Sunshine. The Pacific coast had it in abundance, and it would take Blain some time to adjust. He was not at all used to the sun; he spent the majority of his time indoors, as evidenced by his pale complexion and his constant squint when venturing outdoors. Tall and thin, Blain wore inexpensive glasses and sported blonde hair that looked shabby from every angle. Looking for shelter from the sun, he ducked into the next building, which was labeled ED04. According to the map, crossing through this building would dump him right next to PHY02.

Blain grabbed a pen from his backpack and wrote this building's number on his hand. He was sure that he would make further use of its shade as he traveled across Pacific Tech's campus. He slipped the pen back into his backpack, hefted the bag onto one shoulder, and looked around as he walked.

With the exception of one active computer lab, this building was relatively empty. It seemed completely devoid of students.

Before his first Physics class next week, he had to check the status of the equipment in the PHY08 lab to ensure that the room had sufficient materials and equipment to conduct the class's experiments. He had thoroughly read the entire semester's worth of assigned text and felt fairly confident that he could make a good impression by helping the professor out with some of the obviously basic exercises.

Although the majority of his first semester's classes seemed well beneath his skill level, Pacific Tech offered the best program for his intended double major of Physics and Computer Science. Beyond that, he had followed the work of one student in particular, and had come to idolize him. Mitch Taylor was at the forefront of the field, a real genius in his own generation. The mere thought of meeting Mitch convinced Blain that Pacific Tech was the school for him. His mind made up, he filled out an application and was accepted in short order.

Blain pushed open an exit door. Squinting, he pressed on towards two buildings, one of which was PHY02. His eyes were still adjusting to the sun as he strode to the next building, pulled open the door, and ducked inside. Almost immediately, he came to a flight of steps leading down to the basement level. Hearing voices and mild commotion downstairs, he bounded down the stairs in his typical two-steps-at-a-time style, hoping to ask for directions.

As he bounded down onto the landing, his foot slipped out from under him. As he tried to correct himself, he spun, his backpack flew off his shoulder and lofted through the air, down the hall. Blain was still spinning and in motion, horizontal and three feet in the air. He heard a voice yell "Bag! Duck!"

Completely disoriented, Blain smacked into the wall. Then, landing on his back, he thudded onto the floor and slid face-up down the hallway, until he smashed into the opposite wall. Finally he stopped, face up, a tangle of blonde hair and lanky limbs in the middle of the hallway.

A quick diagnostic revealed no breaks or contusions, and as he parted his hair from his eyes, he saw two faces bending over him, one male and one female. The male had dark hair and dark eyebrows, and he looked to be the age of a high school junior. He clutched Blain's backpack by one strap, having caught it mid-air as it sailed down the hallway. The cute and brainy-looking female looked over at the young man, glanced at the backpack dangling from his clutch, and said "Nice reflexes!"

Turning her gaze back down to Blain, she asked "Are you okay?"

Dazed and confused, but unhurt, Blain managed a smile. "Sure."

Standing in the doorway, backpack still in hand, the high school kid offered Blain a hand. "Here," he said, "it's easier if you try to stand up in here."

Refusing any assistance, Blain scooted into the doorway and stood. He snatched his backpack and unceremoniously pulled it onto his back, tightening both straps indignantly.

"Ooh, I left the acetate in the microwave," the girl said, "I've gotta go." Gently touching the high-schooler's hand, she stepped out the doorway and slid gracefully down the hall.

"She was a cutie," Blain thought to himself. "What's going on here?" he asked, irritated.

"A small test. I can't say exactly, but it's a frictionless polymer," the guy answered with a smile.

"And it spilled?"

"Not exactly."

"Did you make it?"

"I'm not saying, but I can tell you that it's fairly rare, and very unstable."

"Who's cleaning this up?"

"It doesn't need cleaning up. In a few minutes the oxygen in the air will neutralize it, turning it into water."

"Whoa." Irritated and embarrassed about his acrobatics display, Blain had completely forgotten the Physics lab number he was looking for. He dug into his pocket to find the slip of paper he had scrawled on earlier. Pulling his hand from his pocket, he opened it to find his keychain and the slip of paper that read "PHYS08."

"Can you tell me where the PHYS08 lab is?"

"Wrong building. Next one West."

"OK. Gotta go."

Blain spun on his heels, forgetting all about the unbelievably slippery floor just behind him. He stepped quickly into the hallway and lost his balance almost instantly. Refusing to go down a second time, he thrust his arms out to his side in the universal "balance" position and, in doing so, rocketed his keychain from his right hand. From down the hallway, he heard a voice yell "Keys! Duck again!"

Blain twisted his body so he could see the direction his keys were going. As he did so, his feet spun, which again put him off balance. Not traveling far this time, he landed sideways in a crumpled pile, somehow having slid into the room just across the hallway from where he began his goofy ballet. Indignant, he scrambled to his feet. Blain raised his gaze across the hall, where he saw the familiar male standing, arm outstretched, Blain's keychain dangling from his fingertips.

"You okay?" the young man asked. Glancing at the keychain, he said "Wi-Fi detector. Nice, but there's no wireless on campus. It's policy." He tossed the gadget back to Blain. "You must be new here. Why else are you looking for the Physics lab on the weekend?"

"I just want to get there and check out some stuff in the lab, make sure that the materials are sufficient. Then I need to find the computer labs. I'm just afraid that this school is not going to have adequate equipment. I heard that the computer labs here have single processor machines with only 512MB of RAM. How can anyone learn on that?"

"I think they are fine. I did okay."

"Sure, for the basic user. But my stuff is going to need more power. I'm sure of that. I'm a Physics and Computer Science major."

"Oh, so what are you working on?"

"Don't worry about it," Blain said. "Some say it is master's thesis material. I'm sure you wouldn't get it."

"Sure."

"Thanks for the directions. I gotta go."

"Sure thing." The high schooler paused. "Oh, by the way, my name's Mitch Taylor. These days everyone calls me Flir."

"You're Mitch Taylor?" Blain looked like he was going to get sick. "The Mitch Taylor? Oh no."

"Oh yes!" Mitch smiled.

"I.. there... computers... and then Chris... freeze the... Argon!" Blain didn't look so good. His entire system fully engaged the "flight" portion of his "fight or flight" instinct and, with all the coordination he could muster, he speed-shuffled down the hallway, nearly falling twice, and headed back up the stairs that he had come down moments before.

After three days of searching for Mitch, Blain thought, he had finally found him. And then he launched his loaded backpack at Mitch's head, hurled his keychain at him, insulted his intelligence, and made himself look like a complete fool, all in the span of five minutes. He couldn't have felt more stupid. Blain hurried back to his dorm room, shattered.