Free Grey Matters by Clea Simon

chestnut hair falling across her face. ‘Pleased to meet you, Lloyd.’ She took his hand, and Dulcie noticed the shimmer of pearl polish on her tapered fingers. ‘Don’t you work with Professor Bullock?’
    ‘Oh, y-yes!’ Lloyd almost stuttered, and Dulcie was amused to hear her colleague’s old speech defect – gone for years – reawakened by the presence of this girl.
    ‘We should talk sometime,’ the undergrad was saying. Lloyd stood transfixed, as Dulcie reached for her coat.
    ‘Anyway, Raleigh, why don’t we go grab some coffee?’ She ushered the willowy girl out in front of her. Turning back, she raised her eyebrows at Lloyd. ‘Back to work, Lloyd,’ she stage whispered. She’d been about to add something more. Something about how maybe the tired-looking scholar should try to finish by midnight for a change. Should maybe come out with his fellow students for some beer and socializing once in a while. But the look on his pale face stopped her. She’d expected him to look smitten. Shocked, maybe, or awed. What she saw was fear.

TEN
    W hatever was going on with Lloyd, however, was none of Raleigh Hall’s business, and Dulcie hurried the undergrad out of the Commons and into the bright, cold day.
    ‘Kate’s?’ she suggested. The coffeehouse wouldn’t be too crowded in the middle of the day and it was only half a block from Harvard Yard.
    Raleigh nodded and buttoned up her coat. ‘I’m really glad you could see me so soon.’
    ‘Hey, that’s my job.’ Dulcie put on her warmest smile as she looked up at Raleigh. Maybe the pretty young student had an undergraduate’s nerves after all. ‘To help you get your thesis done.’
    ‘Well, I’m glad.’ The taller girl’s longer legs had Dulcie scrambling to keep up, but when she saw Dulcie puffing she paused. For a moment, they both looked in a store window. High-end knits, imported and dyed into a rainbow of hues. But even as Dulcie pulled her own rather scratchy hat down over her ears, she realized the younger woman was still talking. ‘Because, you see, I want to get my first draft finished in time for my sponsors to read. I’ve submitted a chapter as an essay to the Modern Languages Review , and I believe I’m a strong candidate for the Krullworth Prize, and you know how political that can be.’
    Dulcie made herself close her mouth. Publication in the Review was usually reserved for graduate students or post-grads, an honor that almost guaranteed a fellowship – if not the offer of a teaching job. And the Krullworth Prize was the most prestigious award given to undergraduates. ‘You know that students in all disciplines will be competing for the Krullworth?’ she managed to say. ‘Not just English.’
    They were walking side by side through the Yard now, the bright sun occasionally broken by the shadows of the bare trees around them. Raleigh had once again pulled ahead, but Dulcie had the distinct impression that the younger woman had rolled her eyes.
    ‘I’m fully aware of the competition for the Krullworth.’ The younger girl turned to glance down at Dulcie. ‘But I also know that the last two have gone to abstract mathematics and paleophysiology. So Cam and I knew that this year the judges would want to consider the humanities.’
    ‘Cam?’ It just slipped out.
    ‘Cameron. You know, my thesis adviser?’
    ‘Ex-thesis adviser,’ Dulcie muttered. Her colleague’s face flashed into her mind. Not as he had been: handsome, and, yes, a bit manipulative. But cold and white, with that smudge of dirt and blood on his face. ‘But wait.’ She shook her head to clear it and nearly sent her hat flying. ‘This year? What do you mean?’
    The younger woman looked over, her eyes wide. ‘I took two semesters off, didn’t it say in my files?’
    Dulcie shook her head. They’d reached Mass Ave and stood, waiting, while a crowd of Japanese tourists piled into a bus. ‘I haven’t had a chance to read your file yet. I’m