The Season of Shay and Dane Read Free Page B

don’t know,” I say,
trailing off as my thoughts begin wandering, “some supplies hadn’t arrived yet
and I’d planned to be back yesterday, before his usual storming about.” I kept
telling myself on the flight that I wasn’t getting lazy, but I really wanted to
stay a little longer. Maybe I am getting lazy. The visit was just so different
this time, and it’s not like the lab is a ship , everything isn’t—it
can’t be—in militant order, some things are out of my control, even as hard as
I try, fetal pigs don’t arrive on time, someone cuts their finger, or better
yet, sticks it in formaldehyde and spends the rest of their life schleffing off
and re-growing skin in the spot that got saturated from it—stuff happens. “And call
him Richards,” I say half-scoldingly and frustrated. “What will people think if
they hear you—if he hears you?”
    It’s not a secret he’s
a right pain to deal with, and Jenny fearlessly knows which buttons to push. As
if it’s a humorous release for her to be able to keep coping through the
semesters. For me, I was so glad to get into such a selective degree that it
may have clouded me as to what to expect and until now I didn’t take it for
granted, not even a little.
    My interview for the
spot had been absolutely professional, and when I arrived the first day I
thought that that tone would continue on. And my, Welcome to your first day
at Yale’sMolecular Biology Program , became his— “Just because you got
into this program doesn’t mean you’re going to remain in it. I don’t want to
know your personal problems. I don’t want any excuses—I’m not your friend. You
will perform beyond your own expectations and perform to mine—and then— I’ll
decide how far you get.”
    It hit me fast and hard
as it should have. I was in one of the best programs in the country and
hundreds of other hopeful students didn’t get accepted into it. There weren’t
going to be too many pats on the back—with him maybe none, and rightfully I
needed to prove myself for being one of the students that did get in.
     
    *
* *
     
    “Shay? We’re here.”
Jenny nudges my arm. I guess I had leaned my head back and fallen asleep on the
drive home.
    “Sorry. Are you hungry?
I’ll order us a pizza,” I offer, getting myself awake.
    “Sure. Sounds great,”
she calls from around the trunk, taking out my luggage. I pile my things
together from the backseat. I know I’ll have to get to the lab extra early
tomorrow to beat Richards to my room and finish setting up. There’s just one
more day before classes start again and I don’t want to spend it with steely
eyes looking over my shoulder.
     
     
    dane
    “Hey dude, smells great
in here!” Vince closes the door behind his girl-of-the-night. “You got any
leftovers? We’re starving,” he asks already rooting in the refrigerator.
    I could’ve been landed
with a lot worse roommate, but ideally no roommate is at the top of my
wants for housing next year. Senior year has a few perks for us athletes, one of
them being a room to yourself if you get your name on the list early enough.
    “Sure, help yourself. Lasagna’s
on the bottom shelf.” One thing I did know how to do well on my own was cook.
Mom gave me a few lessons for some easy meals before I came out here, so I
wouldn’t be left eating junk in the cafeteria all the time. If I’m lucky enough
to make it just for myself, it’ll last a couple of days, but I’ve come to be
heavily relied on as food supplier in our two bedroom suite.
    I catch a glimpse of
the new face standing by his side, lightly teetering from one foot to the other
to keep her balance. I’m sure they’ve been drinking all night at Gathering House .
If anyone wants freedom from the rules after their first year here, they
usually ended up sharing a room there, sometimes four of them piled into a
bedroom together—famously known as the athlete’s designated off-campus
house, just down the street. It’s