Intermediate Thermodynamics: A Romantic Comedy (Chemistry Lessons Book 2) Read online

  That wasn’t too bad, so Esther tried another one: “On page ten, you’ve got a NASA scientist saying they can’t predict the asteroid’s trajectory because of the influence of nearby planetary bodies, which is bullshit. Predicting the orbits of asteroids is easy. The math for it has been around for hundreds of years.”

  He frowned, nodding as he typed another note. “Okay.”

  “You’ve also got a character on the next page claiming that lasers are less effective in space, which is backward—air absorbs the laser, making it less effective in atmosphere than it would be in space.”

  “This is perfect,” he said, typing. “This is exactly the stuff I need.”

  Yeah, we’ll see, Esther thought, scanning her notes. She hadn’t even gotten to the big problems yet. “Okay, so, that whole part where they’re talking about crashing the ship into the asteroid to set off the nuke…”

  He looked up, nodding.

  “Yeah, that’s a no-go.”

  His brows drew together. “It wouldn’t work?”

  She shook her head. “In order to set off a nuclear chain reaction, the core needs to be compressed in a perfectly symmetrical implosion. The crash would smash the core to pieces, releasing a cloud of plutonium dust, but it wouldn’t cause a full-blown nuclear explosion like you want.”

  He chewed on his lip. “Hmmmm.”

  “Also,” she continued, “one warhead isn’t going to do what you need it to do. The most powerful thermonuclear device ever tested was fifty megatons—but to get an object as massive as your asteroid moving off course, you’d need something like a hundred million megatons. That’s just a ballpark, you understand. I haven’t done the actual math.”

  He rubbed his knuckles over his chin, frowning. “So, you’re saying my asteroid is too big?”

  “Little bit. The asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs was only ten kilometers in diameter—that’s roughly the size of Mount Everest, with a mass of a trillion tons.”

  “Okay…” He blew out a frustrated breath and grimaced. “So, I’ll make the asteroid smaller.”

  Esther shook her head again. “Even at ten kilometers, you’re not going to be able to budge the thing out of orbit with one bomb. You’d need thousands of bombs. More than any single payload would be capable of delivering.”

  His shoulders sagged as he closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. “Oh.”

  “But there’s a much bigger problem with your story,” Esther said, bracing herself for the worst part.

  He turned his head, giving her a wary look. “What?”

  “You’ve basically written Armageddon.”

  “I’ve never seen it.”

  “Yeah, I can tell, because you’ve used the exact same premise. Piece of advice—if you’re going to write a genre movie, you should probably have at least a passing familiarity with the tentpole films of the genre.”

  “I’ve seen the tentpole films of the genre,” he said, sounding defensive. “2001, Blade Runner…”

  “But you didn’t write any of those movies, you wrote an asteroid movie. You need to be familiar with Armageddon.”

  “But Armageddon is crap. It’s a stupid action movie in space.”

  “Yes, it is,” she agreed, waiting for him to pick up on what she was saying.

  She could tell the moment it sank in, because his whole face went hard. “Mine’s nothing like that. It’s a psychological thriller with a deep philosophical message at its core.”

  “Yeah, the thing is,” Esther said slowly, “I’m not sure that’s actually a selling point. Like, at the beginning, it feels like you’re setting up a typical sci-fi disaster film—a fairly derivative one with the same premise as Armageddon and Deep Impact, by the way. But once the plot moves into space, it takes a sharp left turn into some kind of slasher flick. Then toward the end, all the action grinds to a halt, and you’ve got characters delivering ponderous monologues on the meaning of life. And that ending—what is that? I don’t even understand it.”

  “It’s intentionally ambiguous,” he said, like that somehow made it good.

  She tried to refrain from rolling her eyes, with only limited success. “It’s certainly that.”

  “It’s a commentary on post-structuralism.”

  “It’s unsatisfying. The whole thing is a mess, basically.”

  He slammed his laptop closed. “You’re saying you hated it,” he said in a rigid voice, refusing to look at her.

  “I’m saying it’s got big problems,” Esther told him bluntly, because sugar-coating it wouldn’t do him any favors. Not if this was for his master’s thesis. “Have you considered who your audience is for a film like this? Who are you expecting to sell tickets to? Because people who think they’re signing up for Armageddon II aren’t going to be happy when they end up watching a horror film halfway through. And people who actually want to see an ambiguous commentary on post-structuralism aren’t going to buy a ticket to something that sounds like Armageddon II.”

  He nodded at the papers in her hand. “What else is written down there?”

  “Ummm…” She wasn’t sure if she should tell him the other stuff. It was pretty much all downhill from here, and he was already pissed.

  “Go on, I can take it. Let’s hear the rest.”

  “Okay…” She went down the page, rattling off a list of comments: “A lot of the dialogue is either meaningless word salad or lazy clichés. Characters talk at each other like robots instead of actual humans beings. Your hero is dumb as a rock. Your female lead reads like the equivalent of a grown man playing with a Barbie doll. The way the mechanic character talks is definitely racist—”

  “Did I do anything right?” he interrupted, staring straight ahead. His hands were knotted into fists at his side, his forearms taut.

  “Well…asteroids exist,” Esther said. “You got that part right.”

  His jaw clenched. “Great.”

  “Look, I’m sorry, but—”

  “It’s fine.” He scooped up his laptop and pushed himself to his feet. “Can you just give me your notes and I’ll read over them on my own?” He held his hand out without meeting her eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” She felt like she’d just stomped on a baby bird. A baby bird who’d asked her to stomp on him, but that didn’t keep her from feeling like crap.

  “You didn’t. I asked for an honest critique and that’s what you gave me. Can I have the notes?”

  Esther reluctantly held them out, and he snatched them out of her hand. “Look, Jonathan—”

  “Thanks for your help,” he said, cutting her off as he turned to go. “I’ll take your feedback under consideration.”

  She winced as the door slammed behind him.

  Well, that went exactly as well as she’d expected.

  Chapter Nine

  Jinny finally called Esther back at eight o’clock that night.

  “My mother is giving me brain cancer,” she announced.

  Esther dug the television remote out from under Sally’s belly and paused The Walking Dead right as a zombie was about to bite someone’s throat out. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

  “Every time I see her, I get a headache. That sounds like brain cancer to me.”

  “Or here’s a thought,” Esther said. “Maybe you just find her aggravating, and it’s a normal stress headache.”

  “Maybe,” Jinny allowed reluctantly.

  “Tell me about your date last night. How’d it go?”

  Silence. “I don’t know,” she said after a moment. “It was fine, I guess.”

  That was…not at all the reaction Esther had been expecting, based on Jonathan’s version of events. “But not great?”

  “He let me talk more this time.”

  “That’s good, right?” Nice to know he’d actually paid attention to some of Esther’s coaching. But he must have done something else wrong.

  “I suppose.” Jinny made a dissatisfied noise. “I don’t know, I’m still not fe
eling the fluttery thing, you know? I want him to make my heart beat faster and my toes curl. My toes did not curl, not once. Not even when we were making out.”

  Esther sat up straighter. “Wait, back up. You made out with him?” No wonder Jonathan had been grinning—and blushing—when he’d talked about Jinny earlier.

  “Yeah. And it was nice, but not toe-curling nice.”

  “Maybe your expectations are too high for a second date. I mean, how many guys have actually made you feel that way so soon after meeting them?” Esther could count the number of men who’d made her feel that way on one hand. On one finger, actually.

  “Stuart did.”

  “Okay, but—”

  “I know, Stuart cheated on me. I’m not going back to him, so you can stop worrying about it.”

  Esther blew out a long breath. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that.” Sally rolled over, snuggling up against her thigh, and Esther scratched her neck for her.

  “You were right, I needed to rebound. Now that I’ve put myself out there again, I have a better idea of what I want, and it’s not Stuart or Jonathan. Like Vilma said, life’s too short to waste on cheap shoes.”

  “You’re saying Jonathan’s cheap shoes?” Oof. That was rough on the poor guy. Especially when he was out there thinking the date had gone really well. Just like he’d thought his awful screenplay was some kind of cinematic masterpiece. Poor dude. It was kind of the theme of his life.

  Esther could practically hear Jinny’s shrug. “He’s fine. He’ll make a perfectly nice boyfriend for someone else. But he’s not what I’m looking for. My days of settling for Payless shoes are over. I’m saving up for a pair of Manolos.”

  Okay, then. But… “He told me you were going out again next weekend.”

  “You talked to him?” Jinny sounded surprised.

  “Yeah…I ran into him earlier.” By appointment, but Jinny didn’t need to know about that part.

  “I sort of agreed to go to that new Ethiopian place with him next Friday.”

  “Why would you do that if you don’t like him?”

  Jinny huffed out an annoyed-sounding breath. “I don’t know, I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He asked me right after we’d done all that making out, and it seemed unnecessarily cruel to say no at that point. And I hadn’t totally made up my mind about him yet. But the more I thought about it today, the more sure I was that he’s not the Manolos I’m looking for.”

  Esther leaned forward to snag her beer off the coffee table. “So are you still going through with the date on Friday?”

  “Yeah, I guess. I don’t want to break it off over the phone. I’ll tell him at the end of dinner. I’ll pick up the check, and then before we leave I’ll tell him.”

  Esther shook her head, wincing. He wouldn’t even see it coming. “Poor guy.”

  “He’ll be fine. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like me that much either.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Esther said, biting her lip.

  “Why? What’d he say?”

  “Nothing. He just seemed happy to be going out with you again is all. Just…try to be gentle, okay?”

  “You know me,” Jinny said. “I’m always nice. It’ll be as gentle a rejection as a rejection can be.”

  Guilt settled in the pit of Esther’s stomach. First she’d gotten Jonathan to like Jinny, then she’d decimated his ego by tearing apart his script, and now Jinny was probably going to crush what was left of his self-esteem when she dumped him on Friday.

  The guy was having a majorly bad week—and it was pretty much all thanks to Esther.

  She didn’t see or hear from Jonathan on Monday. Or Tuesday. Every time she walked past his apartment, she slowed her steps, listening for sounds of habitation inside, but it was dark and silent. The blinds were shut tight—which wasn’t unusual for him—but there were no lights on inside. She couldn’t blame him for avoiding her. Maybe he’d gone out of town. Or he was staying with a friend so he didn’t have to risk running into her.

  She thought about texting him, just to check on him, but was afraid that might make things worse. It wasn’t that she was worried about him, exactly, it was just that he’d looked so crushed after she’d eviscerated his script. Like a kid who’d been shoved off his bike and had his lunch money stolen. She didn’t like feeling like a bully.

  Apparently he wasn’t used to criticism. Really though, he needed to develop a thicker skin if he was going to be a writer. Criticism was critical to improvement. You couldn’t get better at anything if you weren’t willing to learn from your mistakes. Wasn’t the whole point of graduate school to further your education in order to master your chosen field? If his fragile ego was going to dissolve every time he got a little constructive feedback, he might as well stop wasting money on tuition and go be a barista or something.

  Okay, so maybe she was a little worried about him. He didn’t strike her as the type to do something drastic, but you never knew, right? When it came down to it, she didn’t really know anything about him. Other than the fact that he wasn’t very good at the one thing he’d apparently centered his entire identity around being.

  She couldn’t even be properly pleased that her master plan to keep Jinny away from Stuart had worked, because she felt too guilty about Jonathan’s stupid feelings being hurt. She hated that she had to care about him at all. Things had been much easier before she’d gone and gotten herself involved in his life. Before she’d allowed herself to care.

  Then on Wednesday night, she came home from work and found him camped outside her apartment like a homeless person.

  He was sitting on the hard concrete floor of the breezeway with his back against her door and his legs stretched out in front of him. His eyes were closed, but they opened when he heard her approaching.

  Esther slowed uncertainly to stop a few paces away from him. “Hey.”

  He looked awful. His eyes were bloodshot and shadowed, and his beard even longer and more scraggly than usual. For once, he wasn’t wearing a beanie, and his hair hung down in his face like he’d been pulling at it.

  He levered himself off the ground, running a hand through his hair to push it off his forehead. He was clutching a script against his chest protectively. “I read through every single word of your notes,” he said without preamble. “Every. Word.”

  “Oh.” There was that guilt again, twisting in the pit of her stomach.

  He pressed his lips together into a thin line and stared at the ground. “It was a lot to digest.”

  “I’m sorry,” Esther said, meaning it. “I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.”

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  It did though. That much was obvious from looking at him. “I thought you wanted honest feedback,” she offered lamely.

  He huffed out a bitter-sounding laugh. “I did.”

  “I tried to keep it constructive, but I’m not a writer. I never learned how to workshop or whatever. I probably did it wrong.”

  “No, you did it right.” He was still staring at his shoes, like he couldn’t bear to look her in the eye. “I’ve been thinking about everything you said and—” He shook his head, grimacing. “You were right about most of it.”

  That must have been painful to admit. Esther couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound like some version of I told you so, so she didn’t say anything at all.

  “I haven’t been…” He hesitated, his face twisting into a scowl. “I haven’t been doing as well in school as…” Another pause, followed by more scowling. “I’m on the edge of getting kicked out of the program. My adviser says my work isn’t graduate level. She’s given me the summer to demonstrate”—he made sarcastic air quotes with his fingers—“significant improvement, or else I won’t be allowed to come back for the fall quarter.” He shook his head, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. When he spoke again, his voice was low and unsteady. “If I get dropped from the program, my parents will st
op paying my rent, and I’ll have to move back home.”

  That…definitely sucked.

  “I’m sorry,” Esther said again, even though none of it was her fault. If anything, she had less to feel guilty about, because she hadn’t told him anything his adviser probably hadn’t already said to him.

  Only…she did feel guilty. She felt even more guilty.

  Jonathan looked up, his eyes finding hers finally. “I need your help.”

  Oh no. “My help? What can I—”

  “Read my other script. Give me notes like you did on the last one. Help me make it better.”

  It was the absolute last thing Esther wanted to do. Read another one of his scripts? The thought of it made her brain cringe in horror.

  But…he looked so sad and miserable. That was a huge admission he’d just made to her. And she’d already hurt his feelings once. Plus, there was the fact that on top of everything else, Jinny was planning to dump him next weekend and he had no idea. And that part was definitely all her fault, because if she hadn’t talked him into asking Jinny out, he wouldn’t be getting rejected.

  How could she possibly say no? She couldn’t.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll try.”

  He thrust the script he was holding at her. Reluctantly, she reached out to take it. The title on the cover page said American Dreamers.

  “What genre is it?” she asked.

  “It’s a—” He stopped and shook his head. “You tell me after you’ve read it.”

  Esther nodded. “Give me a few days?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He ducked his head. “Thanks,” he muttered as he brushed past her and disappeared into his apartment.

  The new script Jonathan had given her was a love story. Only not really.

  It was one of those aimless indie dramas about two people who meet by chance and change each other’s lives forever blah blah blah. Like Before Sunrise, only more boring.

  It was literally about nothing. The entire story consisted of the two main characters monologuing inanely at each other as they wandered aimlessly around Los Angeles for a night before eventually going their separate ways. Clearly, it was meant to be romantic and meaningful, but it managed to be neither.