Free Anthem's Fall by S.L. Dunn

called him into his office after midterms. Professor Hilton expressed his disapproval toward what he, not so tactfully, referred to as Ryan’s “overly simplistic” perspectives. Realism and rationality , he had emphasized, were too often missing from Ryan’s main arguments. Ryan guessed the short stack of papers he had in his bag would not prove to be a trend breaker.
    “I tend to adhere loosely to the guidelines of an assignment.”
    “That must do wonders for your GPA,” Kristen said with a laugh. “In my little experience with humanities class requirements, I’ve found writing what the person grading your work wants to read makes both of your lives much easier.”
    “Yeah, I know,” Ryan sighed. “But writing something I don’t really believe seems counterproductive to the purpose of a higher education. Besides, if the professor only gives high grades to people who write what he wants them to say, that makes him the stubborn one.”
    “You’re the one that just out debated a lobbyist, I’m certainly not going to challenge you.”
    Ryan glanced down at her and smiled discretely to himself. He noticed now she had a Vatruvian cell security badge clipped to her slender waist. Her awkwardly smiling photo on the badge looked humorously young. It seemed impossible to Ryan that someone with the obvious intellect and attractiveness of this young woman could be without the slightest hint of pretension. He found himself intrigued, perhaps even mesmerized by her lack of conceit. Stealing an extended look at the teenaged Kristen Jordan smiling clumsily up at him from the laminate, Ryan felt an odd connection to her. This unassuming girl was undeniably one of the most brilliant people in the entire university—in the nation. She was an actual Vatruvian cell researcher.
    They strolled into one of Columbia’s older dining halls. Long rows of worn cafeteria tables and service counters were packed with students waiting in line or helping themselves to an uninspired salad bar. Ryan and Kristen made their way to the coffee dispensers and poured steaming French roast into styrofoam cups.
    “Second cup of the day for me,” Kristen said, mixing some skim milk into her cup and reading fall announcements on the nearby bulletin board. “I’m averaging over three cups these days.”
    Ryan shrugged. “Better than an Adderall addiction.”
    “Ha,” Kristen laughed aloud. “Too true.”
    “Ryan! Hey, Ryan!”
    Ryan turned around to see his friend Tim Richard. Tim was in several of Ryan’s freshman-year courses. They shared a European History class on Friday mornings, and swapped notes when either of them missed one of the early morning lectures. Tim played rugby.
    “This is the guy I was telling you about,” Tim said to his tablemates. They were all thick-shouldered and bruise-covered rugby players. “When are we going to get you to come out to some practices?”
    Ryan shook his head, putting a lid on his coffee cup. “Yeah, right. I’ve seen some of your injuries—no, thanks. How is your lip healing by the way?”
    “Please,” Tim said. “They sewed it back up fine. Fifteen stitches.”
    “Yeah, sorry. I’m all set.”
    Tim’s teammates vocalized disapproval, and Tim talked through a mouthful of tuna sandwich. “Are you sure that’s the reason, and not that our practices would interfere with your nerd club meetings?”
    “It’s the debate team, don’t disrespect. Broken lips heal quick—a broken ego doesn’t.”
    “Whatever, man.” Tim waved a dismissive hand. “I know you’ll come around eventually. See you in class tomorrow?”
    “For sure,” Ryan nodded. “I’ve got to run though.”
    Tim’s gaze hesitated for a moment on Kristen. He nodded to Ryan with a conspicuous thumbs-up before turning back to his friends. Ryan pretended not to see the gesture, and he perceived that Kristen did the same.
    “Sorry,” Ryan said. “Tact isn’t really his strong suit.”
    “No worries.” Kristen