“It’s our job,” Nikko assures me. “We’re happy to do it.”
I nod and look back to Hermann to find him studying me in the rearview mirror. “You prefer the quiet?”
I laugh awkwardly. “Not really.”
“I could put some music on?”
“Yes. Whatever you’d like. I don’t have a preference.”
He nods and flips on the radio to an easy-listening station that seems to play all the hits from the 90s. Nikko bobs his head along with the song, and I force myself to unclasp my hands in my lap and relax. Hopefully Nikko was being honest in saying he’s happy to help. I’m sure there are worse people he could be tasked with following around, and I’ve already made the decision to make his life as easy as possible. In fact, once we arrive at the Caltech campus and Nikko’s confirmed I’m safe to head into the house I share with the other grad students, I gather my things and decide to head straight to the Cahill Center, promising Nikko I’ll stay there the rest of the day.
“You’re welcome to explore. I promise I won’t go anywhere. In fact, over on South Lake Avenue there’s a little place I love to go when I have money to splurge. It’s called Corner Bakery and it has the best croissants you’ll get outside of Paris, or so I imagine. I’ve never been. Anyway, it’s not a far walk from where I’ll be.”
He smiles down at me with a touch of pity, as if he wants to pat me on the head and call me cute.
“I don’t think you understand my job with Mr. Castillo.”
My shoulders sag. “Apparently not. Will you have to stay right by the building the whole time I’m in there?”
He squares his shoulders and nods. “Until you’re ready to go home or someone comes to replace me. This situation is new, and we’d rather be overly cautious.”
“God, I’m sorry. Whatever Ben pays you, I’ll ask him to double it.”
He barks out a laugh.
“Don’t worry about it. I do just fine,” he adds with a wink.
Since there’s (thankfully) no press waiting for me back at my house, Nikko doesn’t have an issue walking with me to the Cahill Center. Hermann heads back to Ben’s house, but not before he gives me his number and tells me to call any time, day or night, if I need a ride.
The short walk is remarkably normal with Nikko by my side. I try to get to know him a little better, and he’s not shy about gloating about his wife and kids.
“My two boys are both on club teams for baseball. My older one has quite the arm on him.”
I love how much he stands out among the students we pass. As one of the most prestigious math and science research institutes in the country, Caltech isn’t teeming with buff dudes in custom black suits. Shocker, I know.
Lanky boys in glasses are a dime a dozen, though, and they look up at Nikko as they pass him by as if he’s a member of an alien species they want to study.
Since Nikko’s never been on this campus, I give him a little tour as we go along, pointing out my favorite buildings, all of which blend with the traditional Spanish mission architecture of Southern California. That is, until we reach the Cahill Center with its futuristic burnt umber panels and angular facade.
It’s modern from start to finish, and there’s not a single detail the architects didn’t consider. For example, I’m brimming over with excitement to tell Nikko that the address number for the building is 1216, which, in angstroms, is the wavelength of ultraviolet light emitted by hydrogen atoms. Unsurprisingly, he isn’t as tickled about this as I was when I first learned that tidbit. I also tell him the view from the lobby up to the skylight on the third floor is supposed to mimic the experience of peering up through a telescope, which is neat considering it’s the astronomy and astrophysics building. Again, I get crickets.
I laugh and put poor Nikko out of his misery.
“I’ll be in there,” I say, pointing to the door. “You know how to reach me if you need anything?”
He nods and sends me on my way. The second I step inside and am wrapped in that familiar scent associated with academic buildings (cleaning products, mostly), I feel at ease. This is my happy place, and there’s nowhere I’d rather be after the hectic weekend I’ve had.
I head straight to my shared office and close the door behind me, turning to assess the wreckage that exists when four people work in such a confined space. Just like with our room at the house, Kayla treats her desk here like it’s a garbage receptacle. It gives me anxiety just looking at it. How does she find anything in all that mess?