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Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

"This is where all your fellow students will be living," David says as we step onto the second floor landing. It's dark, despite it being daytime, with only a few sconces along the wood walls that emit a dim light along the hallway, six doors on either side with a couple at the very end. There's a creepy aspect here that I didn't expect, though it may have something to do with how unnerved I feel about my grandmother's photo.

You're imagining things , I tell myself. You know it didn't change. And even if it did, you probably selected that other picture by accident.

"And your room is right here," he says, pointing at the door right beside the stairs. A wooden plaque reads "Room One" in cursive above a carving of a madrona tree. "Showers are at the very end of the hall. There's also a shower in the floating lab for those who've been diving. Each room has its own sink and toilet though."

He takes out a pair of old-fashioned-looking keys, like the kind you see in a Gothic film, takes one off the ring, and hands it to me. "I know," he says, noting the wry look on my face, "but these rooms used to be for the cannery workers—why change the keys?"

I clear my throat, palming the key. "But you get to keep the other one?" I ask.

"We don't ever enter our students' rooms without their permission," he says with a slight smile. "But since keys are easy to lose, we like to hold on to one for safekeeping. Don't worry, when it comes to lab access, you'll have your own coded key card. We at least upped the tech in that department."

I should hope so , I think, taking the key and inserting it into the lock. It turns with a click that I find very satisfying.

I open the door and step inside. The room is small but cozy with a window overlooking a giant cedar, with glimpses of other buildings through the branches. On the walls, there's an oil painting of a starfish in a tidal pool on one side, a raven on a hemlock branch on the other. A large oak armoire sits across from a double bed with an embroidered red-and-black throw on top.

"Those are made by the Quatsino First Nations," David points out proudly. "The lodge borders onto their traditional territory, and we take great pride in our working relationship with them."

Uh-huh . He sounds like he's reading from a script. Generally, when corporations move on or next to native land, the local bands are the ones who end up getting screwed. I expect an institute like the Madrona Foundation, with all its money and research grants, isn't looking out for the indigenous people's best interests.

David's Apple Watch beeps, and he glances at it, frowning.

"If you'll excuse me, Sydney, I must go," he says, giving me a quick but flat smile. "Just make yourself at home. I'll go check on your bags and be back in a bit to continue the tour." He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, thrusting it into my hands. "Here's a map to help get you oriented. On the back is a copy of your weekly schedule, though some things are subject to change. And in the drawer of your side table is a watch. You'll need it."

Then he turns and strides out of the room, closing the door behind him.

I hold the map and stare at the door for a moment, surprised by his sudden departure. Then I pull open the drawer, taking out a plastic watch with the Madrona Foundation's logo on it. It's so cheap and basic that it doesn't allow for any alarms, which is going to be the bane of my existence, though at least there's an alarm clock by my bed.

I tuck the watch in my pocket and decide to use the washroom, barely enough room for a small sink and toilet. Above the toilet is a vintage embroidery of what looks like my favorite fungus, Omphalotus nidiformis , its outline done in a bright green as if to show that it has bioluminescence. I stare at it for a moment, strangely entranced. These mushrooms are better known as ghost mushrooms, but they aren't usually the subject of embroidery or art, and they definitely aren't endemic to this area. I wonder if when I filled out my application, I had answered a "what's your favorite fungus?" question and they tried to make the room as personalized as possible. If so, that was awfully nice of them.

I sit down on the toilet and unravel the map, but before I can study it, there's a knock at my door.

"Coming!" I yell, finishing up and washing my hands before stepping out into my room. I open the door to find a stunning woman, tall with long pale blonde hair, wearing a bright red rain jacket, her legging-clad legs thin and miles long, Burberry plaid boots on her feet.

She has my luggage with her.

"Hello," she says to me in one of those raspy, sultry voices that belongs on a noir femme fatale. "I have your luggage here." Her bright green eyes flick over me with a sense of expectation. I feel like I've seen her somewhere before.

"Hi. Yes, thank you. I should probably, uh, tip you," I say, rummaging into my messenger bag, knowing I don't have any loose bills in there.

"No need," the woman says, bringing my suitcase and duffel bag inside, her Pantene Pro-V commercial hair carrying a hint of jasmine. "I'm not the steward. I just saw the bags on the dock and figured they could use a hand."

I stare at her, unsure if her beauty is blinding me or if it's something else. "Where do I know you from?" I ask, then realize I said it out loud.

She stares at me for a moment, her expression strangely blank. Then she smiles again. "You've probably seen me on campus. Stanford, right? I've given more than a few talks to the biology department, though that's been on the doctoral level." She pauses. "You're doing your coterminal master's in biology, focus on neurobiology, isn't that right?"

I stare right back. "You work for Madrona."

"We all work for Madrona here," she says. "For the next sixteen weeks, so will you." She pauses and extends her hand, and I shake it. "I'm Everly. Dr. Everly Johnstone."

My hand goes weak in her grasp.

Dr. Everly Johnstone is a certified genius and the head of the Madrona Foundation. No wonder she seemed familiar. It was her father, Brandon Johnstone, who started the foundation back in the day.

"Of course," I say, feeling stupid and taking my hand back. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realize who you were."

She breaks into a wide grin, her teeth so white and perfect they have to be veneers. "Oh, that's perfectly fine. I don't expect people to know who I am. I like to linger in the shadows of my work."

"Even so, you're Dr. Johnstone," I say by way of apology. "I should have known." I've seen her on the occasional interview, even though she doesn't seem to do them as much these days. It's her father who gets more press time now since he started the offshoot company, Madrona Pharmaceuticals, leaving the foundation and its research to his daughter, or so I've read.

"Please," she says with an elegant wave of her hand. "Call me Everly. We're going to become a family here over the next while. I prefer a first-name basis."

"Sydney," I say, jerking an awkward thumb toward myself. "But you already knew that."

"I know everything about you, Ms. Denik," she says. "I'm the one who reviewed your application and approved you." Her gaze flicks over me for a moment, as if really seeing me for the first time, and her expression softens. "I'm really glad you're here, Sydney. You're quite a special girl."

I feel my cheeks go pink. I've never been one to handle any kind of sentimentality or compliments, and from the look on her face, it appears to be a mixture of both.

"I'm also glad to be here," I tell her. More than she knows. Especially when there's a chance this will all be taken from me at any moment.

I applied to the Madrona Foundation in January as part of my Senior Synthesis Capstone Project. The foundation regularly has internships for students during the summer months, so I decided to shoot my shot, even though I know that admittance is extremely competitive.

To my surprise, I was accepted. I knew my grades were good enough, I knew that the project I did last year with dark fungi had gotten a lot of attention in mycology circles, but honestly, anytime something goes well for me, I'm surprised, if not wary. Life has a way of conditioning you, and when you've gone to the school of hard knocks, you expect those knocks each time.

Once the shock wore off, I was more relieved than anything, especially since I would receive a stipend which would go a long way for me since room and board is included. In addition, I would help the researchers here in their quest to use fungi in neurological advancements. They'd already made promising strides in Alzheimer's treatment with a local, and previously unknown, fungus found on their grounds, and because Alzheimer's is so dear to my heart, I knew I could maybe make a difference here, if not produce something amazing for my capstone.

But then the knocks came, as they always do.

I fucked up.

I fucked up bigtime and made a huge mistake.

Self-sabotage has always been the name of my game.

And so, the day before yesterday, I received a phone call that I'd been dreading but knew was coming.

I'd lost my scholarship to Stanford.

Which meant I'm now unable to finish my senior year because I'm broke as fuck, and there's no way I can afford tuition.

But I sure as hell wasn't going to let this opportunity pass me by. I never got a chance to ask the administrator if that meant my internship at Madrona was called off, so I decided to chance it. And when I got my email from the airline yesterday, telling me to check in to my flight to Vancouver, I turned in my key to student housing, put the remainder of my belongings in my friend Chelsea's garage, and this morning picked up my bags and got on that flight.

Once I landed in Vancouver, I hurried to the seaplane terminal downtown, hoping and praying that I'd be allowed on board for the final journey to Madrona. The pilot asked if I was Sydney Denik, and then I got on that plane with the two staff members and Amani.

Somehow, by the skin of my teeth, I'm here.

I just don't know how long I have until someone figures it out. So far, neither David, Everly, nor the receptionist seem to think anything is off. Everyone has been treating me like I belong here. Maybe the department won't reach out to the foundation; maybe they'll be so glad to be rid of me that they'll purposely forget. Maybe because they already gave me my stipend in a lump sum, they can't recall it.

Or maybe the reason that David left the room so quickly is because he got a call from Stanford just now, and it's a matter of minutes before I have to face the humiliation of getting back on that seaplane.

The thought of it is like a fist over my lungs. True terror. Having a dream come true, getting just a taste of it, before having it all ripped away.

I've needed this win so badly.

Everly clears her throat, bringing my attention back to her, and nods at the map in my hands. "I know David has been called off somewhere, something to do with the solar farm. I'd be happy to take you on a tour. Did you want a chance to settle and put your things away first or?—?"

"No," I say quickly, sliding the map into the front pocket of my jeans. "I can do that later." If I've got the head of the foundation offering to show me around, I'm not going to pass that up. David was fine, if not a little strange, but Dr. Everly Johnstone is an icon.

"Alright," she says with another easy smile. "Let's go."

She opens the door and glances at me over her shoulder, waiting for me to follow.

I let out a shaking breath. Part of me, the part that can't stand to lie, wants to confess everything right now, just so I won't have it weighing on me while I'm here, just so I don't spend my days wondering when the rug will be pulled out from underneath me.

The other part of me wants to lie for as long as I'm able to, with the hopes that maybe, just maybe, even if they find out what happened, I'll be able to convince them to let me stay.

So I manage to keep the fear inside.

I swallow the truth down.

I tuck it away.

And I follow her.

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