17
Harvard
October 27, 2012
“Is he still singing?” Misty groaned, flopping back on her bed in the off-campus apartment we’d scrounged up from housing.
“He is.” I peered out my window and saw the hot guy I’d dated for, like, a whole month, trying to win me back by pulling a move from an ’80s movie and singing to me from the street. I found it desperate and annoying, just like him. He might have been hot, but he wasn’t worth my time. That was becoming more and more blatantly obvious.
“Let’s go out and get drunk instead. I heard there’s a Halloween grad party tonight.”
There had been a grad party every night since I’d gotten to Harvard for my PhD a year earlier. I was once again on full scholarship for my PhD in neuroscience, working as a research assistant for the most distinguished pr
