“And the award for Best Research this year goes to Professor Fernandez & Professor Smith!”

My smile fades as quickly as it came, and I fight to keep my expression composed as I ascend the stage, accepting my plaque with pursed lips. In fact, it takes everything I have to bite my tongue when he stands beside me with a plaque just like mine, without doing even half the work.

He can fool them all, but he can’t fool me. He hasn’t lifted a finger with his lab assistants, just let them run everything, while I’ve been sweating till my socks to finish this project.

And I did. A whole day faster than he did.

But it doesn’t matter now, especially as I stare at his smug smile when he puts his grubby hands on a beautiful plaque that he doesn’t deserve. 

After baring his teeth for the camera, the swine leans over to me, and I turn away from him to look at the adoring audience.

“What do you want?” I snarl, my lips still stuck in a respectful smile.

“You look like you swallowed a rat,” he says. “You could be more happy for me, you know.”

“This is as much as I can do without puking,” I bite back, and he laughs like we’ve just shared a hilarious joke.

“Be grateful that I let you share my award,” he says. “I won’t be so generous with the grant.”

“The grant is mine, Donald,” I say. “And the faster you understand that, the better.”

“Keep dreaming,” he says, and meanders over to the MC, whispering something in his ear that makes the MC laugh so hard that he chokes on his own spit. 

Suck-up.

Excusing myself from the stage, I put my plaque in my bag and slip out of the ballroom, allowing myself to exhale once I’m alone again. Crowds make my blood pressure shoot up higher than I want to admit, but that isn’t the reason for my discomfort tonight.

It’s him, in all of his white cowboy glory. Donald Smith, head of the molecular biology and biochemistry department in this glorious college I teach in, the only professor who has ever passed an entire class for just showing up. 

Like I said. Suck-up.

He can walk into a room and make everybody like him even though he has absolutely no idea what he is talking about. He probably charmed his way into that award, just like he charmed his way into the last three. 

And I, even though I am easily the most brilliant professor in this place, am not the most socially comfortable. So I yield to that 260 pound mass of idiocy every time, and don’t protest (much!) when he gets things that I deserve.

But not the grant. 

The grant will change everything for me, it’ll turn my research around. My assistants are smart, but if I get this grant, I can recruit so many more. I can double my projects, work extra hours and get paid for them. Nobody will ever be able to sweet-talk their way into getting awards, especially not that oaf, because my results will be light-years ahead of the rest of them. 

I’ll be the best. 

Finally.

Daydreaming about dancing on Donald Smith’s face, I don’t realize where I am going, and snap out of it when I ram right into somebody. Books and papers topple out of the person’s hands, and I scramble to pick them up.

“I’m terribly sorry,” I say, and look up to see that the person I hit was Professor Stacy, head of the Sociology department. Relentless optimist and always harping about the importance of the humanities, I’ve never been able to take her seriously. 

“It’s quite alright,” she says, and frowns at me suddenly. 

“Wasn’t the award ceremony tonight?” she asks. “What are you doing here?”

“It was almost over when I left,” I said. “Too many people.”

She laughs, and it’s a rich sound, deeper than most.

“Sir, you need to learn to talk to people,” she says jokingly, but I stiffen.

“I hardly see the need,” I say coldly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to attend to.”

“No,” she says. “You have to understand, humans are meant to be social.”

“Not this human,” I say, and she looks at me curiously.

“All humans,” she says. “You need to speak to people, make friends, have conversations. You’ll find a fulfillment beyond anything you’ll get in that lab.”

“Interesting,” I say drily. “But I didn’t ask for a sociology lecture. I’ll be going now.”

“Do you know that they’re announcing the recipient of the grant tonight?” she asks quietly, and I turn to look at her.

“No, they aren’t,” I say, my voice level. “They’re only announcing it next week.”

“Donald persuaded the chancellor. You know how he is. I dare to say that you know better than anyone else.”

I ignore the jab and massage my temple, feeling my heart rate rise in excitement.

“I need to go,” I say, starting back towards where I came from, and she smiles.

“So a check for your research excites you, but not an opportunity to make connections?” she asks shrewdly, and I glare at her.

“Could you stop?” I ask, and she laughs again.

“I’m coming too,” she says. “I applied for it as well.”

As the two of us run towards the ballroom, I feel cold sweat running down my brow, alternating between the mental possibilities of watching Donald’s smug smile or knowing that my research has gotten such a boost. I can’t wait, adrenaline courses through my every vein, and I reach the ballroom in record time. 

Wiping the sweat off of my face, I straighten my jacket and enter the ballroom in a manner as dignified as I can manage, Professor Stacy on my heels. The two of us find our seats in a table near the front just as the MC addresses the crowd.

“And now,” he says. “I would like to invite the chancellor of Glasia University, Dr. Jake Myers to the stage.”

The applause that follows is deafening, and I resist the urge to cup my palms over my ears as the chancellor takes the microphone. He’s a middle aged man, his face starting to show signs of age, but you can see in his face that he is a very jovial person. 

“Thank you,” he says, gesturing for the crowd to settle down. “Now as you all know, I am here tonight to present the name of the person who will receive one of this university’s largest research grants. It will suffice for the costs of numerous research assistants, any equipment necessary, and a significant hike in salary for the staff member it is granted to.”

I stifle a shout of excitement, and I look over to Donald to see that he is doing the same thing. The both of us want this, that much is for sure. But I’m sure that nobody can want this as much as I do. 

“There were numerous applicants for this grant, and it was very difficult for all of the board members to decide on one professor, as you all are so gifted in your brilliance. However, there was one application that stood out amongst all others, and that is the one that we have decided to select.”

“This person pointed out in their application that their research is often overlooked because it is not considered a conventional one. There is no lab, no beakers, and certainly no chemicals involved. However, they brought to light this university’s past failures in addressing the concepts of human interaction and conversation.”

“To quote from her application, “there is no use in pursuing knowledge about molecules without understanding the people that they make up.” There are many intelligent individuals in this room who may be struggling with depression or other mental health issues, and it is important to understand how society treats these people currently so that we can work towards making a difference in our college community. Therefore, I am pleased and honored to present this research grant to the writer of this incredible application and the head of the sociology department, Dr. Mina Stacy.”

This time, the applause is louder, but I don’t feel the need to cup my palms over my ears. Because everything is numb.

After worrying for so long about losing to Donald Smith, it never once occurred to me that my loss would be from the Sociology professor. 

The damn sociology professor.

“You need to speak to people, make friends, have conversations.”

Oh, really? Well, I tried that in middle school. It didn’t work.

Cursing under my breath, I leave the ballroom and rush to my lab, shutting the door behind me when I’m finally there. Then I’m breaking anything that I can get my hands on, the beakers, the petri dishes, the graduated cylinders. The rational part of my brain knows that this is absolutely pointless as I will have to pay for all of this out of my own pocket, but I keep going till half the lab equipment is lying in broken pieces. 

Then I sit in my mess and stare at the wall, wallowing in my despair till I hear a soft knock at the door. I swing the door open and see Professor Stacy standing in front of me, looking at me with concern in her eyes.

“Are you alright?” she asks, and I look at myself. There are glass shards in my hair and dust all over my face and brand new shirt. 

I certainly don’t look alright, but I snarl, “I’m fine. Did you want something from me?”

“Yes,” she says. “I want you to understand what I told you when you rammed into me. But I know that you can’t yet, so all I’m asking is that you dust off the glass and come with me to the ballroom.”

“No,” I say. “No, I won’t be seen getting pity from the person that I lost to.”

She shakes her head, looking at me like I’m a child.

“You lost to me?” she asks. “See, this is why you need to talk to people. Life isn’t just losing and winning, it’s learning too. And not just biology.”

“Biology is all that matters to me,” I say, and she snorts.

“No,” she says. “You can be a lot more than your favorite subject if you come out of your hole and show your face to the world. Who knows, you could even find a friend.”

“And what would I do with a friend?” I ask, and she smiles.

“Laugh,” she says. “And I know that that’s an alien concept for you, but you can certainly try.”

I fumble for a comeback, but none comes to my tongue. Because she’s right. I haven’t laughed for a long time, I can’t remember the last time I did. 

“It’s your choice,” she says, and begins to walk away from me, back to the dreaded ballroom. 

The way I see it, I have two choices: do as she said and follow her back to the ballroom, or stay in my lab and generate a larger bill for myself. So I dust off the glass, go to the mirror and pull out the shards from my thick hair, and follow the professor back to society.