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were her last words to him. With his grades on the rise, his arrogant, unsupportive advisor, Professor Baker, treated him better, although warning him that the second semester of p-chem would be tougher. Roy credited Heather with teaching him focusing techniques that allowed him to concentrate under dire circumstances.
    He spent two or three nights a week studying at the Union Building. Heather and Greta never showed. A few times he spotted the romantic couple he’d seen around campus so involved in each other they never noticed anyone else, it seemed like, and he was saddened that the likelihood of that happening to him was dismal, at best.
    The chemistry library or the p-chem lab consumed Roy’s other nights. Mr. Cortessis allowed him to study in his cramped office at night. He enjoyed having alternate places where he could work. Back at the dorm, the double deck pinochle games and associated loud laughter in the nearby lounge distracted him.
    Roy didn’t try to contact Heather after lecture. She never looked at him and always rushed out, while Greta would wave and smile each time.
    An assignment in advanced analytical chemistry required digging into a rare text that was always checked out from the chemistry library. Willie told Roy what other chemistry majors didn’t know. A copy was available in the chemical engineering library. As the librarian checked it out for him, he heard somebody call his name. That was followed by several admonishments of “shh” from those studying. Roy looked across several tables and spotted Greta waving for him to come over. Heather seemed distressed at Greta’s commotion. Roy, with his rare text in hand, walked that way, noting Heather was watching him.
    “I’m not crashing your study session, Heather. I just wanted to say Hi.” He directed that to both Heather and Greta.
    “How are your classes going?” Greta asked.
    “Very well, thanks. I’m really busy. Doctor Hunter and Mr. Cortessis trusted me with higher-level lab work, there are always instruments to fix, and my other classes are going well. Heather, your concentration techniques help me to remain focused.” Roy made eye contact intently, giving his best smile. His breath caught as she looked up at him with a hint of a smile and her soft-spoken thanks.
    After more exchanges, mostly with Greta about their engineering studies, Roy prepared to leave, his face no doubt radiating his undimmed feelings for Heather. When Heather met his eyes, he tried to read her expression. Was it remorse, sadness, hidden affection she broadcast? He didn’t know.
    ****
    It happened in early May. Roy’s extra lab work turned into a disaster. A combination of equipment failure, unavailability of chemicals, and the glassblower off sick stymied his lab work. Frustrated, he left and headed for the Union Building, intent on finishing reading Madame Bovary , but even that novel promised an unhappy ending for the main character, Emma.
    He entered the building at eight o’clock. After searching and finding all the study rooms taken, he spotted Heather. She sat alone on the sofa that was usually occupied by the romantic couple. Oh, how wonderful to see her after a dismal evening, thought Roy. He didn’t see Greta anywhere. He stood watching Heather. She had a book open but didn’t seem to be concentrating. She closed her book, laid it aside, and rubbed her nose beneath her glasses as if she was exhausted either physically or mentally, or both. In a desperate act, Roy sat down beside her.
    “Roy!?”
    The way she said his name reminded him of a connotation put on a chess move by a chess analyst. A good move warranted an exclamation mark and a bad move a question mark. However, a move of unknown quality rated both an exclamation and question mark. He would soon know which mark would win, hoping for the exclamation mark.
    “Please allow me one question, and then I’ll leave,” Roy said, intending to stop her possible exit or a “Get lost,”