Unfaithful - Natalie Barelli Page 0,35

cookies every day, okay?”

She blinks, reddens. “Well, sure. I meant well.” She leaves without looking at me, closes the door. I drop my head into my hands. Well, there’s a sign if I ever saw one. I don’t usually snap at and insult my friends, and yet I just did. What the hell am I doing? I sigh, open the browser again, ready to close the window and cancel the whole thing. It was a stupid idea anyway. What’s wrong with submitting it the way it was intended? With both authors? And showing Geoff Alex’s thesis, too? He’ll wonder why I took so long but I’ll say I wanted to put in the finishing touches, make sure it was truly ready. I’ll still be co-author on the paper, we’ll still gain a reputation of excellence. I’ll still be credited. Nothing’s changed.

I actually feel relieved. I will go and see June immediately and apologize. Then I glance at the screen.

Thank you for your submission. We will be in touch as soon as possible.

I blink. It looks like I clicked the mouse anyway. Immediately, part of me wants to reach into the computer and snatch it back from the jaws of the internet. But another part of me whispers in a low voice: It’s done now, Anna. What you gonna do? Get in touch with this prestigious journal and say, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to send it because it’s not really mine?” Or are you going to stand up for yourself for once, and take what you deserve?

I unlock my bottom drawer, retrieve Alex’s notebooks, shove them in my bag.

I wish June hadn’t told me about this mysterious friend because instead of feeling triumph that I submitted the proof, I have a knot in my stomach. Why would Ryan come here? It probably wasn’t Ryan. Maybe June got it wrong and it was a student. Or a prospective student. Yes, that makes sense. Well, whoever it was they can come back later.

Poor June. Her face just now, when I snapped at her... I’ll go and apologize immediately, then get on with the rest of my day. What will I do with Alex’s notebooks? Get rid of them, that goes without saying. I was going to find a dumpster for them, somewhere—it seems kind of fitting in a way—then I change my mind. I don’t want to take any risk. Instead I find a secure shredding service online and arrange to drop them off later.

Then I pull out a hairbrush and get myself presentable for the staff meeting. It doesn’t really work. I still look like a porcupine.

Fifteen

At first I spent entire nights awake, my unblinking eyes staring into the dark, wishing I hadn’t done it. After all, I’d had so many other, better choices. I could have gone to Geoff with the notebooks and told him about Alex’s research. We could have published it in his memory. Maybe his family would have let us keep the prize money—they’re wealthy, they don’t need it. We could have started a scholarship in Alex’s name.

But it’s too late now. That’s what I tell myself when I wake up in the dead of night. It’s too late now, I whisper, my heart hammering, Alex’s ghost hovering over my bed.

It’s too late.

I sleepwalk through my life waiting for some indistinct hammer to fall, for things to go wrong, for Luis to leave me. I picture the recipient of my submission at the journal reading my paper, then squinting with the look of someone who has heard of this solution before. Because what if Alex had already contacted them without telling me? That would make sense, right? That would be very much in character for Alex. Do I have an explanation for how this could happen? How could my student submit a work of genius, then die, then for the exact same work of genius to be submitted again, except this time authored by me? Do I have an explanation for that? No, Officer, I do not. Not readily.

But as days turn into weeks and nothing happens, I begin to think maybe, just maybe, it’s going to be okay. Instead of dreading the call, I start to resent how long it’s taking before they approve the paper. I feel like I’ve crossed a threshold: I am already on the other side, drumming my fingers, waiting for everyone else to catch up. Then I worry that it’s taking too long, even though I know mathematical proofs can take months