Page 118 - The Love Hypothesis

there were at least three games going on—a version of volleyball with the

players standing in a circle, a soccer match, and something that involved a
Frisbee and over a dozen half-dressed dudes.
“What are they even playing?” Olive asked Anh. She spotted Dr.

Rodrigues tackle someone from immunology and looked back to the almost
empty tables, cringing. Slim pickings was all that was left. Olive wanted a

sandwich. A bag of chips. Anything.
“Ultimate Frisbee, I think? I don’t know. Did you put on sunblock?

You’re wearing a tank top and shorts, so you really should.”
Olive bit into another grape. “You Americans and your fake sports.”

“I’m pretty sure there are Canadian tournaments of Ultimate Frisbee,
too. You know what’s not fake?”
“What?”

“Melanoma. Put on some sunscreen.”
“I will, Mom.” Olive smiled. “Can I eat first?”

“Eat what? There’s nothing left. Oh, there’s some corn bread over
there.”

“Oh, cool. Pass it over.”
“Don’t eat the corn bread, guys.” Jeremy’s head popped up between

Olive and Anh. “Jess said that a pharmacology first-year sneezed all over it.
Where did Malcolm go?”
“Parking— Holy. Shit.”

Olive looked up from her perusal of the table, alarmed by the urgency in
Anh’s tone. “What?”

“Just, holy shit.”
“Yeah, what—”

“Holy shit.”
“You mentioned that already.”

“Because—holy shit.”
She glanced around, trying to figure out what was going on. “What is—
Oh, there’s Malcolm. Maybe he found something to eat?”

“Is that Carlsen?”