The Love Hypothesis

by Ali Hazelwood

“Of course. Contacts are not cheap.” “Neither are eyes.”

She ignored it and ordered the most fatty, sugary thing on the drink menu, asking for extra whipped cream.

“I doubt a language exists in which the thing you just ordered could be referred to as ‘coffee.’ ”

Whatever she’d ordered, it was disgustingly good. She was probably developing diabetes as she spoke.

Olive was going to murder her. Olive was going to make her lick every drop of this stupid sunscreen and watch her writhe in pain as she slowly died of oxybenzone poisoning.

“Why do professors never answer students’ emails, by the way?” “Because we get approximately two hundred a day, and most of them are iterations of ‘why do I have a C minus?’ ”

“I hate you,” She told him, sullen. She might have been pouting. And smiling at the same time. His mouth twitched. “I know.”

“It was acid green.” “I know. It made me happy.” “It made me nauseous.”

“You sure you want to carry my bag? I heard it’s easy to throw out your back, once you reach a certain age.”