Page 130 - The Love Hypothesis

Chapter Eight

HYPOTHESIS: On a Likert scale ranging from one to ten, Jeremy’s timing
will be negative fifty, with a standard error of the mean of zero point two.

Number thirty-seven—salt-and-vinegar potato chips—was sold out. It was
frankly inexplicable: Olive had come in at 8:00 p.m., and there had been at
least one bag left in the break room’s vending machine. She distinctly

remembered patting the back pocket of her jeans for quarters, and the
feeling of triumph at finding exactly four. She recalled looking forward to

that moment, approximately two hours later, by which time she estimated
that she’d have completed exactly a third of her work and would thus be

able to reward herself with the indisputable best among the snacks that the
fourth floor had to offer. Except that the moment had come, and there were

no chips left. Which was a problem, because Olive had already inserted her
precious quarters inside the coin slot, and she was very hungry.
She selected number twenty-four (Twix)—which was okay, though not

her favorite by a long shot—and listened to its dull, disappointing thud as it
fell to the bottom shelf. Then she bent to pick it up, staring wistfully at the

way the gold wrapper shined in her palm.
“I wish you were salt-and-vinegar chips,” she whispered at it, a trace of
resentment in her voice.

“Here.”
“Aaah!” She startled and instantly turned around, hands in front of her

body and ready to defend—possibly even to attack. But the only person in