Superposition (Starting Position Sequel)

Chapter 33

Today was the day of my interview. In a few minutes I'd be answering questions about the volunteer demonstrations done at the grade schools for the campus paper. The Chem Trails – or, as Ashford coached us to say, the chemistry-loving-volunteer group – had made one more visit to a grade school since the article for the paper had been announced, and the children in the class had been equally as engaged and excited about the potato that powered a light bulb.

    The interview was to take place inside the physical chemistry lab, which was to apparently aid in the overall aesthetics for the interview. Afterwards, a photographer would snap a few pictures of me holding a beaker or Erlenmeyer flask or something. Though I was excited to be featured for something like this, I wasn't exactly keen on the interview and subsequent pictures. I would have been happy continuing to keep doing demonstrations at the schools.

    I glanced at my watch. It was just three o'clock. The person interviewing me should be arriving any second. I shifted on my chair and settled myself. I wasn't exactly nervous; I was more impatient than anything and wanted to get this over with. Ian said Samara invited me to join them for dinner tonight at some restaurant off campus, and I was looking forward to it, even if I was going to be a third wheel. Even though I felt more mental clarity now than I had for months, a distraction would be good.

    The door cracked open, and I jolted my attention towards it. Two desks were pushed together for the interview; I was sitting at the one facing the end of the classroom, and when I saw the person walk through the door, it was like a surplus of memories came seeping through also. My body was rigid but felt as though it was seconds away from rolling off the chair.

    Elliot stopped in her tracks as the door swiftly shut behind her. Her long hair was down and hung over her shoulders, her chocolate eyes were deep and whole, and her small mouth was a line. She was wearing an ivory sweater tucked into a denim skirt, and it brought out the richness in her exposed skin. I felt a flush work its way up my neck at the sight of her, remembering exactly how that skin felt against my fingertips...

    "Sorry," she said, pulling me from my consuming thoughts.

    "Elliot?" I asked, realization dawning on me.

    She sucked on her lip. "Yeah. I tried to get out of it."

    "You're the one interviewing me?"

    "Yeah," she said. "I had to. It's for this one class I stayed in. I switched my major at the start of semester but kept a single journalism class because it still counts toward my degree, and of course my professor is making me do this interview." Her eyes flicked to mine and then to the journal she carried.

    There were about a hundred things I wanted to say, but I went with, "You switched majors?"

    "Yeah."

    "To English?"

    She smiled tightly. "Yeah. To English. Not sure what I'll do with it, but hey, I love to write."

    "That's great," I said truthfully. "And brave. It's not easy to do what you really want."

    Her dark eyes were back on mine; they spoke loudly in the deafeningly silent room.

    "So, um," she started, breaking eye contact. "Let's get this over with, I guess." She stepped closer and took a seat, her earthy, citrusy scent filling my nose. After arranging her journal and opening it to what looked like a set of questions, she cleared her throat and began:

    "So, you're a part of a volunteer chemistry group on campus. What is the name of the group?"

    So caught up in the sheer presence of her, I started, "The Chem – um, we're just this hodgepodge group of chemistry fanatics that get together sometimes."