Love Over Matter by Maggie Bloom

along so I can appreciate the
full biography we’re viewing. “And look: he’s got like seven or
eight books published—and a bunch of research articles
too.”
    I always knew George was smart; I just
never expected this. “Wow,” is all I can say.
    “ So what do you want to
do?” Ian asks.
    “ How much time do we
have?”
    “ Until?”
    I’m lucky my parents bought the excuse
Rosie cooked up yesterday. They may not be so receptive next time.
“It’s pretty close to here, right?” I ask about Columbia. “I mean,
I’m sure I spotted a couple of signs during our drive.”
    “ If you give me ten
minutes, I can Mapquest it. Or we can just use the GPS.”
    Haley and Opal wander in and flop down
on a frilly daybed tucked against the wall. “When are we leaving?”
my sister asks, her tone a cross between bored and
annoyed.
    My eyes dart for the door. “Shh!
Someone might hear you.”
    “ They know we’re leaving,”
she shoots back. “Sheesh.”
    “ Don’t be rude, Haley,” I
say.
    Ian fiddles with the keyboard for
another minute, a number of the keycaps stuck or outright missing.
“Is Rosie okay?” he asks absently.
    “ Sure,” Opal
replies.
    As if on cue, Rosie flits into the
office, looking dewy and refreshed. “What?” she says, noticing our
overt stares.
    “ We’re gonna get out of
here soon,” I inform her, “so we can try to find George’s father
before we have to head home.”
    She bites her lip. “I should probably
call your parents again, don’t you think?”
    Haley twirls her hair, blows a giant
bubble. (Where did she get that gum?)
    “ I wouldn’t,” I
say.
    A clip-clop sound echoes
through the hallway. I turn, expecting Mr. Rabinski, but instead
Eleanor peeks in. “Anything I can do for you before my walk?” she
asks. We murmur a round of thanks but no
thanks . She gives us a broad, jolly smile,
her eyes crinkling at the edges. “I left a pitcher of tea on the
counter. You’re welcome to it. If I don’t see you again, it was
nice meeting you all. And good luck with your search.” With a flap
of her arm, she exits, stage left.
    Ian powers the computer down, and the
five of us traipse off to the living room, where Mr. Rabinski is
hard at work solving the Jumble, the daily newspaper folded neatly
on a tray table in front of him. “You find what you were looking
for?” he asks, a pair of wire-rimmed glasses poised to coast off
the tip of his nose.
    “ Yup,” says Ian. “All
set.”
    A brief silence ensues. “So
. . . I guess we’ll be going now,” I say. I clear my
throat. “Thanks for everything. We really appreciate
it.”
    At once, Haley and Opal confirm,
“Yeah.”
    “ Whatever you do,”
instructs Mr. Rabinski, “stay mum about the Russians.” He makes a
twisting gesture across his lips. “The less anyone knows the
better.”
    I’m figuring that if Dr.
Smullen knows anything about George, he’s also in on the whole spy
caper thing (maybe not in on it, in on it—but at least marginally aware). “Will
do,” I agree.
    Rosie takes the lead out the door,
followed closely by Opal and Haley. Ian and I linger a bit longer,
exchanging uneasy glances until finally I say, “Okay, well
. . . see ya.”
    Mr. Rabinski simply grunts in
reply.
    * * *
    The toughest thing about sneaking into
Columbia was the parking—or lack thereof. “I’d better not get
towed,” Rosie says, throwing an anxious glance at the Bunny Mobile,
which is parked inches off the bumper of an armored vehicle, within
the buffer normally allotted to a fire hydrant.
    “ You should be fine,” says
Ian, clapping a reassuring hand over her shoulder. Strangely
enough, she doesn’t flinch.
    Following a vigorous jaunt, we come
upon a maze of gorgeous stone buildings sending Columbia hopefuls
in conflicting directions. “Okay, what now?” asks Haley.
    I turn to Rosie, the only one among us
with real-life college expertise. “Let’s just find the anthropology
building,” she says, sounding