The Love Hypothesis

by Ali Hazelwood

“Olive,” Dr. Aslan interrupted her with a stern tone. “What do I always tell you?” “Um…‘Don’t misplace the multichannel pipette’?” “The other thing.” She sighed. “ ‘Carry yourself with the confidence of a mediocre white man.’ ”

It wasn’t until a few minutes later, when she was sitting on her bed staring at the Boston skyline and chewing on her lunch, that Olive realized that the protein bar Adam had given her was covered in chocolate.

“You are not mediocre, Olive. You were not invited to speak because people think that you are my girlfriend—there is no such thing, since SBD’s abstracts go through a blind review process. I would know, because I’ve been roped into reviewing them in the past. And the work you presented is important, rigorous, and brilliant.” He took a deep breath. His shoulders rose and fell in time with the thudding of her heart. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

“I’m going to kill you,” he gritted out, little more than a growl. “If you say another word about the woman I love, if you look at her, if you even think about her—I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“I am going to take care of this,” he told her. There was something determined, earnest in his eyes. Olive had never felt safer, or more loved. “And then I’ll come find you, and I’ll take care of you.”