Page 1 of Body Shot

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HAYDEN

“We need to have more fun.”

I peer at my friend Carrie through bleary, work-tired eyes. In the restaurant on Miramar Road in San Diego where we’ve met for lunch, sun floods through the big windows, gleaming off stainless steel tables and chairs and dark wood floors. Another gorgeous day in Southern California. “I have lots of fun.”

“Phht.” Carrie eyes me. “You really look like it.”

I smooth back my ponytail. “The last couple of weeks have been a little stressful.”

“I know. But you work way too much.”

“My workisfun.”

Carrie snorts. “You spend half your life in a lab looking through a microscope and the other half in your office.” Her face softens. “I know you love your work, Hayden, and you’re amazing at what you do, but seriously, I’m worried about you.”

“Ha. I knew this was really about me.” I sigh and rub my eyes. “You sound just like Aunt Gina and Uncle Colin. They keep telling me I need to get out more. Before Aunt Gina had her fall, they were trying to fix me up with some guy—a friend’s son or grandson, or something.”

“Do it! Youdoneed to get out more.”

“I’m not going on a date with a man I don’t even know.” I shudder. “Can you imagine anything more excruciating? Trying to make small talk and be on your best behavior to impress someone?”

“That’s what a date is, yes,” Carrie says dryly. “I can imagine because I’ve done it occasionally.”

I grin. “You go out all the time. Which proves my point—when you saidweneed to have more fun, you meantIneed to have more fun.”

“Okay, true.” Carrie shrugs. “Look, I know you better than anyone, and I like my quiet alone time, too. But it’s not healthy for anyone to work so much.”

“You work a lot, too. And when you’re not working, you’re out taking pictures.”

“That’s my passion, like you have yours. I have to be ‘on’ all the time when I’m infrontof the camera, and it’s exhausting. So taking pictures is my relaxation. I just think you need some time away from the lab, some time just for yourself, to have fun.”

“I’m too tired to argue with you.” Yes, fourteen-hour days, seven days a week are taking their toll. I’ve been working so hard on the proposal for this funding grant that will finance the important research we do. It’s a lengthy process I’ve been toiling on for months. The granting agency wants information not only aboutmybackground but also the background of my research team, our facilities, the equipment we need, the time involved, and the overall potential of our scientific outcome. Plus, I’ve been looking after my aunt and uncle. “But I’m not going out on dates.” I’m passionate about science and health and my business, and most men in my experience aren’t interested in proteomics, metabolomics, and signaling pathways.

“Fine, then at least come out with me a little more often. We can go out just the two of us and have some fun. Honestly, Hayden . . . I miss you.” Carrie bats her big gray-blue eyes at me and smiles wistfully.

“You’re good.” I purse my lips. “Although I know how well you can act, you’re tugging at my heart strings.”

“At least you admit you have a heart.”

“Of course I have a heart.” I frown. There aren’t many people I let myself care about in my life, but Carrie is definitely one of them. I love my aunt and uncle, who looked after me when my parents died, and I care about the people who work for me—in a businesslike, practical kind of way—but I do love Carrie.

We’ve been best friends since middle school, the two misfits in our grade—me, with my nose always buried in a book or busy trying to clone a cat, Carrie taller than everyone including the boys, skinny and gangly with heavy-duty braces on her teeth. We were both objects of indifference and rejection—awkward, definitely not into sports, and smarter than most of our classmates. Neither of us was interested in boys (actually, it would be more truthful to say we wouldn’tadmitto being interested in boys, which made the boys’ utter lack of interest inusless humiliating), parties, gel manicures, the latest fashions, or complicated hairstyles. We bonded over thrift store clothes, the Hunger Games, and volunteering at an animal shelter.

Ironically, Carrie was spotted by a scout for Swank Modeling agency at sixteen and now pretty muchhasto be interested in manicures and hairstyles and the latest fashions. Even so, when she’s not working, she dresses in her own eclectic style and seldom wears makeup.

And I left the job I got right out of college to start my own business. I believed in what I was doing when others were skeptical, and now I’m on the verge of success, but the hours I’m putting into that mean I have no time for the latest fashions or makeup.

With our achievements, we can both thumb our noses at the kids who made fun of us and shunned us in school. But we don’t, because who has time for that? Or maybe the truth is that deep down beneath all our success remains two awkward, socially insecure misfits.

“I miss you too,” I say sincerely to Carrie. “But you’re almost as busy as I am.”

“Let’s go out Saturday night.”

How can I say no? “Okay. Where?”

“I don’t know. I’ll find something fun for us to do.”

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