Chapter 8: Friday Dinner

The guards walked the four of them out at the end of the five minutes.

Ingrid looked back once from the doors.

I didn't wave.

Upstairs, the lab was empty, because it was Friday, and on Fridays the whole building ate together.

The break room had a long table pushed against the windows, with paper plates, two crockpots, and a tray of burnt garlic bread.

My lab partner was already in her seat.

She had put her jacket on the chair beside her.

"Koster. Sit."

"I'll help set up."

"It's set up."

I picked up a stack of plates anyway and started handing them down the table.

I filled a cup for the director, and then one for a woman from the data team.

A man with a beard took the ladle out of my hand.

"Do you do this at home?" he asked.

"Do what?"

"Serve everybody first and eat last."

"It's what I always did."

My lab partner pulled the jacket off the chair.

"Sit down, Koster. Nobody here needs a waiter."

I sat.

Someone passed me a bowl of chili before I could pass it on.

The man with the beard put the garlic bread in front of me, burnt side up.

"That's the worst piece," I said.

"It's yours," he said. "Eat it or lose it."

Everybody laughed, and I realized I was laughing too.

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