The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

In the back seat Olive and Jeremy exchanged a resigned
look, well acquainted with Anh’s sunscreen obsession.
The picnic was in full swing when they finally arrived, as
crowded as most academic events with free food. Olive made
a beeline for the tables and waved at Dr. Aslan, who was
sitting in the shade of a giant oak with other faculty members.
Dr. Aslan waved back, no doubt pleased to note that her
authority extended to commandeering her grads’ free time on
top of the eighty hours a week they already spent in the lab.
Olive smiled weakly in a valiant attempt not to look resentful,
grabbed a cluster of white grapes, and popped one into her
mouth while letting her gaze wander around the fields.
Anh was right. This September was uncommonly hot.
There were people everywhere, sitting on the lawn chairs,
lying down in the grass, walking in and out of the barns—all
enjoying the weather. A few were eating from plastic plates on
folding tables close to the main house, and 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?”