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and when someone asks a three-minute-long question meant to get me to admit that deep down my work is poorly structured and useless,
“It will save all of us a lot of money. And it will be my first trip with Jeremy,” Anh interjected distractedly. She was typing something on her phone. “Oh my God, guys, I think I found it! A location for the Boston event for BIPOC women in STEM! I think I’ve got it!” “That’s great,” Olive said weakly. “But I thought . . . I thought we’d room together.”
“I mean, why would you want to spend money on a room when you could stay with Carlsen?”
Inform her that you’re not going to stay with Carlsen because you’re fake-dating? Oh, but wait—now that you’ve got a huge crush on him maybe it’s sort of real—”
“You’re not mad, right?” “I . . .” Yes. No. Maybe a little. “No. It’s not your fault.”
“When I was in my third year of grad school,” he said quietly, “my adviser sent me to give a faculty symposium in his stead. He told me only two days before, without any slides or a script. Just the title of the talk.”
Guidance. Support. Some practical advice, instead of blind encouragement. “I’m not even sure what I need, myself. I think that might be part of the problem—I’m not very good at communicating it.”
Jess and Alex and the other half a dozen grads and postdocs mentored by Adam whom she didn’t know very well.
Her eyes chose that precise moment to fall to the conference badge dangling from his neck. Adam Carlsen, Ph.D. Stanford University Keynote Speaker Her jaw dropped. “Oh my God.” She looked up at him, wide-eyed, and . . . Oh God. At least he had the grace to look sheepish. “How did you not tell me that you are the keynote speaker?”
“From the conference program.” He looked at her oddly. “You didn’t notice we’re on the same panel?” Oh, crap. “Uh—I . . . I didn’t even read who else was on the panel.” Because I was too busy panicking.
She pushed him away. As forcefully as she could, she pushed him away with both her hands on his chest, until he stumbled back with a cruel, condescending laugh. Abruptly, her lungs seized and she couldn’t breathe. “A preview of—what? Are you out of your mind?” “Come on.” Why was he smiling? Why was that oily, hateful expression on his face? Why was he looking at her like— “A pretty girl like you should know the score by now.” He looked at her from head to toe, and the lewd gleam in his eyes made her feel disgusting. “Don’t lie to me and say you didn’t pick out a dress that short for my
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nonthreatening, lounging like that. But he felt like anything but. “You don’t think I accepted you into my lab because you are good, do you?”
girl like you. Who figured out so early in her academic career that fucking well-known, successful scholars is how to get ahead.” He was still smiling. The same smile Olive had once thought kind. Reassuring. “You fucked Adam, didn’t you? We both know you’re going to fuck me for the same reason.” She
“Someone here has a very high opinion of herself, considering that her research is useless and derivative and that she can barely put together two words without stuttering like an idiot.”
She spun around, shaking with rage. “Why are you doing this?” “Because I can.” Tom shrugged again. “Because as advantageous as my collaboration with Adam has been, sometimes it’s a bit annoying how he needs to be best at everything, and I like the idea of taking something away from him for once. Because you are very pretty, and I look forward to spending more time with you next year. Who would have guessed that Adam had such good taste?”
You sent me information on all your protocols, which means that I can easily replicate them.
“Listen, Olive. My friendly advice is: suck it up. Keep Adam happy and interested as long as possible, and then come to my lab to finally do some decent work. If you keep me happy, I’ll make sure you can save the world from pancreatic cancer. Your nice little sob story about your mom or your aunt or your stupid kindergarten teacher dying from it is only going to get you so far. You’re mediocre.” Olive turned around and ran from the room.
free drinks you mentioned? Do they come with food?” “I’ll get you dinner.” Adam’s lips curved a little more. “You’re not a cheap date, though.” She leaned into his side and bumped her shoulder against his biceps. It was hard not to notice that there was no give. “I really am not. I fully plan to eat and drink my feelings.”
“But I also don’t ever make it about them. It’s always about the work. Sometimes it’s well done, other times it’s not, and if it’s not . . . work can be redone. It can improve. I don’t want them to tie their self-worth to what they produce.”
scientists were not given credit for their ideas or authorship of papers they deserved. People were publicly belittled for making mistakes that would
Impossible deadlines were set arbitrarily, out of the blue, and grads were punished for not meeting them. Ph.D. students were constantly assigned to the same tasks, then pitted against each other and asked to compete, for my adviser’s amusement. Once he put Holden and me on the same research project and told us that whoever obtained publishable results first would receive funding for the following semester.”
us for not dancing to his tune and published the findings we brought to him without acknowledging our role in obtaining them.”
“Nah, I was a kid. Though I could see my grads pouring acetonitrile in my coffee.”
Tom, one of the top cancer researchers in the United States, had expressed interest in stealing her research ideas.
