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Ledi sucked in a breath. She worked hard—so much harder than she should have had to, really. That was the problem. When you worked twice as hard all the time, working at the average rate was slacking off.
Asshole postdocs are temporary, but scientific discoveries are forever.
She smiled at Trishna and hoped her expression wasn’t as murdery as she felt.
Being outwardly friendly while keeping people at a distance was second nature to Ledi. She thought of it as her social phospholipid bilayer: flexible, dynamic, and designed to keep the important parts of herself separate from a possibly dangerous outside environment. It had been working for the prokaryotes for eons, and it would suffice for a broke grad school student, which was only slightly higher on the evolutionary scale.
She had enough money saved to make the futon upgrade, but her brain rejected the expenditure, placing it on a pedestal as something the future Ledi, who had enough money to make such purchases without triple-checking her bank account balance beforehand, could buy. Ledi didn’t know how much money would be enough, but she was sure she was nowhere near that goal.
excitement was just another name for expectation, and expectations were the fastest route to disappointment.
Portia would of course try to fix things because Portia was invested in fixing everything that wasn’t herself.
Wouldn’t it be nice if someone took care of me, instead? In her experience, unless they were getting a paycheck, no one was interested in that particular task.
She was like a faulty piece of Velcro; people tried to stick to her, but there was something intrinsically wrong in her design.
This motherfucker, she thought.
That beard made her fingers itch to stroke it, or to grab her smartphone and photograph it for posterity. She wasn’t as good at social media as Portia, but she’d rack up a million likes within the day, for sure, if not some kind of award for heroism on behalf of male-attracted humanity.
The only data she was currently interested in collecting was the exact tensile pressure of his beard against her inner thigh, and the shift in mass of his body on top of hers.
You’re an adult, Ledi chided herself. Just because the finest, most lickable man you’ve ever seen in real life is going to be working next to you all night is no reason to start acting like some classic ’90s movie character.
“I beg your pardon,” the man said, clearly confused as he finally turned his gaze toward Thabiso. “Your pardon is denied. I just performed a task for you. The correct thing to say in this situation is ‘Thank you.’” Thabiso imbued each word with the disdain learned from years of etiquette lessons.
“Is that what you want to do?” he’d asked. “Change the world?” She’d lost a bit of her enthusiasm then. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be in a position to do that, with my work. Besides, in this work, you’re usually reliant on someone else with money or power, and I’ve seen how they operate—cutting the funding of important research, or trying to make money instead of helping people. It’s like they forget that out of everyone in the world, they’ve been trusted to do what’s right.”
Thabiso managed to elbow one attendee in the ear and learned that “get it yourself” was not an acceptable answer when a guest asked for something, even if you were clearly busy.
He had not been expecting this. He’d been a thorn in her side the entire night and she had given him cupcakes and a gonorrhea anecdote and support.
“. . . stalking,” Likotsi said. The couch squeaked in agreement. “Like, just a hairbreadth away from it really. This behavior is unbecoming, and to a woman of Naledi’s cultural background, you could be seen as a threat.” “I am no threat,” Thabiso said. “I just need a way to continue observing her without her knowledge or revealing that I lied about my identity when we first met.”
With that she was gone, ready to conquer the NYC dating scene after shivving him with the truth about himself in just a few sentences.
“Was that supposed to be an apology?” she asked. “Because if it was, I’m assuming you’ve never spoken to a human woman in your life.”
Her body warmed as she watched his lithe movements and understood that though she had only agreed to dinner, she was hungry for Jamal, too. No. He’s an asshole. Focus on the free food.
She’d learned to cook early; not because she’d been a mistreated Cinderella, but because it had made her useful to her foster parents. People didn’t get rid of things they found useful.
men make life harder for women who say no, especially women who look like me,” she said. “STEM is already hard to navigate—being marked as someone who doesn’t work well in teams or contribute enough could tank my career.”
he’d thought his own success meant that anyone who failed just wasn’t trying hard enough.
Yasss. Interrogate him like you’re peer reviewing dat ass.
“Yeah, that sounds terrible. Horrible, even. Definitely need my senses, so . . .” She made the sign of the cross using her index fingers and pointed it toward his crotch.
“I know you’re very busy, Ledi. If you can fit me in, I’d be honored to be one of the many things that take up your time.”
“I think I need time to mull this over,” he said diplomatically. He really wanted to tell them to strap themselves to the twenty tons of condescending bullshit they’d just tried to sell him and jump into the nearest body of water, but he gave a short nod that he supposed looked thoughtful and gracious.
I’ve read reports of America’s crumbling infrastructure but I’d assumed it was exaggeration.” He looked around at the stained ceilings and cracked, flaking paint. “This city is held together by hope and insomnia,” she said. “Who needs infrastructure?”
“One fun thing you learn when you study Public Health, especially infectious diseases, is that most societies are one step away from dystopia, really,” she said, trying to sound deep and like she hadn’t been thinking about their trip to fingerbangville.
Oh you poor little lamb. You don’t stand a chance.” He leaned closer, too. “I’d say my chances are pretty good. I’m quite lucky, you see, at least in my choice of shepherdess.”
“Holy shit,” Jamal said. “Is this normal? Boys flipping about on moving subway cars? I can barely stand without holding the pole and this child just reenacted an Olympic gold medal gymnastics routine.”
Deep breaths. You don’t care. He’s just another case study for Fuckboy Monthly.
“Good morning, Brian,” she said politely, refusing to show emotion in front of him and also really not up for his shit.
Apparently, oh-sure-I’ll-do-that Ledi had been incinerated by the flames of her frustration and I-wish-a-motherfucker-would Ledi had risen from the ashes.
“I’ve always believed that once something is done, there is no going back,” he said. “That people should pay for mistakes. That’s mostly because I was also taught that it wasn’t possible for me to make them.”
Ledi scanned the ingredients before opening the bottle, shaking out one of the giant capsules and swallowing. When she tried to hand it back, Nya shook her head. “I have more at home. I’m sure you’ll need it, since the next few days are going to be very busy for you. Take one in the morning and one before bed.”
I want to trust Nya but this is suspect!
The king and queen sat across the table, occasionally asking questions of Ledi that were either purposefully insulting or only sounded that way because of cultural miscommunication. Ledi was fairly certain it was the former, though; she only spoke English, but was fluent in shade.
sipping a cup of the tea Alehk had gifted her and wishing it had more caffeine. She’d already had two cups but felt more muddled instead of less.
Equally concerned about this tea.
Ledi had put her phone away then and pulled out the book she’d picked up about Twentieth Century African epidemics, mostly because it was lighter reading than her parents’ biography.
“Annie, Makelele, and the others are the same. They are not doing worse, but they aren’t doing better either.
Were they poisoned by the uncle?? They said in the beginning that Annie being sick would effect some kind of treaty.
