During the second week of the internship at her father"s office, Serena took her lunch break on the floor under the desk. It was cool and dark, away from the queasy flicker of the florescent lights. She breathed in, two, three, four, hold, two, three, four and out, staring at the outlet in the wall, pondering a grow lamp. The next day there was a small jar of filmy water and thick brown sediment. No one asked. Before long, she was taking regular tea breaks below desk, sampling from the ever-expanding rows of beakers and bowls. An electric kettle cord replaced the printer cable, and the soft burping of a boiling pot could be heard over the hum of the late-afternoon drag.