Page 37 of Grave Matter

He shrugs, cheeks dimpled.

“Sorry I’m late,” a breathless voice says. Dr. Janet Wu appears from behind us with her key card in hand, her white lab coat flapping around her. “Had a minor emergency in the propagation lab.”

She’s petite, young, and pretty, with delicate bones and square glasses perched on the end of her nose, her long black hair glossy in the faint morning sunlight. She gives everyone anapologetic smile as she passes, though she visibly stiffens when she sees me.

I don’t blame her—I am a hot mess this morning.

I’m exhausted, as usual, despite eating my entire bowl of oatmeal at breakfast, my muscles feeling limp and sore, probably from the hike into the woods, not to mention a bruised ass and head from when I fell. Plus, the arm that got the shots won’t stop aching. I couldn’t sleep on the side I normally do.

I also wouldn’t be surprised if she heard on the grapevine about my encounter with the wolf. I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as doctor-patient confidentiality here. My rejection sensitivity dysphoria usually kicks into high gear because I have this ability to assume that everyone hates me deep down, but lately, I think I’m giving people reasons to look at me askew.

Once the door is open, we all pile inside. The lab is a lot smaller than I thought, with a door at the other end that doesn’t seem like it leads outside, considering the size of the building. It reminds me of the labs at Stanford, purposed for learning more than doing anything.

Dr. Wu flicks on the lights and tells us all to grab a seat. Chairs are stationed along the counters that line half the room, microscopes, test tubes, scanners, and IVD instruments interspersed.

I sit down next to Lauren, one of the few seats that have a window. It’s only now that I realize the windows are one-way since I could never see inside the building.

Dr. Wu stands at the front of the room in front of a whiteboard that bears the ghostly scribbles of markers from the past.

“This is MiSeq, the DNA sequencer,” she says, patting the machine beside her. “I know this machine better than I know my own husband. Just kidding. I don’t have a husband.”

Some of us laugh at her cute yet awkward humor, yet as I look around, I realize this isn’t actuallythelab. It’s just a learning lab. It’s just for us. The real work of the Madrona Foundation must be done elsewhere.

To say I’m disappointed is an understatement.

It’s while I’m looking around the room that I catch Clayton’s eyes. He looks worse for wear, and he gives me a look that saysI told you so.

I quickly look away, trying to focus on Dr. Wu instead.

“I’m really excited to be teaching the lab this year,” she says, pressing her palms together. She’s so soft-spoken and genuine that I really like her, and I have a pressing need for her to like me. I guess I’ll have to be an exemplary student.

She starts talking about her role at the foundation, how long she’s been working here, and the current advancements they’ve made withAmanita excandescoand neurology.

“As you all know,” she continues, focusing on a space on the wall behind us, “a variety of N-methyl-D-aspartate receptor antagonists havebeen able to halt stroke and traumatic brain injuries. When we discoveredAmanita excandesco, we found it had similar properties toHericium erinaceus.With the proper sequencing, we were able to isolate cyathin diterpenoids that showed biological activities as stimulators of NGF synthesis. In rats, at first, but eventually pigs and goats.”

She then goes on to tell us about how they foundexcandescocan cross the blood-brain barrier, going where lion’s mane can’t, and that the research they’ve done has built upon this, trying to figure out if simple supplements of their fungi can actually start either reversing inflammation in the brain or preventing it.

Suddenly, Dr. Wu trails off. She looks down at the floor, and her lower lip starts to tremble. “Then we…” she begins, her voice cracking. “Then Madrona Pharmaceuticals brought the funds and the equipment to…”

She covers her face with her hands.

Everyone in the class exchanges awhat the fuckglance, not sure what to do.

Dr. Wu lifts up her head, tears streaming beneath her glasses. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”

She turns and hurries out of the classroom, slamming the door behind her.

The fuck?

“What the hell was that?” Lauren asks. “Oh no. Do you think maybe shedidhave a husband, and now her husband is dead?”

But I’m barely listening to her.

I’m looking at Clayton.

He’s smiling at me.

My stomach clenches.

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