Play & Book Excerpts
Good in Theory
(Aurora Corialis Publishing)
© Cori Wamsley
(Scene starts with Lacey and her lab mates celebrating project wrap up at the local Mexican place.)
As I’m reveling in the aroma of steak fajitas from a nearby table, I hear Luke raise his voice over the din of mariachi music and people ordering burritos. “I just think it’s arrogant of humans to assign bipedalism to all aliens in movies.”
“They aren’t all bipedal,” Dan replies. “Some are quadrupedal.”
“But those are always pets or beasts of burden,” Luke continues. “By and large, the aliens that are intelligent look like us with different heads.” He takes a swig of Modelo and runs a hand through his walnut brown hair, rumpling it in a different direction. He does this when he’s excited about a discussion, so he always looks windblown when in a verbal melee.
I’ve heard this conversation before, and I know it ends with them examining every sci-fi movie, show, and adaptation of their favorite books, hunting for aliens that support their argument. Luke inevitably wins because 1) he is single and has way more time to dive into this stuff and 2) Dan usually gives up good-naturedly and offers to buy him another beer, which he always accepts. I’m certain this is Luke’s way of getting free beer.
Twyla pats the seat beside her, so I sit down.
A few moments later, as I’m hanging my jacket on the back of the chair, I hear, “You win, Skywalker.” Dan throws his hands up and chuckles.
Luke touches his hands in prayer position and bows. He loves it when people call him by his middle name. His parents were really into Star Wars, and apparently the first name “Luke” wasn’t enough to satisfy that itch.
I lock wide eyes with Twyla and shake my head. She laughs.
“How are things with Derek going?” she asks with a little twinkle in her eye. I notice that she has rolled up the sleeves of her pink button-down blouse, so Twyla is in full celebration mode.
Derek is the guy I’ve been seeing for the past two months. He’s adorable and clever. He runs an investment group with his best friend Richard, who is incidentally not a Dick. And doesn’t go by a nickname either. Who knew that was possible? Derek is always curious about my work, which I love. It’s not often that I’ve dated someone who wants to hear me talk about fish and their various parasites and gut bacteria, so I gotta enjoy that whenever it comes along.
I’m not big on listening to the investment talk, but I always do listen. Right now, he’s involved with a big client in farming or something. A sustainable and eco-friendly project. He can’t disclose details, but it sounds like a good idea. Who doesn’t want to be more ecologically responsible?
“It’s going well!” I answer, flagging down Carla, the server, for a raspberry margarita, the best of their specialty drinks. “We went golfing over the weekend. He’s a little more serious about it than I am, but we had a good time.” Carla flashes a smile when she recognizes me from all the other times we’ve eaten here and takes my drink order.
“I’m happy to hear that!” Twyla says. She sips her lemon water. “You know, when Sam and I got together, we loved to sit around and talk about our interests so much that we barely left the house. We had to make ourselves get out and do things.” She laughs the crinkle-eyed laugh again. “I’m glad you two aren’t just twittering each other all the time.”
I seriously don’t know if that’s slang she picked up from her kids that I don’t understand or if she used a word wrong.
“I said something funny?” Twyla said. And it clearly shows on my face.
I blink and register what she probably means. “Tweeting? You mean we don’t just talk to each other on social media?”
“Yes, tweeting,” she waves it off.
“Good! I was afraid it was something you and Sam do at home.” Violet with the snipe. She winks as the rest of us cackle.
“You know what’s funny?” Luke says. “We never did find that missing specimen of Loma salmonae last week.”
“I swear I put it back in storage after examination,” I say for the fiftieth time. “It’s been driving me nuts.”
“I’m not worried about it,” Twyla answers. “We already had all the counts we needed.”
Luke shrugs and takes another sip of his beer. “Another mystery we shall never solve.”
The evening presses on with more light ribbing, talk about our results and the excitement of pitching to journals and conferences, as well as enough fish tacos to sink a very happy ship.
I’m the happy ship.
I’m also floating from my twelve-ounce margarita. “I’m going to run to the ladies’ room,” I tell Violet. She gives me a thumbs up and a nod as I hop out of my chair.
On the way back, I pause while walking past the bar. There is a news story on, and I swear the lab was in the background of the shot, but they cut back to the reporter in the studio and start talking about something else before I can be certain. Huh.
“Hey, Red,” a guy at the bar says.
I realize I’m about two feet away from him, so definitely in his personal space. “I’m sorry. I was looking at the news.” I start to walk away, but he puts a hand on my arm.
“I’ve seen you before. Are you a model or a basketball player?”
Because clearly I’m tall so that’s all that’s open for me. “Scientist,” I respond.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
My retreating form should be enough answer.
“What did that guy say?” Luke asks when I get back to the table. The server has cleared everything, so I sign the check and shake my head.
“Same as usual.”
All four of my lab mates roll their eyes. “Let’s head out,” Dan says. For good measure, he glances at his watch and lets out a deep breath, as if we’ve been here for hours and us crazy kids kept him out late again.
As I pull onto Exploration Drive a few minutes later, I get a sick feeling in my stomach that it really was the lab in the background of that news story. It’s dusk, but all the parking lot lights are on, so I can see a swarm of blue vans huddled close to the entrance to our building. People are wearing hazmat suits, shuffling about by the vans, carrying briefcase-looking boxes, making notes on clipboards … Something is definitely not right.
“They aren’t all bipedal,” Dan replies. “Some are quadrupedal.”
“But those are always pets or beasts of burden,” Luke continues. “By and large, the aliens that are intelligent look like us with different heads.” He takes a swig of Modelo and runs a hand through his walnut brown hair, rumpling it in a different direction. He does this when he’s excited about a discussion, so he always looks windblown when in a verbal melee.
I’ve heard this conversation before, and I know it ends with them examining every sci-fi movie, show, and adaptation of their favorite books, hunting for aliens that support their argument. Luke inevitably wins because 1) he is single and has way more time to dive into this stuff and 2) Dan usually gives up good-naturedly and offers to buy him another beer, which he always accepts. I’m certain this is Luke’s way of getting free beer.
Twyla pats the seat beside her, so I sit down.
A few moments later, as I’m hanging my jacket on the back of the chair, I hear, “You win, Skywalker.” Dan throws his hands up and chuckles.
Luke touches his hands in prayer position and bows. He loves it when people call him by his middle name. His parents were really into Star Wars, and apparently the first name “Luke” wasn’t enough to satisfy that itch.
I lock wide eyes with Twyla and shake my head. She laughs.
“How are things with Derek going?” she asks with a little twinkle in her eye. I notice that she has rolled up the sleeves of her pink button-down blouse, so Twyla is in full celebration mode.
Derek is the guy I’ve been seeing for the past two months. He’s adorable and clever. He runs an investment group with his best friend Richard, who is incidentally not a Dick. And doesn’t go by a nickname either. Who knew that was possible? Derek is always curious about my work, which I love. It’s not often that I’ve dated someone who wants to hear me talk about fish and their various parasites and gut bacteria, so I gotta enjoy that whenever it comes along.
I’m not big on listening to the investment talk, but I always do listen. Right now, he’s involved with a big client in farming or something. A sustainable and eco-friendly project. He can’t disclose details, but it sounds like a good idea. Who doesn’t want to be more ecologically responsible?
“It’s going well!” I answer, flagging down Carla, the server, for a raspberry margarita, the best of their specialty drinks. “We went golfing over the weekend. He’s a little more serious about it than I am, but we had a good time.” Carla flashes a smile when she recognizes me from all the other times we’ve eaten here and takes my drink order.
“I’m happy to hear that!” Twyla says. She sips her lemon water. “You know, when Sam and I got together, we loved to sit around and talk about our interests so much that we barely left the house. We had to make ourselves get out and do things.” She laughs the crinkle-eyed laugh again. “I’m glad you two aren’t just twittering each other all the time.”
I seriously don’t know if that’s slang she picked up from her kids that I don’t understand or if she used a word wrong.
“I said something funny?” Twyla said. And it clearly shows on my face.
I blink and register what she probably means. “Tweeting? You mean we don’t just talk to each other on social media?”
“Yes, tweeting,” she waves it off.
“Good! I was afraid it was something you and Sam do at home.” Violet with the snipe. She winks as the rest of us cackle.
“You know what’s funny?” Luke says. “We never did find that missing specimen of Loma salmonae last week.”
“I swear I put it back in storage after examination,” I say for the fiftieth time. “It’s been driving me nuts.”
“I’m not worried about it,” Twyla answers. “We already had all the counts we needed.”
Luke shrugs and takes another sip of his beer. “Another mystery we shall never solve.”
The evening presses on with more light ribbing, talk about our results and the excitement of pitching to journals and conferences, as well as enough fish tacos to sink a very happy ship.
I’m the happy ship.
I’m also floating from my twelve-ounce margarita. “I’m going to run to the ladies’ room,” I tell Violet. She gives me a thumbs up and a nod as I hop out of my chair.
On the way back, I pause while walking past the bar. There is a news story on, and I swear the lab was in the background of the shot, but they cut back to the reporter in the studio and start talking about something else before I can be certain. Huh.
“Hey, Red,” a guy at the bar says.
I realize I’m about two feet away from him, so definitely in his personal space. “I’m sorry. I was looking at the news.” I start to walk away, but he puts a hand on my arm.
“I’ve seen you before. Are you a model or a basketball player?”
Because clearly I’m tall so that’s all that’s open for me. “Scientist,” I respond.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
My retreating form should be enough answer.
“What did that guy say?” Luke asks when I get back to the table. The server has cleared everything, so I sign the check and shake my head.
“Same as usual.”
All four of my lab mates roll their eyes. “Let’s head out,” Dan says. For good measure, he glances at his watch and lets out a deep breath, as if we’ve been here for hours and us crazy kids kept him out late again.
As I pull onto Exploration Drive a few minutes later, I get a sick feeling in my stomach that it really was the lab in the background of that news story. It’s dusk, but all the parking lot lights are on, so I can see a swarm of blue vans huddled close to the entrance to our building. People are wearing hazmat suits, shuffling about by the vans, carrying briefcase-looking boxes, making notes on clipboards … Something is definitely not right.
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Cori Wamsley is the award-winning author of the Soul Sisterhood series, best friend stories with a side of sweet romance. Her books are enchanting and witty women’s fiction, woven with the magic of self-discovery, history, adventure, and falling in love. She has written eleven books, including her latest, Good in Theory, the third in the Soul Sisterhood series. Her books Braving the Shore and The Treasures We Seek were lauded with The Author Zone Awards for excellence in fiction in 2023 and 2024, respectively.
Aside from writing books, Cori also runs a small publishing house, Aurora Corialis Publishing, where she helps authors write and publish their personal stories of overcoming. She holds a master’s and bachelor’s in English literature and a bachelor’s in biology from West Virginia University. Cori lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, with her husband and two creative tween daughters. When she’s not at her desk, she loves painting, crafting, playing piano, singing, reading sweet romance, and dreaming about traveling to Europe. |
Cori Wamsley
Photo Courtesy: Cori Wamsley |
