Page 18 of The Naughty Professor
Juniper was perched on a stool at the front bench with a freshman, patiently guiding her through a formula.The student’s beaker trembled in her hands while Juniper, with her black lipstick and crescent-moon earrings, murmured directions in that slow, sardonic way of hers.
I didn’t even notice them at first.I was already tossing the magazine onto my desk, pages fanning out like a hand of cards.
“Look at this—just look!”I blurted, flipping to the article.“The hydrogen bonds here, the entire structure is sloppy—if you substituted a benzene ring with a halogenated chain, the stability would increase exponentially—why didn’t he see that?Why didn’t anyone see that?”
My voice was rising, echoing off the tile and glassware.
The freshman’s eyes went wide, like a rabbit hearing the crack of a twig.She shot Juniper a panicked glance.
Juniper raised an eyebrow, her black nails drumming against the counter.“Dr.Sterling,” she said slowly, “you’re scaring the student.”
“I—uh—I should come back later,” the girl stammered, clutching her books.She nearly knocked over a beaker as she scrambled off the stool, mumbling a goodbye before bolting out the door.
The silence she left behind was thick.Juniper slid off her stool, crossed the lab in a few long strides, and stopped in front of me.
“What’s wrong with you?”she asked, her voice low, deliberate, as if she were talking to a toddler about to put a fork in a socket.She reached out and grabbed my hand, forcing it down from where I’d been sketching imaginary molecules in the air.
I grinned.I couldn’t help it—the excitement was too much.I spun the magazine around and jabbed my finger at the article.“This!Do you see?A formula that transforms personalities.They’ve already proven it works, but it’s crude.I know I can make it better.”
Before she could respond, I darted to the supply room.Glass bottles rattled as I pulled down reagents—cobalt chloride, acetylsalicylic acid, even a dusty vial of lithium carbonate.My arms were loaded when I came back, nearly tripping over my own shoes.
Juniper hadn’t moved.She was holding the magazine in front of her, her expression dark as she scanned the page.
Finally, she looked up, frowning.“You do realize this Dr.Hargreaves is the same man who put a woman in a nursing home for the rest of her life?Twenty-eight years old, can’t talk, can’t move.That’s your miracle?”
I shrugged, setting the bottles down on the counter with a clink.“The man just got it wrong.His approach was sloppy.The structure collapsed on itself.But if you modify the tertiary amines with a stronger backbone—”
“Dr.Sterling.”Her voice cut through mine, sharp.“Perhaps you should chill out.You’re not actually attempting to make this shit, are you?”
Her words hit like cold water.My excitement faltered for a moment, and I suddenly saw myself the way she must be seeing me: wild-eyed, arms full of chemicals, babbling like a lunatic.
I forced myself to exhale, to smooth the grin off my face.“Of course not.Don’t be ridiculous.”I slid one of the bottles back across the counter, casually.“But I am intrigued by the concepts.Think about it—neurochemical pathways rewired to alter personality traits.You dampen the inhibitory responses here,” I tapped the page, “and boost dopamine receptors there, and suddenly you’ve created a more extroverted individual.Simple reward-conditioning built right into the nervous system.”
Juniper folded her arms, the magazine dangling at her side.Her expression said she didn’t believe a word of my sudden calm.
I pressed on, unable to stop.“If Hargreaves had integrated a stabilizing compound—say, a telomerase inhibitor—the breakdown wouldn’t have been so catastrophic.Imagine it: a compound that doesn’t just mask symptoms but reshapes the entire architecture of the brain.Trauma gone.Shyness obliterated.Every failure restructured into strength.”
I could hear my own voice climbing again, bright and feverish.I paced as I spoke, hands drawing invisible diagrams in the air.“You could recalibrate confidence, recalibrate resilience, recalibrate—hell, even intelligence.Think of what it would mean for medicine, for psychology, for humanity itself!”
Juniper’s mouth tightened.“You’re starting to sound like a Bond villain, Dr.Sterling.”
“Visionary,” I corrected automatically.
“Villain,” she repeated flatly.Then she glanced at her watch and rolled her eyes.“I don’t have time for this.I’ve got a date.”
I snorted.“With your vibrator?”
Her lips curved into a cool smile.“At least I’m getting some action.”She slid the magazine onto the bench, straightened her skirt, and stalked toward the door.
The lab door slammed behind her, leaving me alone with the glass bottles gleaming in the fluorescent light.My pulse still raced, the article still open on the bench, the formulas burning into my brain.
I should’ve felt chastened.Instead, I felt electric.
I spread the bottles across the lab bench like a gambler laying out cards.The cobalt chloride gleamed a deep, dangerous blue under the fluorescent lights.The acetylsalicylic acid was faintly yellowed at the edges of the glass.Lithium carbonate, sodium hydroxide, methyl something-or-other—I was pulling things from the shelf faster than my brain could keep up, stacking reagents into little towers of possibility.
“Okay, so if you start with the telomerase inhibitor, stabilize it with the halogenated ring, just a dash to keep the scaffolding upright…” I muttered under my breath, scribbling half-legible notes onto the nearest scrap of paper.My words spilled faster than my pen, a babble only I could understand.“…boost dopamine receptors, maybe tweak serotonin uptake, something simple, elegant, easy—”
The room was humming, my blood thrumming along with it.
