Part 4 (2/2)
”Thank you, sir.”
”Which problem gave you the most trouble on the test?” he asked.
They sat and talked about the problems for quite some time before Eliot glanced at his watch and noticed over thirty minutes had pa.s.sed. The boy impressed him, a good fit for the program and able to communicate his difficulties easily. A strikingly intelligent student. In any other year Eliot would have had his winner right there. And yet- He had not dared to hope that Valentina would make it this far on the test. He thrilled to know that her mind was as top-rate as any of the other students there. He interviewed the other two boys in succession, leaving her for the end. Neither of the two other boys impressed him as much as Mark had. The red-haired one couldn't explain his process except to repeat the particular steps he had taken, and Eliot needed someone who would be able to understand the broader strokes of the field he worked in. The same issue plagued the other student, who got frustrated while explaining his missteps on one of the proofs and clammed up completely when asked to describe his overall process of thought. No, he needed someone able to acknowledge their mistakes, someone who could talk him through their work. He hoped Valentina would be that person. If not, well, at least he had one candidate who could fill the spot.
Walking back down to the auditorium, Eliot felt his step grow lighter. She would do well, he knew it. She was a brilliant mathematician if she had gotten this far, and he already knew her temperament suited the interns.h.i.+p. He walked into the auditorium filled with hope.
”Valentina-”
Her seat was empty. Eliot's mouth stopped half-open. His thoughts turned slow, fuzzed.
”Valentina?”
There was only a note on the desk in the front of the room. He read it and crumpled the page in his hand. He looked out, as though expecting her to materialize from nothing into the seat where previously she had been sitting.
Eliot shoved the note into his pocket. He would not let her disappear so easily.
Fate told me I wasn't a Disney princess, and I agreed. When the other girls at school wanted to play in imaginary royal palaces built out of cardboard and imagination, I went along. But I was never the princess. I was the funny sidekick lobster that helped the princess get the prince. What I never saw in myself-what n.o.body ever saw in me-was the slim grace of the hand that rests the tiara on her brow.
Instead, I looked to the older legends, to the stories my mother told me about the G.o.ddesses: their vengeances, their fury.
Me, Cinderella? A dainty, feminine orchid, destined to be plucked? No. I was Artemis, strong and intelligent and cunning.
Of Artemis,-her bow, with points drawn back, A golden hue on her white rounded breast Reflecting, while the arrow's ample barb Gleams o'er her hand, and at his heart is aim'd.
n.o.body would come looking for me if I ran away, I thought.
I was wrong.
Princes don't always go for the ones in gla.s.s slippers, it seems, and Eliot already had a hold on my heart that I could not escape from, no matter how fast or how far I ran.
CHAPTER FIVE.
”Who is she?”
”I don't know her name.”
Patterson's brows sloped deeply into the wrinkled skin above his nose. He shook his head at Eliot, who paced across the oak floors of his office in vain.
”You have to pick a winner. We have to announce a winner. Today.”
”I have picked,” Eliot insisted.
”There is no Valentina Alastair!” Patterson looked at Eliot like he was a crazy person. Who knows, perhaps the man was right. Perhaps Eliot was crazy. But if there was one thing he knew, it was that Valentina was real, even if her name wasn't really hers. And he wasn't about to tell Patterson that his intended winner had turned tail and fled. It irritated him that the tablet system designed to preserve anonymity had backfired on him so miserably.
”She must have given the wrong name.”
”Then she must not want the prize. Pick another winner.”
”There isn't another.” Even as he said this, Eliot knew the student he would pick if Valentina failed to materialize. Patterson sighed, crossing his arms and leaning back onto his desk.
d.a.m.n her! Why did she force him to chase after her? He felt ridiculous. He felt- He felt as he had when he spoke to Clare for the first time, when she told him that her boyfriend was on his way to pick her up. He had persisted despite his mind telling him that he would surely fail, and eventually he won her over. Now, he felt the same stirrings of desire, the same desperate, ridiculous pangs of longing that made him rush headlong into foolishness.
”We can choose another for you, then. The Joseph kid. You mentioned him, and it would be beneficial for your status at the university...”
”Let me find her.” Eliot's mouth set in a hard line. ”Email the student list-”
”Dr. Herceg!” Patterson sounded incredulous. ”Do you expect me to send out a missing persons alert for the winner of the most prestigious prize in the department?”
”Why not?”
”If you knew the kind of outrage that this would provoke-”
”Please!” Eliot knew he had reached the thin edge of Patterson's tolerance, but he could not stop a last brutal effort. ”Let me find her.”
”Then find her,” Patterson said. ”Today. If I have not received an answer from you in the next two hours, I'm naming Mark Joseph the winner.”
”This is my interns.h.i.+p-”
”Then stop acting like a fool! Eliot, I've tried to keep you here despite everything, but this is too much. I promise that the department will re-evaluate your fellows.h.i.+p.”
Eliot cast his eyes around the room. Truly, he must sound like a madman. Although every cell in Eliot's body rejected it, he knew that Patterson had a point. Still, he needed to do everything he possibly could to find Valentina.
”Just one email-”
”No!” Patterson snapped down on the word as though cutting it off with his teeth. ”You have until I leave campus tonight. I'll be awaiting your reply.”
Eliot left the office, his shoulders slumped. Valentina-whatever her name actually was- had left him nothing with which to pursue her. She might well be a ghost. He had nothing of hers but her note- Yes. Her note. He dug into his pocket and brought out the crumpled paper, running his fingertips over the lines. He stopped in his tracks and turned around, his eyes lifting back up to Patterson's door. The department chair had stepped out into the hall and walked down the other corridor, away from Eliot.
Eliot stole a quick glance down the hallway, pretending to study the student research posters on the walls. When Patterson turned the far corner, he snuck back to the office and slipped into the doorway, crossing over to where Patterson had been sitting. He picked up the pile of homework sitting on the corner of the desk marked ”juniors.”
He would find Valentina in here, if she existed.
Eliot hurried up the stairs of the library, looking for a corner to sit in peace. There was not enough time to go home from campus, and he hated driving in inclement weather anyway. He had to get this done before Patterson declared a winner. The department chair might have been bluffing, but Eliot didn't want to chance it.
Outside the wind whipped tree branches against the large windows, the leaves slapping the gla.s.s panes as though trying to get inside from the cold. He found a long oak table to sit at and spread the papers out in front of him. Valentina's note he took from his pocket and smoothed before putting it aside for reference.
Where to start? His first inclination was simply to dig through the pages as quickly as possible, but after turning through a few dozen a.s.signments he realized that he was going too fast, possibly missing the right paper. And if he missed it the first time, he would have to go back through all of the pages. He sat back in his chair, his heart beating fast. There were hundreds and hundreds of papers in the pile, and most of the writing was numeric. The task seemed impossible.
No, he thought. Not impossible.
He took a deep breath and slowed himself down. He picked up Valentina's note and studied the lettering. A slight slant to the right, a flourish on the letter y. The period and the dot over the i were not actually dots but tiny circles instead, as though she were trying to spite the mathematical description of a point. He ran his fingers across the paper.
Why am I doing this? Even as he asked himself the question, he felt the curl of desire rise in him. Quickly he tamped it down, ignoring the voice inside that screamed to him that she was a danger, that she had already edged into his heart. She was a capable mathematician. That was all he needed to know.
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