Page 61 of Pucking My Grumpy Roommate
“Dr. Ellis,” she said, gesturing to the podium. “Whenever you’re ready.”
I took a deep breath, connected my laptop, and launched into my presentation on novel approaches to combating antibiotic-resistant bacteria. The first minute was shaky, my voice betraying my nerves, but then something clicked. The same passion that drove me to spend countless hours in the lab took over, and suddenly I wasn’t nervous anymore—I was excited to share what I’d discovered.
“The key innovation in our approach,” I explained, advancing to my favorite slide showing the molecular structure of my enzyme complex, “is the specificity of the ZR-47 compound. Unlike conventional antibiotics, it doesn’t create selective pressure for resistance. Instead, it prevents the bacteria from sharing their resistance genes in the first place.”
Dr. Chen raised his hand. “What about toxicity concerns? Previous attempts at disrupting bacterial conjugation have shown problematic side effects.”
I smiled, grateful he’d asked exactly what I’d prepared for. “Excellent question. Our compound shows remarkable selectivity. In vitro testing with human cell lines shows minimal cytotoxicity even at concentrations five times the therapeutic threshold.”
The questions kept coming, each one more challenging than the last, but I was ready. For every concern, I had data. For every skeptical eyebrow, I had evidence. By the time I reached my conclusion, I felt more alive than I had in months.
“In summary,” I said, displaying my final slide, “this approach offers a fundamentally new direction in addressing the antibiotic resistance crisis—not by developing stronger antibiotics, but by preventing bacteria from becoming resistant in the first place. Thank you for your attention.”
A moment of silence followed, then something I never expected—applause. Actual, enthusiastic applause from some of the most critical minds in microbiology.
Dr. Barnes stood, adjusting her glasses. “Dr. Ellis, your work represents a significant step forward in our department’s research portfolio. We’ll need to discuss accelerating the timeline for publication.”
My heart soared. Coming from Dr. Barnes, this was the equivalent of throwing confetti and popping champagne.
“I’d be happy to draft a manuscript immediately,” I replied, trying to keep my voice professionally measured despite wanting to jump up and down like a child.
“See that you do.” She nodded. “This work deservesprominence in a top-tier journal. We should aim forNew England Journal of MedicineorNature.”
The rest of the session passed in a blur. Colleagues congratulated me, offered collaborations, asked in-depth questions that showed they took my research seriously. By the time I left the building, I felt like I was floating.
I practically skipped back to the apartment, too excited to wait for a rideshare. The crisp Minneapolis air couldn’t cool my flushed cheeks or dampen my excitement. I needed to tell Austin everything, to see his face when I told him about Dr. Barnes suggestingNature.
When I burst through the door, I was hit with the scent of something delicious. The lights were dimmed, and soft music played in the background. Austin appeared from the kitchen, a dish towel slung over his shoulder and a smile that made my heart flip.
“How’d it go, superstar?” he asked, pulling me into a hug.
I melted against his chest. “They loved it. Like, actually loved it. Dr. Barnes wants me to publish inNature.”
Austin pulled back, his blue eyes bright with pride. “I knew you’d nail it.” He gestured toward the dining area, where he’d set the table with actual cloth napkins. “I figured you deserved a celebration.”
My jaw dropped at the sight. A bottle of non-alcoholic champagne sat in an ice bucket. Beside it, containers of takeout from my favorite Thai place were artfully arranged on real plates, not the paper ones we usually used.
“You did all this for me?” I asked, my voice catching.
“Of course,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Your work matters. That makes it worth celebrating.”
I threw my arms around his neck, overwhelmed by this unexpected gesture. “Thank you. This is perfect.”
He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Tell me everything.”
We settled at the table, and I launched into a play-by-play of the presentation, including Dr. Chen’s questions and the moment when Dr. Barnes had actually smiled—a rarer sight than a solar eclipse.
Austin popped the non-alcoholic champagne and poured us each a glass. “To Dr. Kate Ellis,” he said, raising his flute. “Future savior of humanity from superbugs.”
I laughed, clinking my glass against his. “That’s a bit dramatic, but I’ll take it.”
Just as we were about to sip, my phone chimed with an email notification. I glanced at it reflexively, then froze.
“Kate? What’s wrong?” Austin asked, noticing my sudden tension.
“It’s a publication alert,” I whispered, setting down my untouched glass. “Liu’s lab at Johns Hopkins just published inCellon—” I swallowed hard, scanning the abstract with growing horror. “On bacterial conjugation inhibitors. They’ve been working on the same thing I have.”
“Is that...bad?” Austin asked cautiously.
