Apolonia

“So, he’s interested in the rock—as in, he wants it,” I clarified.

“Demanding it. He is stating that it is government property.”

“We’re going to keep it from him? Can’t he just take it?”

“Hopefully not without a court order. Theoretically, that gives us some time to finish recording the data before we move the specimen to a safer location. It’s more important than I could have dreamed, Rory. We need to keep it out of hands that might exploit the knowledge there is to learn from it.”

“Those special departments don’t usually wait on court orders, Dr. Z.”

“Which is why we’ll do this quickly.”

“The CIA wants the rock, and when they come to get it, you won’t have it because you’re going to hide it from them. Isn’t that illegal?”

“Yes,” the professor answered matter-of-factly.

Both men looked to me, awaiting my response. Thanksgiving break began in two days, and the campus would be desolate. It was the perfect time to hide out in the Fitz and dedicate all our time to recording Dr. Z’s data. It was also perfect timing for me. I wouldn’t have to spend Thanksgiving alone, and the project might even help to keep my mind off my orphan status.

“I’m in,” I said.

Cy and Dr. Z traded small knowing smiles.

Two. Two glances from Cy since we sat down on our stools twenty minutes before. I’d brought a medium brick oven pizza with me and ate a few slices. I was hoping he’d ask for some, but he never did. Maybe he wasn’t glancing at me at all. Maybe he was starving and thought it was rude to ask.

“Want some?” I asked, holding up a slice.

Cy shook his head. “No, thank you.”

I put the pizza back into its cardboard box and closed the lid.

After every class, Cy was waiting for me with a smile on his face. He would offer his arm and ask me every question he could think of about everything but my family or my past in general, which I appreciated. We talked about fun things like concerts and food, and we talked about things people weren’t supposed to talk about, like politics and religion. Cy wanted to know my opinion about everything but not because he wanted to argue. He just wanted to know.

Benji had asked me to lunch earlier, but I decided to line up specimens with Cy at the lab instead.

It felt as if I was spending twice as much time with Cy as before, and he was talking to me twice as much. But he never talked about himself, and he answered my questions about him with questions about me.

I flipped open the lid. The smell of the greasy cheesy goodness filled the room even more. For the third time, Cy glanced up at me, but he quickly looked back down at his stack of papers.

“Are you sure you don’t want a slice?” I asked, pulling up a triangle from the rest. The melted cheese made a string from the slice to the pie, and I used my other finger to pull it off and stuff it in my mouth. “It’s so good. Best in town.”

“It smells delicious,” he said, still looking at his paper.

“Then, have some.”

“I’m not sure if I should.”

My nose wrinkled. “Why?”

“Because I…I’ve never had pizza before.”

“You’ve never had pizza,” I deadpanned. “You’re lying.”

He looked up at me and blinked, clearly surprised at my accusation. “I don’t lie.”

I put another slice on a paper plate and held it out to him. “Noted. Now try some pizza. Get the full college experience.”

After some hesitation, Cy took the plate from my hands and studied the slice of pizza. The grease had already saturated the plate around the cheesy borders. The pepperoni and sausage glistened.

A corner of my mouth went up. “Unless you’re lactose intolerant, take a bite or forever be a pu**y in my eyes.”

“A-a,” he stuttered. “I presume you’re referring to one of two definitions for that word. The less vulgar possibility doesn’t make sense. The second is preposterous. How could one become a vagina when not taking a bite of pizza? I’m clearly a male—”

“Christ on a bicycle, dude, just eat the f**king thing!”

Cy clumsily picked up the limp triangle and bit off the end corner, chewing with his eyes closed.

“And?”

He took another bite. “It’s wonderful. Now, I really must return to my duties.” He set the plate down and picked up a pencil, scribbling something in his elegant small handwriting.

I sat, deflated, and then resumed the clacking on my keyboard. So much for the saying that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.

I barely finished a third entry when Cyrus fell off his stool and reached for the closest wastebasket. His body lurched, and he vomited violently into the can.

“Oh god! Cy!” I said, jumping off my stool and joining him on the floor.

As quickly as his groaning, moaning, and hurling started, it stopped, and he sat, leaning against a file cabinet, breathing hard. A thin sheen of sweat covered his olive skin.

“I’m okay,” he said, out of breath.

I leaned up to pull a napkin from my desk and held it out for him. He took it without looking at me and dabbed his mouth.

“I am so sorry. Are you on a special diet?”

He wasn’t a skinny man. He stood at least six foot and filled out his height fantastically. He yanked off his tan twill jacket, and for the first time, I saw that his arms also filled out his shirtsleeves.

“No,” he said before dry-heaving one more time. “Well, technically, I suppose I am.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

He stood up, almost a head taller than me. “You’re a bit intimidating, Rory Riorden.”

“You know my last name,” I said, watching him climb back onto his stool. “I know next to nothing about you.” I stood.

Cy glanced up from his papers once and then looked back down, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Being familiar is overrated.”

“What’s your last name?”

Cy let his pencil fall, and he breathed out a frustrated puff. “You wouldn’t be able to pronounce it.”

I walked over to my stool and sat down. “Try me.”

“This is a horrible waste of time.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Letting me get to know you is a waste of time? Gee, thanks.”

His expression softened. “No, of course not. That’s not what I meant. You’re very…I like you.”