Imperfect Chemistry Read online

“Have you come up with a proposal yet?” Duncan asks me, once we are alone in his office sitting across from each other.

  I tense even though I expected this question.

  “No.” I shake my head.

  He gives me an appraising glance. “You’re supposed to have the hypothesis and proposal by the end of next week.”

  “I know.”

  He sighs. “That’s not the only reason I called you in here, though.”

  “It’s not?”

  “Nearly everyone who sees you complains,” he says.

  “Nearly? There are some people who don’t complain?” I ask.

  “I was being nice. Everyone who sees you complains,” he says.

  That can’t be true.

  “But I’ve assisted some extremely stressed students. I am very good with time management and handling demanding and substantial workloads.”

  “You told one girl to stop speaking to her mother.”

  “The mother’s expectations were too high for her daughter’s capabilities, and it was affecting her concentration,” I explain.

  “Her mother is Professor McDougall.”

  I shrug. “So I was correct.”

  He leans forward, placing his elbows on the table and steepling his hands in front of his mouth for a second before removing them. “You have to listen and guide. Not criticize, or solve the problem right away. You have to help students find the solutions on their own. To listen and ask questions and show empathy so they are comfortable opening up. Guide them on the path, don’t throw them down it. And don’t even get me started on today’s client.”

  This surprises me. “What do you mean? She seemed genuinely thankful.”

  “She was here to discuss a traumatic breakup, and you talked to her about biological urges and STDs.”

  “It seemed appropriate at the time.”

  He raises an eyebrow at me.

  “Maybe I’m too literal,” I concede. “But I don’t see why that’s a bad thing. You’re very direct with me, and I appreciate it.”

  “Lucy, I’m blunt with you because that’s how you communicate and I know you understand it. I’ve discovered it’s the best way to share information with you. But I don’t talk like this with other students in the program. I have to treat them all differently because everyone is different and everyone responds differently to constructive criticism. You’re never going to get this project underway if you can’t—at the very least—empathize with other people.”

  “I’ve read multiple books on human behavior, personality theories, body language—”

  “Reading about people is not the same as understanding them. You have to understand more of life and what makes people tick, the motivation behind the behavior. You have to be able to relate to their experiences by experiencing them yourself.”

  I examine the wood-paneled wall and bookshelf behind him while I contemplate his words. I don’t understand the pendulum of passions and angst that people my age seem to experience on a regular basis. It’s difficult to conduct a study on something I can’t even begin to comprehend.

  How am I supposed to relate? My childhood was nothing like anyone I know. I’ve been studying at the university since I was thirteen. I’m nearly twenty-one. It’s too late to catch up now. Although I suppose I could try to behave like other college students and see if the behavior will help me intuit the motivation behind it. At this point, I will try nearly anything to get this experiment started.

  “You think I should consume illicit substances and engage in unprotected sex?” I ask.

  He smiles. It’s hard to see the motion of his mouth behind the graying beard, but his eyes crinkle underneath his wire-rimmed glasses. “No, Lucy, I just want you to experience life. You are a wonderful scientist, but you need to interact more. You need to understand how people tick, which can’t always be explained with logic and quantified by science.”

  “I interact with other people. I’ve even been on a date, recently.”

  That’s not entirely true. But I did go to dinner with an underclassman named Brad whom I tutored in calculus. Whether the interaction could be defined as a date is open to interpretation. But it doesn’t matter. Duncan doesn’t seem overly impressed.

  “You spend most of your time with sixty-year-old scientists who are just like you and derive more joy from test tubes than from others. You need to get out there, open up, and find friends your own age who have diverse backgrounds and interests. You need to do things for fun.”

  “I have friends and interests.” I’m still defending myself, but my protests sound weaker and weaker, even to my own ears.

  “Archery once a month with your brother is great, but you also need friends that aren’t family. Opening yourself up to new people and new experiences is a good way to start studying your own feelings. And if you start experiencing more emotions, you will find a way to study them.”

  I nod slowly.

  “Look,” he says, leaning back in his chair. His eyes roam around me, not quite meeting mine for a moment and I know he’s uncomfortable, but he looks me in the eyes when he says, “You have no proposal for your grant, and working in the clinic isn’t helping like we thought it would. We need to try something else. I’m going to put you on a temporary leave of absence until the end of the semester.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but he stops me with a hand. “I know you’re worried about losing your funding. I’ll talk to the board and see if they can extend the due date. This is temporary, Lucy. You need time to figure out what to do here. You can come back in a couple months and we’ll try again. If there’s no progress on the study at that point, you will definitely lose this grant.”

  ***