for his research, yet stuck to his principles.
I didn’t want to be impressed with him, so I decided that meant he was just stubborn.
It was possible I was still being irrational. But I wasn’t in the mood to admit it.
“I have to go.” I started gathering my things.
“So do I.”
“Good.”
He hesitated for a second. “Good.”
Keeping my lips pressed firmly together, I watched him turn and walk away. He was so aggravating. How was I supposed to work like this?
For a second, I thought about complaining to Elliott. But I was rational enough to realize that would not only make things worse, but risk my own reputation in the department. Tell Elliott what? He already knew how I felt about Corban’s theory. Harping on that topic would be petty. And what else could I say? That Corban annoyed me? That I hated the way his unkempt shirt and careless hair were so frustratingly cute?
No. I had to be the bigger person. Yes, he’d put my lunch in the freezer as some sort of childish revenge prank. And yes, I’d succumbed to the temptation to retaliate using my friends’ provocative suggestions. But one of us had to deescalate the situation, otherwise this was going to become a hostile working environment for both of us.
I’d simply have to ignore him. That was the only logical solution. I’d be polite when necessary, but otherwise, I wouldn’t engage. He would do his work, and I would do mine. Separately. It was the only way.
7
Hazel
“Occam’s Razor is the scientific principle that, all things being equal, the simplest explanation is always the dog ate my homework.” ~ Greg Tamblyn
“Excuse me?” I asked, tilting my head to one side.
“I need you and Corban to work together,” Elliott said.
The three of us sat at a small table in a corner of Elliott’s office. His desk was strewn with files and books, and a slideshow of his wife and three kids faded in and out on his computer screen. The table was bare except for a short stack of blue folders and my crisp white notepad and pen. Which I probably should have been using to take notes, but my boss had just rendered me unable to move. Or speak a coherent sentence.
His words took their time crawling through my brain, like a line of garden snails climbing up the side of a wall, leaving a trail of slime in their wake. Had he just said work together? Together with Corban?
Oh no. This would not do.
“Is that a problem?” Elliott asked, his dark brow furrowing deeply.
“No,” Corban said.
A flash of irritation roused me from my stupor. I didn’t need him to answer for me. “Not a problem at all. I just wanted to be certain I’d heard you correctly.” I stuck a finger in my ear and wiggled it. “I’ve been experiencing a bit of fuzziness in this ear. If it persists, I’ll be sure to check with my physician.”
“It could be allergies,” Corban said. “Do you have any pets at home? Oh wait, never mind, you already said you’re not a fan of animals.”
“I said no such thing. And yes, I do. I have a cat.”
“Maybe you’re allergic.”
“I’m not allergic to my cat.”
Elliott pushed a folder toward each of us. “Copies of the study abstract, introduction, and proposed methodology. There’s also a reference list of other labs doing motion capture studies.”
The motion capture lab. My breath caught in my throat as I flipped through the brief. One of the reasons I’d taken this job was the potential for doing motion capture research. The technology had gone far beyond creating special effects in movies. Psychology labs were using it in studies that involved motion and use of space. Elliott’s proposed study would explore nonverbal behaviors such as mirroring and synchronizing and the effect on both communication patterns and perception.
It was fascinating.
I wanted to work on this study. But with Corban?
“Are you sure we’re the best people to work on this?” Corban asked.
My spine went stiff and I whipped my head toward him. “Why wouldn’t we be the best people to work on this?”
“Of course you are,” Elliott said. “I know you’re both new to our department, but this will give you a chance to dive in headfirst. And as much as I’d love to devote more time to it, I have too many other things on my plate. My wife will kill me if I start working twelve-hour days again.”
I felt a tingle of relief, realizing Elliott thought our trepidation