The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

“No.” She winced.
“Is it the public-speaking thing?”
He’d remembered. Of course he had. “Yeah. It will be
awful.”
Adam stared at her and said nothing. Not that it would be
fine, not that the talk would go smoothly, not that she was
overreacting and underselling a fantastic opportunity. His calm
acceptance of her anxiety had the exact opposite effect of Dr.
Aslan’s enthusiasm: it relaxed her.
“When I was in my third year of grad school,” he said
quietly, “my adviser sent me to give a faculty symposium in
his stead. He told me only two days before, without any slides
or a script. Just the title of the talk.”
“Wow.” Olive tried to imagine what that would have felt
like, being expected to perform something so daunting with so
little forewarning. At the same time, part of her marveled at
Adam self-disclosing something without being asked a direct
question. “Why did he do that?”
“Who knows?” He tilted his head back, staring at a spot
above her head. His tone held a trace of bitterness. “Because
he had an emergency. Because he thought it’d be a formative
experience. Because he could.”
Olive just bet that he could. She didn’t know Adam’s
former adviser, but academia was very much an old boys’
club, where those who held the power liked to take advantage
of those who didn’t without repercussions.
“Was it? A formative experience?”
He shrugged again. “As much as anything that keeps you
awake in a panic for forty-eight hours straight can be.”
Olive smiled. “And how did you do?”