Page 113 - The Love Hypothesis

big as his he probably got about thirty new emails every minute. Truth was,

she didn’t even know that he owned a cell phone. Maybe he was a weird
modern-day hippie and hated technology. Maybe he’d given her his office
landline number, and that’s why he’d told her to call him. Maybe he didn’t

know how to text, which meant that Olive was never going to get an answer
from—

Her palm vibrated.

Adam: Olive?
It occurred to her that when Adam had given her his number, she’d
neglected to give hers in return. Which meant that he had no way of

knowing who was texting him now, and the fact that he’d guessed correctly
revealed an almost preternatural intuition.

Damn him.

Olive: Yup. Me.

Olive: Did you fail Greg Cohen? I ran into him after his meeting.

He was very upset.
At me. Because of you. Because of this stupid thing we’re doing.
There was a pause of a minute or so, in which, Olive reflected, Adam

might very well be cackling evilly at the idea of all the pain he’d caused
Greg. Then he answered:

Adam: I can’t discuss other grads’ dissertation meetings with

you.
Olive sighed, exchanging a loaded look with the stuffed fox Malcolm
had gotten her for passing her qualifying examinations.

Olive: I’m not asking you to tell me anything. Greg already told

me. Not to mention that I’m the one taking the heat for it, since I’m

your girlfriend.
Olive: ”Girlfriend.”
Three dots appeared at the bottom of her screen. Then they disappeared,

and then they appeared again, and then, finally, Olive’s phone vibrated.

Adam: Committees don’t fail students. They fail their proposals.
She snorted, half wishing he could hear her.