Under One Roof (The STEMinist Novellas, #1)(35)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a community of women trying to mind their own business must be in want of a random man’s opinion.

I’ve long learned that engaging with basement-dwelling STEMlords who come online looking for a fight is never a good idea—the last thing I want is to provide free entertainment for their fragile egos. If they want to blow off some steam, they can buy a gym membership or play third-person-shooter video games. Like normal people.

I make to hide @SteveHarrison’s delightful contribution but notice that someone has replied to him.


@Shmacademics Yeah, Marie, sometimes you’re just a loser. Steve would know.



I chuckle.


@WhatWouldMarieDo Aw, Steve. Don’t be too hard on yourself.

@Shmacademics He is just a boy, standing in front of a girl, asking her to do twice as much work as he ever did in order to prove that she’s worthy of becoming a scientist.

@WhatWouldMarieDo Steve, you old romantic.

@SteveHarrison Fuck you. This ridiculous push for women in STEM is ruining STEM. People should get jobs because they’re good NOT BECAUSE THEY HAVE VAGINAS. But now people feel like they have to hire women and they get jobs over men who are MORE QUALIFIED. This is the end of STEM AND IT’S WRONG.

@WhatWouldMarieDo I can see you’re upset about this, Steve.

@Shmacademics There, there.



Steve blocks both of us, and I chuckle again, drawing a curious glance from Rocío. @Shmacademics is another hugely popular account on Academic Twitter, and by far my favorite. He mostly tweets about how he should be writing, makes fun of elitism and ivory-tower academics, and points out bad or biased science. I was initially a bit distrustful of him—his bio says “he/him,” and we all know how cis men on the internet can be. But he and I ended up forming an alliance of sorts. When the STEMlords take offense at the sheer idea of women in STEM and start pitchforking in my mentions, he helps me ridicule them a little. I’m not sure when we started direct messaging, when I stopped being afraid that he was secretly a retired Gamergater out to doxx me, or when I began considering him a friend. But a handful of years later, here we are, chatting about half a dozen different things a couple of times a week, without having even exchanged real names. Is it weird, knowing that Shmac had lice three times in second grade but not which time zone he lives in? A bit. But it’s also liberating. Plus, having opinions online can be very dangerous. The internet is a sea full of creepy, cybercriminal fish, and if Mark Zuckerberg can cover his laptop webcam with a piece of tape, I reserve the right to keep things painfully anonymous.

The flight attendant offers me a glass of water from a tray. I shake my head, smile, and DM Shmac.

Marie: I think Steve doesn’t want to play with us anymore.

Shmac: I think Steve wasn’t held enough as a tadpole.

Marie: Lol!

Shmac: How’s life?

Marie: Good! Cool new project starting next week. My ticket away from my gross boss

Shmac: I hope so. Can’t believe dude’s still around.

Marie: The power of connections. And inertia. What about you?

Shmac: Work’s interesting.

Marie: Good interesting?

Shmac: Politicky interesting. So, no.

Marie: I’m afraid to ask. How’s the rest?

Shmac: Weird.

Marie: Did your cat poop in your shoe again?

Shmac: No, but I did find a tomato in my boot the other day.

Marie: Send pics next time! What’s going on?

Shmac: Nothing, really.

Marie: Oh, come on!

Shmac: How do you even know something’s going on?

Marie: Your lack of exclamation points!

Shmac: !!!!!!!11!!1!!!!!

Marie: Shmac.

Shmac: FYI, I’m sighing deeply.

Marie: I bet. Tell me!

Shmac: It’s a girl.

Marie: Ooooh! Tell me EVERYTHING!!!!!!!11!!1!!!!!

Shmac: There isn’t much to tell.

Marie: Did you just meet her?

Shmac: No. She’s someone I’ve known for a long time, and now she’s back.

Shmac: And she is married.

Marie: To you?

Shmac: Depressingly, no.

Shmac: Sorry—we’re restructuring the lab. Gotta go before someone destroys a 5 mil piece of equipment. Talk later.

Marie: Sure, but I’ll want to know everything about your affair with a married woman

Shmac: I wish.

It’s nice to know that Shmac is always a click away, especially now that I’m flying into the Wardass’s frosty, unwelcoming lap.

I switch to my email app to check if Levi has finally answered the email I sent three days ago. It was just a couple of lines—Hey, long time no see, I look forward to working together again, would you like to meet to discuss BLINK this weekend?—but he must have been too busy to reply. Or too full of contempt. Or both.

Ugh.

I lean back against the headrest and close my eyes, wondering how Dr. Curie would deal with Levi Ward. She’d probably hide some radioactive isotopes in his pockets, grab popcorn, and watch nuclear decay work its magic.

Yep, sounds about right.

After a few minutes, I fall asleep. I dream that Levi is part armadillo: his skin glows a faint, sallow green, and he’s digging a tomato out of his boot with an expensive piece of equipment. Even with all of that, the weirdest thing about him is that he’s finally being nice to me.