Legacy to Zero

38: Study Buddies After Daybreak

Lars

It had been a long few days. For nearly the entire time, I'd been running around, catching up on assignments for my courses, working at Midnight Moon, and trying not to think too deeply about letting Harlow go.

By the midpoint in the week, I had a group project for an elective history course, so I had decided to meet with them by the polytechnic's snack shop. The store was in the science building—the Ianes—in its own wing. Beanbag chairs sat against the green speckled walls alongside chairs occupied by tired first-years nursing coffees. The food was mostly from the city donations, so I had brought a box of Midnight Moon's donuts, which were dwindling in the hours I'd spent without moving from my seat.

Suffice to say, as soon as the last group member shut their laptop, I set my forehead against my keyboard. So many tasks left to do, but at least I was nearly there. Find some more examples. Check the grammar. Then done!

It was times like these when I kind of wished I drank coffee. I didn't care much about fitting in with everyone else, although sometimes that would have been nice. I couldn't stand being the only one eating a different meal than every other person at a table, just waiting for the offhand comment to point it out and shed the stage light on me. Just hoping the mixture of scents didn't chase away any promise of eating for a while.

Anyway, coffee smelled awful. It was why Harlow used to make the drinks.

I lifted my face. Okay, time to get back to work. I did some searches for some diagrams and added more bullet points to my section of the document. Then, once I was done, I started to reread from the end of the presentation to the beginning to make sure it was cohesive.

The clear double doors leading to the upper floor swung open. I didn't have to glance up to know it was Felicity. She hurried over to my table, falling into the seat my group-mate had just left. Her hair was tied into a neat ponytail with the torn remnants of her Rift outfit, and a pair of heavy-looking square goggles hung from the pocket of her blue lab coat. Even that, she'd sewn herself—when I'd asked earlier, she'd shown me the inside of her sleeves were patterned with leftover fabrics.

"You've been here for"—she checked her watch—"four hours, Lars."

I shrugged. "Good lab?"

She leaned back in her chair. The front pocket was hand-stitched in dark navy string that said, Hello! On the opposite pocket, arrows pointed at splotches of stains that said, Emergency C9H8O4, which she'd informed me was funnier if I'd been there when it was synthesized. Whatever that meant. "I don't think either of us are sane."

"That's not fair." I returned my focus to my group project for a second to fix a sentence. "You had a lot to catch up on."

Both of our professors had been understanding that we were busy helping Prismatrix with a mission. Her workload was undoubtedly more than mine, but it didn't show in her demeanour. I had made a point to catch her whenever she had a minute, just in case she needed the decompression time half as much as I did.

She slipped her tablet from her bag and flipped it around so I could see what she was working on. I stared blankly at the numbers and hexagonal shapes on the document. "The lab report is the worst part."

"Well, maybe I can help."

"Not unless you know what a Bial reagent is."