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The Hour Leah Wanted
Leah was still in her coat when Sam turned the clipboard around. The shared spectrometer had one free hour before the other group took it back, and she wanted her name on that line. He wanted something duller first. He would not write her in until she said, in a sentence a tired person could repeat, what she would do if the screen stayed empty.
The other group's tape was still on the sample tray. Their run had overrun, and the room smelled faintly of warm electronics. Leah had drawn a peak on the board, a clean hump, and beside it a question mark she had almost rubbed away. She wanted the hour because the drawing was now a bet, not a decoration.
"The model puts a line there," she said. "I have checked the steps twice.