Page 32 of The Charlie Method

Will snickers under his breath. “That was truly brave of him to switch lab partners right before midterms, knowing it would leave you devastated.”

“Heartbroken.”

We’re starting a new unit today. Monica emailed us the experiment instructions this weekend, and it sounds straightforward enough. We’re supposed to create a tissue scaffold and determine its ability to support cell growth.

I give Will a stern look. “This is your first test.”

“What am I being tested on?”

“How well you follow instructions. And whether you love my jokes.”

“Loving your jokes is a requirement?”

“To being a good lab partner, yes.”

We organize our supplies and go over the experiment. The first order of business is to prep the polymer solution needed to create the scaffold.

“Want to take the lead?” I offer.

He narrows his eyes. “Is this another test?”

“Obviously. Don’t screw this up.”

“But no pressure, right?”

Grinning, he pours the solution into the scaffold molds, which are going to be placed in a controlled environment where they can solidify and form the scaffold.

“Hey, Will,” I say as I watch him pour. He has steady hands. I like that. “What did the biologists name their son?”

“I don’t know, what?”

“Gene!” I’m unable to contain my laughter.

He groans, but when he lifts his gaze, I don’t miss the smile that’s crept onto his face. “That was terrible.”

“You entered into a formal agreement to love my jokes,” I remind him.

“I propose we amend the phrasing oflovetotolerate.”

“Motion denied.”

He returns to concentrating on the task at hand. When I hear my phone buzz in my bag, hope explodes inside me. IknewI’d get a message from him today.

Noting that Will has everything under control, I fish out my phone and check the alert.

My excitement dissolves.

It’s not from BioRoots.

Once again, disappointment flutters through me, but it’s not as crushing as before because the notification is another I’ve been awaiting. A message from one half of my abs sandwich. I think about this chat so often, it’s starting to get embarrassing.

LARS & B:

Hit us up later tonight if you’re around—B

My heart does a teeny flip. I’ve still only spoken to B, who told me he’s the one with the blond hair and gray sweatpants. Which feels all wrong, because Lars fits the blond bill better with his Swedish name.

Then again, who’s to say B doesn’t have a Swedish name as well? Ooh! Like Bjorn.

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