you hate! You’re not experiencing any of that, so you don’t fucking know how I—”

“You’re terrified. You’re overwhelmed. The job market is at its worst, and you don’t know if there’ll be openings next year. Believe me, I can relate—”

“Oh really? You can relate? With your long and arduous trek into STEM academia as a white, wealthy man?”

He leans forward. His hand closes around my upper arm. “Do you think I’m happy about this?”

“You got exactly what you wanted!”

“I did.” His face hardens. “And a bunch of things I did not want, too.”

“Oh yeah? Like what? Humiliating another theoretical physicist? Installing your girlfriend down the hall so you can get laid between classes—”

“Enough.”

I recoil. His voice is harsh, and it gives just enough pause to process the words that just tumbled out of me.

Oh God. Oh my God. I know Georgina Sepulveda. I know her work. I know how incredibly shitty academia has always been to me, a woman in physics, and I just did the same to another woman in physics. A woman in physics whom I’ve admired for years.

What the hell did I just do? Who the fuck is this person inside me? “I’m so sorry.” My hand flies to my mouth to muffle a sob. “I—I’m so, so sorry. It’s not even true. None of it. I’ve read her articles. She’s amazing and—”

“It’s okay.” Jack’s expression is back to soft. Like I’m not the protocluster of all assholes.

“No.” I shake my head. “No, she doesn’t deserve any of it, and—fuck. Fuck.” My throat burns with guilt and something that feels a lot like shame. My cheeks are icy and wet. Very wet. I press the heels of my palms into my eyes, but the tears keep coming.

“Elsie, it’s okay. You have every right to be upset—”

“No. It’s not okay. I’m being unreasonable and none of this is Georgina’s fault, and as terrible as you are, it’s not your fault, either. I’m the one who fucked up the interview, and—” Another sob. He heard this time. No way he didn’t. “You shouldn’t let me talk to you like this.”

He is silent for a moment. Then I feel him take a step closer. He doesn’t touch me, but his coat brushes against mine, a muted, swishing sound.

“I like it, actually.”

I look up. There’s a faint smile on his lips. “You like being yelled at?”

“I like to see you. When you’re not trying to be someone else.”

I’m actually hiccuping, like a three-year-old with a bruised elbow at the monkey bars. I bite the inside of my cheek to make it stop, but it’s a lost battle. Like my entire stupid life. “I can’t imagine why.”