The “Boston Logan Terrorist Suicide Bomber” explains
what really happened to her. By Star Simpson
It’s 8 p.m., and I’m nervous and excited. Nervous scheduled to land in just 15 minutes.
because I have roughly 12 hours to finish two I run down to my room and throw on my clothes
MIT problem sets I haven’t really started on. in a fireman’s hurry. The early morning looks gray
Excited because the next morning, my friend Tim and dewy, so I grab a sweatshirt. It happens to be
Anderson will be flying from California to visit me the one I’d made the week before, with a battery-in Massachusetts. My plan is to grab dinner, plunk powered LED star on it. Tim studied electrical engi-myself into a study room with my books, pen, pad neering, and he’s shown me a lot about how to build
of graph paper, and computer, and do what’s known things. It crosses my mind that wearing my nerdy,
around MIT as “tool” — that is, work solidly until I’m homespun sweatshirt might make him smile. I also
finished, all night if necessary. At 6: 45 a.m. I’ll go to pick up a little flower I sculpted from plastic
the airport to meet Tim’s flight. that I want to give to him.
Things go more or less as planned. At 5: 30 a.m., I fly outside, bleary-eyed and a little wobbly, but
I lay down on the solid hardwood floor of the study filled with enthusiasm to see Tim again. I rush to get
room to catch a catnap. I set an alarm for 6: 30. It to a T stop, hoping he’ll wait for me at the airport.
goes off, but I’m so exhausted that I doze in a half- Early-rising coffee drinkers chat boisterously all
awake state, music blaring in my headphones, until around me on the subway. After a long ride on the T,
with a jolt I realize it’s already 7:05! The plane is I get off at the airport stop and jump on the shuttle
Photograph by AP Images / Lisa Poole
46 Make: Volume