Love, Theoretically by Ali Hazelwood

            “Stunning, right?”

            “A masterpiece. Despite Jack’s commentary on the predictability of the ‘evil space Siri’s’ arc.”

            He lifts one eyebrow. “I got bored.”

            “You always get bored at the movies.” She presses her shoulder against his. “I have to confiscate his phone and poke him awake.”

            “Because you always take me to see boring movies.”

            She pinches his arm through the coat. “If it were up to you, we’d only watch Jackass.”

            “It was once.”

            “Once too many.”

            He shrugs, unbothered. I cannot stop looking at the two of them framed by the snowflakes. The easy banter. Jack’s obvious affection. The woman’s fingers, still around his sleeve. Something slimy and cold presses behind my sternum.

            “So,” Cece butts in, “how do you guys know Elsie?”

            “I don’t, actually,” the woman says with a curious look at Jack. “How do you know Elsie, Jack?”

            His eyes are fixed on me again. “She dated my brother. Among . . . other things.”

            The atmosphere changes instantly. The air was already icy, dense with the promise of snowstorms, but the temperature drops colder as people parse the meaning of Jack’s words.

            First there’s Cece, who knows that I don’t date, not for real, and is putting together where she last heard the name Jack. She scowls and takes a protective step closer, ready to defend me against my most recent archenemy, kitten-hissing-at-a-bison style.

            And then there’s the woman. Her expression morphs, too, into something knowing and intrigued. “You’re Greg’s girlfriend. That Elsie.” She looks between me and Jack once, twice, and then holds her hand out to me. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s really nice to meet you. I’m George.”

            My brain halts.

            “Well, Georgina. Sepulveda. But please, call me George.” Her smile is warm and welcoming, as though I’m a dear friend of Jack’s whom she’s been dying to meet.

            “Georgina Sepulveda,” I mouth, barely audible. The name unlocks a drawer in my brain, full of scientific papers, TED Talks, conference addresses. Georgina Sepulveda, young physics hotshot. I’m a fan of her work. She doesn’t look familiar—she is.

            “Yup, that’s me.” Her hand is still outstretched. I should take it. “I work with Jack.”

            “George,” Jack warns.

            “Okay, technically not yet. But I’ll start at MIT next year. What? Come on, Jack. I got the formal offer, sent back the signed contract this morning. I can tell people.” She gives me a conspiratorial look. My stomach churns. “You’re a librarian, right? I love libraries.”

            Next to me, Cece sucks in a breath. Meanwhile, I nod. It must be an automatic reaction, because all my neural cells are busy, sluggishly processing what I just heard.

            Georgina.

            George.

            MIT.

            Formal offer.

            No. No, no, no. There is lead in my belly. Blood thumps in my ears, and—

            I take a step back, and for a split second my mind skitters to a place far away: my apartment. The computer I left on the bed. The half-written manuscript on it—the one I was finally going to finish when I got the MIT job.

            But I didn’t get it. George did, George who’s with Jack, and it’s over.

            I gave it my all, and it wasn’t enough.

            “Elsie,” Jack starts. He must have moved, because George and Cece have disappeared behind him. His throat bobs. “Unsuccessful candidates are not notified until all paperwork is complete.”

            I shake my head and he falls silent. His eyes are full of compassion, of sincere, heartbreaking sorrow. I cannot bear to watch it.