...indicates a severe lack of understanding of the Lambda-CDM model. Dark matter and dark energy are NOT interchangeable terms. Please REVIEW the Standard Model of Cosmology section in your text. C-
"Excuse me."
Marcia Overstrand startled from her angry scrawling and glared at the man standing in front of her. He looked apologetic, but surprisingly, did not flinch at her expression. A laptop bag overflowing papers was on his shoulder, and his smart casual outfit- a red button up and black jeans- suggested that he was some sort of young professional. A teacher. Or maybe a professor? She glanced up at his face, searching for clues, then realized he was staring at her, possibly waiting for some sort of verbal acknowledgement.
"Yes?" she said, her voice sounding more irritated than she intended.
"I'm sorry, but all of the other tables are full- would you mind...?"
"Suit yourself," she replied, pushing her piles of paper to the far end of the table. The man blinked, then seemed to realize that she was making room for him and pulled up a chair.
"Thank you, I appreciate it," he murmured. She didn't reply.
This was, after all, a library.
Marcia turned her attention back to the graded exam, trying to recollect her thoughts. Seeing the last few sentences she had written on page made her scowl, but she fought the urge to add an angry, You NEED to know these things if you are going to continue calling yourself a Physics major! and simply tossed it aside to join the growing pile of completed exams.
"Undergrads," she muttered to herself. Only six months away from when she and Dr. Meller had set the date to defend her dissertation, and here she was, grading stupid exams instead of polishing the most important project of her doctoral studies.
She reached for another ungraded exam and caught a glimpse of the papers her table-mate had spread onto their table. The one he was currently perusing was cheerfully labeled in bold, "HOW TO COUNT ATOMS." Marcia snorted, and went back to grading. The man glanced up at her, but she did not venture to begin a conversation, and he quickly went back to his own work.
For several minutes they sat in companionable silence, with only the soft voices of the other patrons and librarians surrounding them. But there was something growing between them: something inevitable, something necessary, something… scientific. Marcia kept finding herself fighting the urge to smile or laugh, and she had no idea why. She almost reached for her phone so then she would have some kind of excuse to do so, but forced herself to focus on the dire state of college undergraduates and their understanding of basic scientific principles. Her desk partner shifted a few papers, and she caught a glimpse of long, pale fingers (did he play piano?) and a curious ring on his left hand. His left ring finger was bare (why had she looked for that?). He wrote with a thick, old-fashioned fountain pen, and his handwriting was elegant- beautiful, even. She glanced up, but the well-groomed mop of hair hid his face from her furtive glance, and she found herself again fighting the urge to laugh.
At last, Marcia tossed aside another terrible exam, glanced at her watch, then said rather nonchalantly,
"How do you count atoms?"
Her fellow table-sitter looked up in surprise. For a fleeting second, they both looked at each other in the eye, sizing the other up. Hers were green, his were hazel. Both were full of challenge- a scientist's challenge.
"Well, first you would need to know how to count," he said slowly, his tone so polite, his words didn't even sound like an insult. "Do they teach that in physics?"
Aha, so he HAD been studying her- or her papers at least.
"Do they in chemistry?" Marcia replied, raising an eyebrow, thinking it safe to respond to their unspoken agreement of acknowledging the secretive glances.
"Of course. At least, we can up to a hundred eighteen," he replied with a straight face, pointedly tapping a printout of the periodic table. She rolled her eyes and he gave her a funny look, as if trying to figure out what she wanted.
"Where do you teach?" she ventured, feeling like it would be awkward to leave the conversation hanging.
"I'm the science teacher at Harbour Middle School," he said, his gaze a little less cautious now that they were on a safer topic. "What about you?"
"Oh- I'm a teaching fellow at WTU," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I graduate in May with my doctorate."
"Do you? Their Physics department is excellent," he said, his voice taking on a slightly aristocratic tone.
"I know, I'm in it," she replied a little brusquely. He had the grace to look slightly flustered as he offered her the faintest hint of a smile, then reached out his hand.
"Um… I should introduce myself, I'm Mar-"
"Marcia!"
A young man rushed up to their table and threw a heavy backpack onto the chair next to her, then leaned against it, breathing heavily.
"Septimus. I had just decided you were not going to show," Marcia said sternly, looking at him over her glasses.
"I'm so sorry I'm late, but I ran into Jenna on the w- Marcellus?!"
Septimus Heap stared at the middle school teacher who still had his hand stretched across the table towards Marcia. He quickly retracted it.
"Septimus, what a surprise," he said cordially. "How is everything at high school?"
"I have six older brothers, I can handle anything," Septimus said, waving his hand as if to brush away his uncle's distracting question. "What are you doing here? Is Marcia tutoring you?"
"No, she is not," Marcellus said, looking highly offended. "We are simply sharing a table and politely discussing our individual branches of science."
"Were you, now?" Septimus said, his face taking on that impish, laughing expression that his brother Nicko was so famous for.
"At any rate, you are late," Marcia interrupted, looking down at him over her spectacles. His smile faded and he dared a glance at her. She was frowning at him, but he knew her well enough to know she wasn't angry.
"Well- don't let me interrupt if you're in the middle of something important," Septimus said meaningfully, and to his delight, both of the adults turned a little pink- or maybe it was just the reflection from Marcellus' outfit? But before anything important had a chance to happen, Marcellus rose abruptly and began stuffing his papers into his already overflowing bag. Both Septimus and Marcia looked a little bemused as they watched his harried movements, then he shook the hair out of his eyes as he reached across the table a second time.
"It's- it's been a pleasure, Madame Overstrand."
She took his hand and gave it a firm shake, then he was rushing away, passing several open tables. Had they been open before? She hadn't thought to check when he had first came over. And how had he known her last name?
Marcia startled from her thoughts as her student made a show of scribbling something down onto a flashcard, then he slipped it into her bag, a mischievous grin on his face.
"What is this?" she asked, frowning as she reached for it.
"Well, it looked like you were too busy arguing to exchange phone numbers…" Septimus said smugly, and Marcia froze, then gave him an exasperated look.
"Septimus…" she began, but her student had already opened his textbook and begun to rattle off the questions he'd had about his coursework. She shook her head, seized his book, and forced herself to focus.