Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“But who says people with ADHD need a cure?” I blurt out.
His attention snaps to me, a strange look burning in his eyes. “I take it you have ADHD,” he says calmly. He doesn’t wait for me to confirm it. “Many take medication for it. Many would like to function as a neurotypical. This would be no different than taking prescribed stimulants, except, in theory, you would be able to take it once, and you’d be forever changed.”
“Sounds good to me,” a girl called Noor says. “I can barely remember to take my meds as it is.”
But what if you lose the essence of who you are? I think, but I manage to keep it to myself because I’m sure the last thing Kincaid wants is for his speech to be derailed. I know it can be dangerous to think of ADHD as a superpower when so many people are clearly disabled by it, and the neurodivergent community is not a monolith, but even so, the idea of having it wiped away—for good—makes me pause.
“You said that Madrona discovered the fungus,” Munawar says to him. “It was on your property here, was it not?”
He nods. “It was. Dr. Everly Johnstone discovered it while foraging.”
“How did you know then that it possessed the same attributes as lion’s mane?”
Kincaid shrugs. “A hunch, I suppose.” Then he turns his focus back to his book. “Now, I’d like to list the types of fungi you’ll likely find while you’re here. I’m sure you’ve all seen Chlorociboria aeruginascenes, or blue stain fungus, painting the sides of the cedars out here,” he begins and then launches into a very long list of all the fungi we’ll encounter.
I write it all down on the tablet, doing my best to focus on my notes and not on Kincaid, though I have a hard time not trying to figure out what his tattoo is of, if he has any others hidden on his body, what he looks like naked. In my dream, I only had an impression of his form, and like most dreams, the details have completely washed away.
When class finally ends, I know I should leave the room along with Lauren and everyone else, but I linger behind. I feel pulled to Kincaid in ways I can’t explain (okay, he’s smart, and he’s fucking hot, and maybe that’s enough).
I stop by his desk, where he’s gathering a few textbooks in his hands.
“Kincaid,” I say.
He glances up at me and takes off his glasses, slipping them back into his pocket, his posture straightening. “Ms. Denik. I hope you didn’t take offense to what I was saying.” His voice is strained, and though he’s staring into my eyes, he’s unreadable.
I shake my head, feeling strangely off-balance around him. “I thought you were going to call me Syd,” I say, but he continues to stare at me, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “Anyway, no. I didn’t take offense. The idea just bothers me for some reason.”
“Something I’d like to talk to you about during our sessions,” he says, holding his books to his chest. I stare at his large hands splayed across the covers, the veins on his forearms. The fact that we’ll have one-on-one sessions both thrills me and intimidates me. I want to be alone with him, but the idea that he’ll be poking around in my brain disturbs me. I want to stay a secret to him, shadowed and mysterious.
Yeah right, I tell myself. Like you’ve ever been shadowed and mysterious to anyone.
He continues to stare at me, enough that his grey gaze seems to unearth the ground beneath me. “Can I help you with something in particular?”
Oh, right. I didn’t even have a reason for wanting to talk to him.
Or did I?
“Were you spying on me last night?” I ask, immediately wincing at how that came out. “I mean, I saw you last night outside my window. Seems you were staring up at me.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “I was.”
“Oh?”
“Not the spying part, but I was outside the main lodge. I often have a walk before I turn in for the night. Checking for bears. Clearing my head. I suppose I happened to stop outside your window. I’ll try to be more mindful next time.”
“No,” I say quickly. “No, it was fine, I just…”
“Thought I was spying on you,” he fills in, giving me a quick smile. “Just what every professor needs.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” I say.
God, what the fuck is wrong with me?
I expect him to laugh, but instead his expression darkens, enough that my blood runs cold. “I think you would mind very much,” he says, his tone hard. Then he clears his throat, and his brow softens. “Is that all?”
Why am I stalling? I’ve already made things uncomfortable, but it seems I can’t leave his side.