February 2 - Virus

“Is that right?”

“I mean, I think so…”

Emily looked at the problem again.

“… well, I mean, I don’t know.  I’m not in this class, why are you asking me?”

“You’re smart.”

She grimaced.  “Yeah, maybe.  But either way, I’m not taking Microbes.  Why are you asking me?”

Because you’re hot. “Because you’re sitting here and my lab partner isn’t…”

“Thought so.”  She stood and squinted at Davis. “Anyway, you’re graphing natural growth, so it should obey a natural growth function.  Get back to me when you figure out what it is…”

v ¢ ¤ ¢ v

“You’re not seriously texting a girl about a class she’s not even taking?”

Davis looked up [Hey.  What about | ] “No.”

“Good.  Because that’s a stupid way to talk to a girl.”

[Hey. | ] “You’re probably right.“

“I am.  Still working on that virus?”

[ | ] “Yeah.”

“Good luck man.  I heard the professor’s a bitch.”

“Dr. Obreht’s not that bad.”

“Still, good luck…”

v ¢ ¤ ¢ v

Davis sat in his carrel, staring dumbly at the data.  The virus confounded him. Fuck this class.  You’re a senior.  Fuck.  This.  Class.  He stared at the data.  Thunk.  He stared at the grain of the carrel.  Fuck this.  He dug into his pocket for his phone.

[Hey.  Where are you?]

[Library.]

[Come Outside!]

[Cant.]

[You’re no fun :)]

[I have to figure this out for Dr. O.]

[kk.  good luck]

[:) thanks]

[Text when senioritis gets the better of you?]

[haha Sure]

A girl is texting you.  A hot girl.  Go outside.

His stomach grumbled.  His bony fingers returned to the keyboard of his MacBook.

Is this really taking precedence?

“Yes”

You realize you’re not talking to anyone, right?

“Yes”

You realize you probably look like a schizo?

“… Probably.” He ran his fingers through his hair.

“Shouldn’t this eventually make sense?”

No.

“Well, you’re a downer.”

I’m you.

He sighed.

Fine, try a different function.  Maybe this virus is different…

v ¢ ¤ ¢ v

“Have you made any progress Davis?”

“No.”

Dr. Obreht looked at him over her glasses.  He cringed.  Buttoning and rebuttoning her lab coat, she walked over to the other researchers. Davis crumpled a little.  He had been accepted last minute into the Microbes class and everyone had been surprised, and rightly so, when he was granted a spot on the Doctor’s research team.  She was a severe woman and intolerant of other’s mistakes.  Davis was a skinny, nervous senior who made an awful lot of mistakes.  And this was probably the last straw.  The other students looked over their shoulders and shook their heads… at least they seemed to. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being looked at.  He returned to the data graph.   

“I need a better function.”

How are you going to come up with that?

“I have no idea.”

“Who are you talking to?” asked Elizabeth

She sat down next to him.

“No one.  Myself.”

She smiled and wrinkled her nose. “No worries.  How’s our data coming along?”

He grimaced.  “I can’t make sense of it.  It doesn’t look like anything we’ve learned about.”

“No?  Hmm.”  She looked again. “I think… you’re right.  Should we talk to the professor?”

“No.  Let’s get another set of data and see what happens.”

“Ok.”

v ¢ ¤ ¢ v

“This is wrong.” Dr. Obreht looked down her nose at Davis and Elizabeth after glancing at their data. “This does not happen.  This kind of data would indicate a killer.  An unequivocal killer.”

You shouldn’t have taken that last set of data.

“I know it looks irregular…”

“Irregular doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

“… but that’s what we collected.”

“I don’t believe you.  Davis, I run a serious research facility; if you tamper with the data, I get in trouble.”

And if she gets in trouble, guess what happens to you.  You. Are. Fucked.

“SHUT UP!” he roared

Elizabeth and Dr. Obreht started back.

“Davis, who are you talking to?”  asked Elizabeth quietly.

“No one.  Myself…”

v ¢ ¤ ¢ v

“Can we tell what’s wrong with him?”

Davis paced back and forth in the hospital room.  He had been sealed in two days ago and hadn’t heard anything from the outside since. 

“No.”

Dr. Obreht looked at Davis’s data again.  The graph still didn’t make sense.  No one could make any projections about the progression of the disease.  Davis kept pacing.  Elizabeth dug into her pocket and pulled out his phone.

[Hey.  I think I may have found the right function. 

Text if you still want it.]

[Sorry, who is this?]

[Emily, silly.]

[Sorry.  No name came up.]

[Who’s this?]

[Elizabeth. Davis’s lab partner.]

[Oh.  Can you give his phone to him?]

[No]

[Why not?]

[He’s sick. He’s in isolation.]

[With what?]

[His virus.  We haven’t named it yet.]

[I’ll be right over with the formula]