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"But besides that?"
"Good. I'm learning this new concept in differential geometry-"
"Differential geometry?"
I laugh. "It looks at three dimensional shapes in space." I launch into an explanation of my current class. Mostly, it focuses on control theory, how to model variables in a non-linear way. It's sort of like chaos theory. I try to channel Michael Crichton to explain it in the simplest possible terms. "So it's really not that complicated."
Ethan laughs. "Not even a little."
"Just a bit harder than calculus." I pull my textbook, notebook, and pen from my messenger bag. The way Ethan is looking at me with affection in his eyes is making me nervous. I chew on the cap of my pen. That helps.
"I love the way you light up when you talk about math. I'm glad you get to do what you love." He spins his guitar pick. "I'm going to stop distracting you eventually."
"You can distract me a little."
"Let me make it up to you." He stretches his fingers then places them on his guitar. He starts to play a familiar song, Can't Seem to Make You Mine by Garbage.
Does the choice mean anything? Does he even know the title? I try not to think about it. Instead, I close my eyes and let the music wash over me. Ethan goes through a dozen alternative rock hits—all songs I love, but is that a coincidence or does he remember?—before he starts practicing Dangerous Noise songs.
The whole time, I pretend like I'm studying. But really, I'm thinking about how much this feels like old times.
I fucking miss old times.
The afternoon is a blur of studying. First with Ethan. Then in my room. I barely have time to change, fix my hair, and do my makeup before Sharon pops by to whisk me to the venue. She talks my ear off about how impressive it is that I'm helping with the band's books at such a young age, and about how she actually works for a software company that always has room for smart people in software design, especially people with master's degrees from NYU.
She assures me that Portland's gorgeous sunny summers are worth the six months of rain and grey. Sharon seems nice, but I'm glad when we arrive backstage and find Mal. He plants a deep kiss on her lips, whispers sweet nothings in her ear, and sends her away.
I bite my lip to keep from commenting on his player moves.
He chuckles but says nothing about my resting bitch face.
Our workspace is a dressing room. Its locked door is labeled Private. Seems Mal is the only person who has the key.
He locks the door behind us and sets up his laptop at a table in the corner. The room is small but it's clean and the table has two chairs. It's a fine place to work.
I double-check my findings then I go over them with Mal. He nods as I explain, only occasionally interjecting to ask for clarification. Mostly, he nods or shakes his head, holding his usual Mal Strong it's hard being in charge but someone's got to do it poker face.
When I've explained everything I can, I do my best to summarize. "It's possible this is an accounting error, but that's unlikely. Twenty grand goes missing then it shows up two months later. You haven't lost any money, but all signs point to someone 'borrowing' it and replacing it secretly."
"Hmmm."
"Should I do anything about this?"
"No. The money is here. Twenty grand isn't anything to fuss over."
That must be nice. "What do you want me to tell Ethan?"
Mal pushes up from the table. "Mind if I ask you something personal?"
"Do I have a choice?"
He raises a brow.
I push myself up too. I try to copy his cool and composed gesture, but it's not happening.
I pace.
He stares.
