ething you were put here to be, and as long as you find that thing, it doesn’t matter what yood at or what you’re bad at anymore - just that yood at being who you were meant to be. So don’t worry about knowing what to say around other people; just be you. Just talk about you and people will reciprocate.”
“Wow. Good speech. I feel legitimately inspired a little. Are you a professor?”
“Oh hell no. Sure as hell not what I’m meant to be. I think I would tear my hair out dealing with all the academiobbery on a daily basis. That’s why I prefer field work like this, even as stressful as it be sometimes.”
“Well, I think you would make a good professor if you wao be. I’d sure as hell pay attention. I’d be very motivated.”
And with that he gave me the most peculiar up-and-down look. It slipped under my scious notice at first, but, looking back, I feel the heat rush through my body that a more astute version of me would have felt then. We’d all been traveling by boat, truck, plane, and train for a full day and then some since we left our research post he Queen Maude Sound, and I was fully prepared to politely end the versation and join Sean in sleep wherain suddenly jerked and then started screeg as it began to slowly decelerate to a stop.
At the exact same time, every single person orain (who was awake) threw their hands up in the air in protest and I could have ted at least three “goddamnit’s,” two “what the hell’s,” and maybe a “what the fuck” here or there (ting my own).
About a mier, the engineer came into our car and explaihat there was aorm ing from the southwest that had already caused a freight train to derail further south and was quickly headed our dire. We would have to wait until the storm had passed and the freight train ut ba the rails before we could tinue. We’d probably be here all night.
I sighed angrily and looked out the window. It robably not eve 2 o’clo the afternoon, and I could see the sky overcast with