Free Degrees of Wrong by Anna Scarlett Page A

about?” she exploded when they were out of sight. She leaned close, violating both my privacy and my personal space with the act.
    I hunched over my tray defensively, feeling the need to protect something from her. I shrugged. “I was just being polite. I thought he nodded at me.”
    She studied my expression, trying to determine my innermost secrets—at least, that was how I felt. “He was nodding at you,” she assured me. “But why?”
    Good question, snippet . “Honestly, I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since my first day here. And he wasn’t very happy with me at that point.”
    Stanley snickered again, and I wondered if the man knew how to be serious. His brown eyes bulged in barely suppressed laughter. I entertained the idea of pinching him, and then brooded over my recent tendency toward violence.
    “He seems happy enough with you now,” Ebony teased. Under the table, I tried to reach her with my foot. Success.
    “Ouch!” Stanley grunted. “What’d you do that for?” But he grinned.
    “Sorry.” I offered a sheepish smile. Ebony laughed, knowing she was my intended target. I refrained—with great effort—from looking under the table. I would sit closer to her tomorrow.
    “Are you sure you haven’t spoken to him since then?” Liz continued. I felt like she was writing an article for a tabloid. I wanted to reiterate that I hadn’t even seen him since that day, let alone spoken to or thought about him. Well, that last part was untrue—I thought about choking him once. Well, twice, if you count dreaming about it. Oh, and all those times I thought about thanking him. Plus that other time…
    She bombarded me with the same questions, only asked in different ways. I told her exactly what I knew—nothing. Lunch ended with both of us grimacing in frustration. She was sure I was hiding something, and I was sure she was a lunatic.
    That she considered a polite acknowledgement between two almost-strangers a bona fide reason for a military-style interrogation confirmed that she was an open-and-shut case for the mental ward. I’d sign off on it as a physician any day of the week. In fact, the next time I was alone in the elevator, I would demand that it take me to the psychiatric unit, just to see if the Bellator housed one. A doctor could never be too prepared.
    Needless to say, I returned to Dr. Folsom in dark spirits.
    “I hope it’s nothing I’ve done.” She laughed from her desk.
    I combed through a drawer for my chocolate stash. “I just don’t like to be the center of attention all the time. You’d think enough time has passed since that first day.” I shoved the candy in my mouth and reached for another piece.
    Dr. Folsom raised a brow. “They have support groups for that, you know,” she teased. I emitted a dirty look in her direction, slammed the drawer shut and resolved to chew the candy slower this time.
    “I’m just so frustrated,” I whined. “I feel like my research is going nowhere. Every test ends in failure. I’m missing something vital.”
    The HTN4 perplexed me. Its unprecedented ability to reproduce after it infiltrated its host’s cells ensured death would come within forty-eight hours. Nothing I’d done so far could prevent it, nor reverse the effects after infection. Not to mention only part of my research could be salvaged from my laptop, the rest of it—most of it—having been counted among the casualties of that day. The loss of my father’s laptop almost eclipsed the loss of data—almost. Against all these factors, I felt like a flag flying at half-mast—sympathetic, but useless.
    Dr. Folsom frowned. She was about to say something, but the lab door opened. Captain Marek materialized at the threshold and greeted Dr. Folsom with a smile. I was shocked that his mouth was capable of the task. And it was so much more than capable—it was downright good at it. It wasn’t a smile of toleration, like the one he gave Lt. Sheldon in the mess hall. It was a