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“Okay.”
It’s as easy as that. Her phone chimes, and she glances down at her watch. That’s the point when I notice that she’s wearing a Cyclone Vortex. Of course she is. Everyone has a Vortex these days. Mom would be so proud.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “My ride is leaving in five minutes and I don’t want to walk home in the dark.”
“Your ride?”
She makes a face. “This is so weird. I…long story short, my housemate is my BFF.”
“That’s not weird.”
She bites her lip and looks away. “We live about a mile from campus. I share the house with Tina and her boyfriend. I can walk or take the bus, but he has a car. So if we’re leaving at the same time, it’s easiest to carpool.”
“Where are you meeting them?”
“The parking structure a block from Soda Hall.”
“I’ll walk you, if you want.”
She looks at me. “Yes.”
She doesn’t say anything to this. I thumb through some papers in a drawer from my desk, get a messenger bag, and then shrug on a jacket. She watches me carefully.
“What the hell are we doing?” I ask as I join her in the hallway.
“I have no idea.”
“Good. We’re in this together.”
“Here.” Her hand slides into mine.
We don’t talk. We hold hands. I could say it doesn’t mean anything, but I prefer not to practice self-deception. I’m holding her hand because I want to hold her. Because I care about her. Because I’ve spent years not letting myself have expectations and dammit, I want to expect her.
We arrive in the area she’s designated, and I take a look around. “Your ride isn’t here yet.”
“They’ll be… Oh, there they are.” She drops my hand. “Tell me when will work for you tomorrow.”
“Seven?”
“Okay.”
The two figures I see across the way approach.
“Hey, Maria,” says a female voice.
Then…
“Oh my god,” says the man with her. “Jay?”
I freeze in place. That voice brings back too many memories. Afternoons at Cyclone, because my parents were busy and the only way Mom could make sure we were doing our homework was to have us there. My brother, wandering down the halls of Cyclone, hiding in one of the computer labs.
All our old red team/blue team games. That’s the point when I remember that Maria’s housemate—the one who lives with her—is dating a Cyclone guy. She didn’t mention that he was that Cyclone guy.
I exhale and turn. “Blake?”
He gives me a genuine smile. “Jay. What are you doing here?”
“Discovering how tiny the world is. Em, I didn’t realize that Blake was your housemate.”
“Technically, Tina is my housemate,” Maria says. “Blake is... Um.”
“By the transitive property of housematery,” I reply, “I’m pretty sure that makes Blake Reynolds your housemate, too.”
“There is no transitive property of relationships.”
“Not generally, no, but housematery is a special case.”
Our eyes meet. Maria smiles first—a shy, sweet smile, then a larger one, until we’re grinning at each other.
“Look how sweet that is,” Maria’s housemate says. “They’re flirting with math.”
I can see the slight hesitation in Maria’s smile, and I remember that we’ve been down this road before. Last time she mentioned flirting with math, I pretended it wasn’t happening.
There’s only one way to get her to believe I won’t push her away. I have to not do it. Over and over again, until she believes in me.
“In my defense,” I say, “math is pretty hot. And I only have so many tools.”
Her smile broadens. Our hands twine, briefly, warmth on warmth.
I’ve got one chance to make this work. Whatever I do, I’m not letting it go.
21
MARIA
Eating in the restaurant where I had dinner with Jay and Gabe last September is giving me the strangest sense of déjà vu.
The waitstaff even conducted us to the same table—a square thing, still sporting the same unlit candle, the same plastic flower arrangement. Instead of sitting across from Jay, though, I sit kitty-corner from him.
Our shoes brush under the tablecloth. Our hands could touch.
Jay orders the same thing that he did in September—spaghetti with marinara sauce. I order the same ravioli.
He waits until the waiter disappears with our orders before turning to me.
Last time we were here, he offered to make me a deal. He leans in, and I almost expect him to say those exact words. I’ll make you a deal.
He doesn’t, though. He just looks at me. I can feel his gaze like a physical caress. It feels like he’s trying to memorize me, which is silly, because he knows me.
A fragment of a chant flits through my head. He knows me; he knows me not. I could dismember every plastic flower in here looking for an answer to that question. All that would give me was fake green stems strewn with thorns. All too appropriate; he can still hurt me.
That’s true for anyone—friend, family, lover—at any point. But for Jay, it’s not a hypothetical. I know he can hurt me because he has.
Looking at him almost stings. I’m used to seeing my own failures in his eyes.
“So, Mr. Laser.” I wield the humor in my voice like a shield. “What’s a focused guy like you doing in a place like this?”
He looks down at his hand on the table, fingers lightly tapping next to his silverware. Then he looks back at me. The corner of his lips curve in a smile.
?
?What’s it look like?” he says. “I’m focusing.”
Oh. Everything I have flutters—my breath, my body, even my experience of sensation.
“On something that isn’t science?” Teasing is easy. “I’m shocked.”
“Turns out,” he says, “I’m tunable between four hundred and fifty nanometers and you.”
He picks up his glass of water and takes a sip.
“My,” I say primly. “What a large wavelength you have.”
He chokes, coughing on his water. Then he looks back at me, and that small smile blazes into a bonfire. He coughs again, wipes his mouth with his napkin, and glances upward. “Look what I almost missed out on by being an idiot.”
“Who are you talking to?”
“Mental note,” he says. “To the universe. Just in case I forget. Which I do not plan to do.” He puts the napkin down and sets his hands on the table, palms up.
He’s wearing a blue button-down shirt over jeans. No tie. The first two buttons at his neck are undone. I think for him this is dressing up. Just beyond his cuffs, I can see the lines of dark ink on his skin, a spill of dull black from his wrist to his palm.
It’s an invitation. For a moment, I hesitate.
But I didn’t come here to hesitate. I already care about him. He can already hurt me. I’m putting myself out here like this out of pure, unadulterated selfishness. If I’m going to get hurt, I’m taking every last drop of pleasure I can wring from the experience first.
So I reach out, set my fingertips on the edge of the geometric pattern, and ask. “What is this?”
“My little brother used to draw these really intricate designs in his school notebooks at lunch.” For the first time during dinner, his eyes shift off center.
He told me about his little brother just over a week ago. I know him, and I don’t.
“So it’s a memorial.”
“Something like that.” His voice is low. “And some day, I’ll tell you everything about my baby brother. But…maybe not today.”
No. I swallow. I put a second finger on his palm. “Fine by me.”
We don’t say anything for another few seconds.
