I wasn't aware there were so many different types of math. I decide not to delve deeper into that topic, lest I disappoint them again. “You must get sick of each other, practicing for these competitions together and taking classes together.”
“We also live together,” says Felix.
“That’s a lot of togetherness.”
Lukas shrugs as if to say,This is totally normal for us, and we don’t care if you think it’s weird. “We like to share.”
Okay, living with Ronnie has absolutely been affecting me, because that statement combined with the way their fingers are moving so quickly over the cubes sends my thoughts to a place that is for sure not anywhere they’d have gone a year ago and should not be going in the middle of an interview. I’m sure Lukas didn’t mean it like that at all, and my face heats as I shove the thoughts back into the depths of my psyche to be explored later. Much later. Without an audience.
Or never. Never is probably the better option.
Their cubes go silent, and I realize that I’ve just been sitting here frozen, my impure thoughts probably written all over my bright red face.
“Did you want a picture?” asks Lukas.
“A picture?” I’m struggling to breathe and pull my mind out of the gutter. I’m not sure how I ended up there. I make a mental note to tune Ronnie out the next time she starts detailing her sexcapades.
“Of us with our ribbons,” he says. “For your paper.”
“Oh! Yes! That’s a great idea.” I stand and pull my phone out of my purse, glad to have something to do that doesn’t involve making a fool of myself. “Why don’t the four of you stand against that wall there and hold up your ribbons.”
They line up, shoulders touching, and it’s weird how much they’re all dressed alike. It makes me wonder if they share a single closet too. Graphic tees, jeans, and Chucks. Although Elliot in his button-down kind of ruins that theory.
“One, two, three.” None of them are smiling, but at least they’re all making eye contact with the camera. I still doubt my editor will dedicate more than two inches of column space to this event, and he definitely won’t include a picture. But they don’t need to know that. They just won the qualifiers for Nationals. They may not seem like they care, but I’m sure they do, and I don’t want to put a damper on their day.
“Are you going to write an article about Nationals for theTribunetoo?” asks Felix.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “Where are Nationals happening?”
“New York,” he says.
“Oh. Probably not, then.” I bite my lip, feeling bad that I’m disappointing them when I just made an effortnotto do that. Which is crazy, because I don’t even know these guys. I’m not sure why I care so much about how I’m making them feel. “I don’t think I could convince my editor to let me travel outside of Boston.”
“They were in Boston last year, so we wouldn’t have had to travel if we’d been able to go.” Felix shoots a glare at Lukas, who returns the look.
“That’s a shame,” says Elliot, ignoring them both. “It would have been nice to see a friendly face in the audience.”
Now I feel even worse, but that stupid little thrill runs through me once more.They want to see me again.“I mean, I suppose I could ask,” I offer.
“If you want to,” says Lukas. His watch beeps, but he turns it off quickly and tosses a hand up in a half-wave. “We’ll see you around, Rebecca Flynn.”
The guys all disappear back through the double doors, and I look around at the now-empty backstage space. The volunteers have all left, so it’s just me and a bunch of stacked chairs.
I take an uncertain step after them. That whole last bit of the conversation happened so quick. If they’d stuck around, I would have shoved my sort-of-dirty half-thoughts to the recesses of my mind and come up with more questions.
It wasn’t even a very good goodbye.“We’ll see you around, Rebecca Flynn”? See me where? When? At Nationals, maybe, if I can get my editor to let me cover it—which is truly doubtful—but was that all he meant? Or is the knowledge that I attend BU actually enough for them to find me on campus? They’re math guys from MIT, for all I know they have some sort of elite stalking program on their computers, and my name and college is more than enough to track me down.
I’m being ridiculous.
I straighten my back and follow the guys through the doors. I’m a professional, representing my newspaper. I need to act like it.
When I return to the foyer, the guys are nowhere to be seen. In fact, most of the people are gone, with the exception of thewoman from check-in and Karen, who are chatting as they stack plastic bins into a wagon.
I head outside to my car. Ronnie will be out with Trevor by the time I get home, so I’ll be able to grab a snack and get started on this article. I shove all thoughts of handsome cubers with their fast hands and awkward goodbyes out of my head and crank the volume on my favorite playlist, psyching myself up to write the best article on competitive speedcubing that theSunshine Tribunehas ever seen.
Chapter Three
My article is fantastic. I spend the whole next day drafting it, and it turns out exactly as I’d hoped. I even wear my lucky flowy floral skirt to work today to get my editor’s feedback. I’m sure he’ll have some feedback and tweaks to tighten it up a little bit, but I’d expect no less. Carl won a Pulitzer Prize for a piece he did on the housing market crash of '08 so I’d be shocked if he’s not able to make my article even better.
