changing of classes launched a human tidal wave across the well-kept grounds.
Not everyone was worried about the next class, however. Students sat under the ancient oak trees with fat books, iPhones, and laptops, while others enjoyed leisurely games of Frisbee or hacky sack. The aroma of coffee and rancid fryer oil wafted from the student canteen. A golden retriever chased a squirrel across the grass, nearly upending a girl on a bicycle.
Alexis loved the older part of the University of North Carolina. The country’s first public university still had some of the landmarks from its 1700s origin, and care had been taken to preserve the traditional heart of the campus.
She’d been an undergrad here, receiving twin degrees in psychology and chemistry. She still had many fond memories of basketball games, frat parties, late nights in the library, strolling through the arboretum in the fall, smoking pot at the Bell Tower with Mark during the traditional Friday “High Noon,” and barhopping on Franklin Street.
She’d lost her virginity her freshman year in the woods behind the outdoor amphitheater, then wished she had it back when the guy turned out to be a self-absorbed asshole. Never date a concert violinist, no matter how skilled his fingers.
Despite tradition, expansion had pushed the campus toward the south, where the buildings rose in gleaming towers of glass and steel surrounding the hospital. Most of Alexis’s classes were in the Morton Building, named for a prominent disciple of Carl Jung, with her lab in the Neurosciences Department.
It was the same lab where she had served as a graduate assistant to Dr. Sebastian Briggs, although she only had a few papers of notes from that era. So much of it was lost, but she had a feeling the loss was for the best.
Today, though, she had to pay a visit to the Chancellor’s Office to sort out some matters related to her upcoming leave of absence. She planned to take a year off to write another book.
“Dr. Morgan?”
Alexis turned. Celia Smith fell into step beside her, a freckle-faced young lady in pigtails and a Decemberists sweatshirt. Although Alexis had about fifty students each semester, she made it a point to memorize their names. Celia was one of those unspectacular students who turned in assignments on time but rarely made the leap from rote recitation to genuine insight.
“Hello, Celia. How are you?”
“Great. I didn’t know they let the scientists over on this part of campus. This is liberal-arts turf.”
“Some people would argue that neurobiology isn’t really a science.”
“Well, you’ve got a lab and stuff.”
Alexis smiled at the “stuff.” “As we come to understand more about the brain, the closer psychology edges toward science. Mood, disorder, and emotion are nothing more than various combinations of electrical impulses and chemical compounds.”
“You sound like Dr. Briggs.”
Alexis drew to a halt, spinning to face Celia and grab her forearm. “Briggs?”
Celia looked down at her flesh, where Alexis’s fingers pressed hard enough to create red rings. “Ow.”
“Sorry.” Alexis drew back, appalled. “I didn’t mean…are you talking about Sebastian Briggs?”
Celia nodded, eyes wide with a look Alexis realized was fear. “Yeah. I’m a volunteer in one of his research projects.”
“Briggs is here?” Alexis couldn’t believe it. She would have seen his name on the faculty roster, and he almost certainly would have been assigned to her department. Besides, Briggs had left UNC with a black mark on his record, and in academia, no administrator was willing to risk repeating a mistake. Especially one of the magnitude made by Briggs.
She had shared in that mistake, but her resume was spotless. However, the ledger in her memory bore a few smudges and eraser marks.
“He’s working under contract,” Celia said. “I drive over to RTP once a week. They pay us fifty dollars a session.”
So Briggs is working in private
Not everyone was worried about the next class, however. Students sat under the ancient oak trees with fat books, iPhones, and laptops, while others enjoyed leisurely games of Frisbee or hacky sack. The aroma of coffee and rancid fryer oil wafted from the student canteen. A golden retriever chased a squirrel across the grass, nearly upending a girl on a bicycle.
Alexis loved the older part of the University of North Carolina. The country’s first public university still had some of the landmarks from its 1700s origin, and care had been taken to preserve the traditional heart of the campus.
She’d been an undergrad here, receiving twin degrees in psychology and chemistry. She still had many fond memories of basketball games, frat parties, late nights in the library, strolling through the arboretum in the fall, smoking pot at the Bell Tower with Mark during the traditional Friday “High Noon,” and barhopping on Franklin Street.
She’d lost her virginity her freshman year in the woods behind the outdoor amphitheater, then wished she had it back when the guy turned out to be a self-absorbed asshole. Never date a concert violinist, no matter how skilled his fingers.
Despite tradition, expansion had pushed the campus toward the south, where the buildings rose in gleaming towers of glass and steel surrounding the hospital. Most of Alexis’s classes were in the Morton Building, named for a prominent disciple of Carl Jung, with her lab in the Neurosciences Department.
It was the same lab where she had served as a graduate assistant to Dr. Sebastian Briggs, although she only had a few papers of notes from that era. So much of it was lost, but she had a feeling the loss was for the best.
Today, though, she had to pay a visit to the Chancellor’s Office to sort out some matters related to her upcoming leave of absence. She planned to take a year off to write another book.
“Dr. Morgan?”
Alexis turned. Celia Smith fell into step beside her, a freckle-faced young lady in pigtails and a Decemberists sweatshirt. Although Alexis had about fifty students each semester, she made it a point to memorize their names. Celia was one of those unspectacular students who turned in assignments on time but rarely made the leap from rote recitation to genuine insight.
“Hello, Celia. How are you?”
“Great. I didn’t know they let the scientists over on this part of campus. This is liberal-arts turf.”
“Some people would argue that neurobiology isn’t really a science.”
“Well, you’ve got a lab and stuff.”
Alexis smiled at the “stuff.” “As we come to understand more about the brain, the closer psychology edges toward science. Mood, disorder, and emotion are nothing more than various combinations of electrical impulses and chemical compounds.”
“You sound like Dr. Briggs.”
Alexis drew to a halt, spinning to face Celia and grab her forearm. “Briggs?”
Celia looked down at her flesh, where Alexis’s fingers pressed hard enough to create red rings. “Ow.”
“Sorry.” Alexis drew back, appalled. “I didn’t mean…are you talking about Sebastian Briggs?”
Celia nodded, eyes wide with a look Alexis realized was fear. “Yeah. I’m a volunteer in one of his research projects.”
“Briggs is here?” Alexis couldn’t believe it. She would have seen his name on the faculty roster, and he almost certainly would have been assigned to her department. Besides, Briggs had left UNC with a black mark on his record, and in academia, no administrator was willing to risk repeating a mistake. Especially one of the magnitude made by Briggs.
She had shared in that mistake, but her resume was spotless. However, the ledger in her memory bore a few smudges and eraser marks.
“He’s working under contract,” Celia said. “I drive over to RTP once a week. They pay us fifty dollars a session.”
So Briggs is working in private
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