Tamia tipped a drink of water into her little cube plant before taking a sip for herself. Lauryn Hill crooned at her through her earbuds, and she bobbed her head and whispered along. Having just read an article called “Plant Volatiles—From Chemistry to Communication,” she was debating whether her next read should be “Do Plants Think?” or “Trees Call for Help—And Now Scientists Can Understand.” She took another bite of her sandwich and wiped the crumbs off her notepad.

Tamia felt a little guilty for reading this stuff at work. She hadn’t been asked to do any more on it since last week’s briefing, but at least she was doing it during lunch. She’d had no idea plants were so dynamic. They could send each other chemical messages; warn each other when they were under attack. Some plants could send out a beacon, like a Bat Signal, summoning wasps to attack the caterpillars chewing on their leaves. Trees had even been shown to exchange nutrients through their roots, trading sugars back and forth according to the season.

Mad respect, Harvey, she thought, looking at the philodendron on her desk. So unassuming, just sitting there in your little terra cotta pot.

Who knew, maybe she’d find something here to help her faltering garden at home. She probably should have become a botanist instead, because this stuff was much more interesting than all the number-crunching for the Japanese trade delegation.

The delegation had come and gone, with all the attendant hysteria from Protocol and her own awkwardness around important people. Whatever she did during high-profile visits, she always felt certain it was the exact wrong thing. All the stiff bowing and even stiffer smiling, and careful steering of guests down marble hallways to special meeting rooms with thick carpets and mahogany furniture. It was all such theatre, such kabuki. At least she knew that much Japanese.

Greg, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly how to exploit these opportunities. After dropping frequent hints about his Japanese minor at UW, he’d offered to refresh the governor’s knowledge of the language, which had resulted in some nice one-on-one time with Palmer. And he had volunteered to help escort the delegation to and from the airport and draft the follow-up correspondence, planting the seeds for a grad school recommendation and overseas internship in one visit. Pretty slick. Just like the Career Development Center had said: offer to help on extra projects, build your network, make yourself a go-to person. But did he have to be so slimy about it, with that big, fawning smile and that syrupy voice?

Anyway, wasn’t she supposed to be thinking about her own career instead of obsessing about his?

She felt a tug on the cord of her earbuds. It was Greg. She uncorked one ear.

“Does Palmer want more on the tree thing?” he asked, nodding toward her monitor.

“Oh, no. I’m just reading some articles.”

He arched his back and stretched. “If you’re just sitting here over lunch anyway, you could start working on e-mails.”

“Constituent e-mails? And take that learning opportunity away from the intern?” she asked with mock innocence.

“Seriously, I know it sucks, but the intern isn’t coming in today. Didn’t you read Rima’s e-mail?”

Tamia flipped over to her inbox and scanned the message from the staff supervisor. “Well, let’s split ‘em up,” she said, taking out her remaining earbud and cutting off the music.

He shook his head. “Palmer needs me on follow-up for the trade delegation.”

“Well, we can do that first.” The Japanese trade thing was important, so she’d go ahead and help him out one more time.

“Tam, look.” Greg pointed to the salient part of the staff supervisor’s e-mail.

“Oh,” she said quietly. There it was, in text and subtext: she’d been assigned to constituent e-mails again, while Greg would be taking on the more important trade work.

“Eyes on the prize,” said Greg. “You keep wasting your time on trees, you’ll never get to D.C.”

Tamia glared at him, seriously wondering what Richie Rich could presume to tell her about “eyes on the prize.”

Greg shook his head. “You gotta keep up. You want to stay in Olympia forever?”

“Maybe I do,” she shot back. “Maybe we don’t all want the same prize.”

Tamia sifted through constituent complaints about fishing regulations and hunting permits, wondering what her prize really was. If she really cared about being part of Palmer’s Senate run, she should have tried to make her mark with the trade delegation. On the other hand, if she didn’t really care about that stuff, she shouldn’t be so pissed off at Greg for pulling ahead.

So… So what if she did want to stay in Olympia forever? Well, not Olympia in particular, but what if she actually liked Washington? What if she missed hiking with her friends and spending more time in the woods? What if she didn’t want to move farther away from her mom and dad and brother in Seattle? And what if, contrary to her parents’ beliefs, success wasn’t synonymous with a big, important job in Washington, D.C.?

After an hour tackling constituent e-mails, Tamia took a break and walked to the lake at the edge of the legislative grounds. Heading down the twisting trail to Capitol Lake, smelling the wild roses along the path, watching the ripples sparkle on the water—this always seemed to help her think.

Greg said she was wasting time on the trees. Why was it a waste; she was interested in it. Did everything have to be about her career?

She looked uphill and saw the tip of the old plant conservatory at the top of the trail. The dilapidated greenhouse was closed and slated for demolition. Greg had teased her when she talked about joining the committee to raise funds to reopen it, making cracks about little old ladies and tea. She’d gotten annoyed at him for panning the committee—but had she joined it yet? No.

She sighed and turned back to the lake. After all the scholarships and loans and hopes that had been invested in her degree, she felt guilty for being so hazy on what she was going to do with it. What she really had to do was figure out exactly what her goals were—and stop wasting time being mad at Greg for going after his.