A Mango-Shaped Space

by Wendy Mass

  Jonah is the first to speak. “How come we haven’t heard about this before?”

  Roger shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe you haven’t had the right teachers.”

  “I think it’s perfect,” Laura says, stabbing her plastic fork into the last chunk of cake.

  “Let’s do it,” Jonah says.

  Roger beams at me as if it were all my idea. All I did was remember the story. “Okay then,” he says, crumpling up his empty lunch bag. “We can meet next week at my house to divide up the work. Any day except Wednesday — that’s when I have acupuncture on my ankle.”

  I immediately think of the woman I read about on the Web site. She made acupuncture sound so amazing. She said that because of her synesthesia, her senses just came alive. Maybe that could happen for me. We decide to meet at Roger’s house after school on Tuesday. I’ll have to get Beth to pick me up. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. Laura and Jonah start arguing about how to split up the project, so I decide to ask Roger a few questions.

  “Does it hurt?” I ask. “Don’t they stick long needles in you?”

  “Not only do they stick them in,” he says, “but sometimes they twist them around or attach an electrical current to the ends of them. It’s a little uncomfortable, but it doesn’t really hurt. Why?”

  The gears are turning in my brain. If it didn’t really hurt, then maybe I should try it. All in the name of research, right? If I could see even a bit of what that woman saw, I could carry that image with me forever, and I bet my paintings would be amazing.

  I hear Roger calling my name, but it sounds far away. All I can think of are those colors the woman described.

  “Mia!” Roger says loudly, waving his hands in front of my face. “I asked you a question.”

  Just then the bell rings for next period. I toss my paper bag in the trash and realize Roger is still standing there.

  “Yes?”

  “I asked why you wanted to know about the acupuncture.”

  “No reason,” I tell him, making a mental note to come up with a good reason tonight.

  “Okay,” he says, slinging his book bag over his shoulder and looking away from me. “See you later then.” Without waiting for a response, he hobbles out of the cafeteria. I walk to math class alone, wishing the day were already over. I arrive to find a crowd standing in front of the blackboard shaking their heads. The words surprise quiz today are written in huge letters. The teacher comes in and announces we have two minutes to review the basic algebra formulas from last week.

  My first instinct is to hide in the bathroom, but then I’d definitely fail. If I take the quiz, then I may be able to squeeze by with a D. I hurry to my desk and fling open my math book. Memorizing the formulas was the one thing I totally could have done if only I’d paid attention. I reach into my book bag for a pencil, and my fingers fall on the Magic Markers I use in art class. I pull them out, and an idea forms in my head. I’ve never cheated on anything before, but I can’t fail another math test. It would be too humiliating. And summer school would be too horrible for words. I only have a minute left now, so I quickly pull off the caps on the markers and start drawing a rainbow on my jeans. Only it’s not really a rainbow. The colors stand for the letters in the equations. Maroon is x, gray is y, and light blue is z. Yellow is a, brown is b, and red is c. That should do it. All I have to do is put the colors in the right order, and I can tell at a glance what the formula is.

  Twenty minutes later the short quiz is over, and the teacher grades them at her desk. We’re supposed to be reading ahead in our math books, but I can’t help sneaking glances at her. When she’s done, she stands up and passes them back to us.

  “Excellent, Mia,” she says, placing my paper lightly on my desk. She pauses for a second before moving on to the boy behind me.

  I finally got my big, beautiful sunflower-yellow A. I’m so proud of myself that I forget to be ashamed.

  Chapter Nine

  “C’mon, Beth, other people have to use the bathroom too. If we miss the bus, you’ll have to drive us to school.” I’m banging on the bathroom door while Zack leans listlessly against the wall next to me. “You’ve been in there for an hour.”

  “I’m shaving!” she yells out. “Do you want me to cut myself?”

  “Do you really want me to answer that?” I reply.

  A minute later the door opens, and before I can get in, Zack suddenly springs to life and beats me to it.

  “Better work on those reflexes,” Beth says as she walks past me, her hair wrapped in a towel.

  This is one of those times when being an only child would be really, really good. There’s no way I’ll have time to shower now, so I might as well check if Adam responded to my e-mail about the acupuncture. I throw on my clothes and hurry downstairs.

  DEAR MIA,

  THE ACUPUNCTURE SOUNDS GREAT! IF YOU’RE LOOKING FOR A GOOD FAKE SYMPTOM, ALLOW ME TO SUGGEST AN EARACHE. THE ONLY THING I’VE EVER DONE TO TRY TO ENHANCE MY SYNESTHESIA WAS TO GET REALLY DRUNK ON EGGNOG ONE CHRISTMAS. I LEARNED MY LESSON, THOUGH, WHEN ALL I SAW FOR THE NEXT FIVE HOURS WAS THE INSIDE OF THE TOILET BOWL. YOU SHOULD DEFINITELY GO, NO MATTER WHAT, EVEN IF YOU HAVE TO SNEAK AROUND BEHIND YOUR PARENTS’ BACKS. I CAN WRITE YOU A FAKE DOCTOR’S NOTE IF YOU WANT.

  LEMME KNOW,

  ADAM

  The fake doctor’s note sounds a bit extreme, but there’s no way my parents would let me go if I asked. I’m very lucky to have Adam to write to, not only because he’s the only one who understands me, but because I seem to be fighting with everyone in my family. Just yesterday Zack declared I was acting all superior because I told him I was too busy to help him study for his vocabulary test. I told him that maybe, just maybe, my brain actually was more superior than his and that my colors are an advancement in evolution. He said that more likely I’m some kind of a throwback, and now he’s been calling me the Missing Link. I don’t think it’s very funny.

  “Mia,” my mother calls out as I’m leaving the small office. “You have a phone call.”

  I quickly delete the letter, run up to her room, and take the phone. “It’s Jerry,” she says. I can’t imagine what he wants, but I’m just relieved it isn’t my math teacher calling to accuse me of cheating. I say hello.

  “Hi, Mia. Your mother said you’re about to leave for school, so I’ll make this fast. The funding just came through to bring a group of synesthetes together over Thanksgiving weekend for a few days of comparing notes. We’ll have group discussions, and basically you’ll all get to learn from one another. You’re one of the lucky ones, since you live only a couple of hours from here. Do you think you’d like to participate?”

  My eyes widen. “Definitely!”

  “Good. Why don’t you put your mother back on the phone, and I’ll give her the details?”

  “Okay,” I say. “Hey, can I bring someone with me who might be a synesthete too? His name’s Billy Henkle.”

  “Of course. Have his parents contact me.”

  “I don’t really know how to reach his parents,” I admit.

  “But you know his last name, right? Just look in the phone book.”

  What on earth is wrong with me that I didn’t think of that before? I feel like a huge idiot as I hand the phone back to my mother.

  “Who’s Billy?” Mom asks, holding her hand over the mouthpiece.

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  “I can’t keep track of your boyfriends,” she says.

  “Huh?”

  She waves me away as she takes down the information from Jerry. While I’m waiting, I pull out the phone book she keeps under her night table. Scanning through the h’s, I find no Henkles listed in town, or in the neighboring towns. I try spelling it as many ways as I can think of, but have no luck. I pace across the well-worn carpet until my mother hangs up.

  “What boyfriends?” I repeat.

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” she says. “Your brother told me about them.”

  “What did he tell you?”


  “You’re going to miss the bus,” she says, checking the clock on her night table. “And don’t forget you have your math tutor after school.”

  “Mom, please. I don’t have any boyfriends.”

  “Roger and Adam?” she asks, then chuckles. “You kids grow up so fast these days.”

  “Roger?” I repeat through gritted teeth. “He’s just a kid from school. And I haven’t even met Adam in person. I’m going to kill Zack.”

  I storm out of her room, grab my stuff for school, and walk quickly down the street to the bus stop. Zack must really be mad at me if he made up those things about Roger and Adam. That’s something Beth would have done, but not Zack. I didn’t even realize he knew Roger’s name.

  The bus arrives right as I get to the stop. I glare at Zack when I get on and then go sit with Jenna. There’s this weird vibe between us now — like we’re still best friends, except it’s different. I don’t know if she notices it or not. Right now she’s totally obsessed with planning her party. I try to act as if I’m excited about her selection of decorations, but it’s hard. My head is filled with so many more-important things. I was going to tell her about Adam, but she doesn’t give me the chance.

  Jenna is still talking about the party on the bus ride after school, and I’m actually glad that I have to go straight home for my tutor. As I toss my book bag on the bottom of the staircase, I hear an unfamiliar voice say, “Don’t worry, Mrs. Winchell. Mia’s going to do great, you’ll see.”

  I tiptoe down the hall and peek my head into the kitchen. My mother is sitting at the table with a girl who looks around eighteen. She has long straight brown hair parted down the middle and sparkly green eyes. She’s wearing a wide smile and a low-cut shirt.

  “Mia, this is your tutor, Samantha.”

  “Hi,” I say, feeling like a completely different species from this girl.

  “Why don’t I leave the two of you to get down to work,” my mother says, making her exit. “Have fun.”

  “We will, Mrs. Winchell,” Samantha says way too cheerily.

  She pushes a chair close to hers and motions for me to sit down. I can see she’s already laid out paper, pencils, and textbooks. As Samantha starts talking I begin to wish I were back with Jenna hearing about the party. “Now Mia,” she says excitedly, “even though it may not seem like it, math is a concept too. A mathematical equation is asking you to arrive at a number after manipulating other numbers. And the numbers stand for quantities. We’re going to teach you to approach math problems differently. In a way, we’ll be mapping out the equations in space, until you feel like you can reach out and grab them. Doesn’t that sound great?” She is almost giddy.

  I wish I could match her enthusiasm, but right now my difficulty with math doesn’t seem as important as it used to. And after all, I did get an A on that last test. But Samantha is so eager to help me that I say, “Yeah, that sounds really great,” and resign myself to the math lesson. Halfway through it, Zack comes home and barges right into the kitchen.

  “Oh, sorry,” he says, stopping short and staring at us. “I didn’t know you had company.”

  I sigh. “Samantha, this is my brother, Zack.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she says, holding out her hand.

  Zack looks utterly enthralled, and when he takes her hand I’m afraid he’s going to kiss it. He hangs around the kitchen for a few more minutes, fixing himself the slowest peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich in recorded history and keeping one eye on Samantha at all times. Since when did Zack start liking girls?

  “Say good-bye, Zack,” I finally tell him.

  He backs slowly out of the room, still staring and smiling awkwardly. Either Samantha doesn’t notice, or she’s used to the attention. After two hours she finally runs out of steam, and I feel like I’m going to explode from concentrating so hard. I let her out the front door and go to check out the noises I hear coming from the den. Beth and Zack are both balancing on one foot with their arms held high above their heads. Their eyes are closed.

  “Breathe in through your nose, hold it, breathe out through your mouth,” Beth says in a low, soothing voice. I watch, mesmerized. Suddenly Zack loses his balance and tips over, almost taking Beth down with him.

  Zack looks up at me from the floor. “So what do you think?” he asks. “I look pretty good in this yoga outfit, don’t I?”

  He’s wearing last year’s gym shorts and a T-shirt that says “Runs with Scissors” on the front and “Plays Well with Others” on the back. I’m still mad at him for making up the boyfriends thing.

  “Actually you look pretty stupid,” I say spitefully.

  “Missing Link,” he mutters as he gets to his feet.

  “Jealous much?” I snap back, walking quickly away.

  “It’s okay, Zack,” Beth says, stretching her arms wide. “Don’t let her uncenter you with her negativity. Let’s go on to the next pose.”

  The back door opens, and the smell of pizza wafts into the room. Dad must have brought it home for dinner. I run into the kitchen before Beth and Zack can untangle themselves. Dad goes upstairs to get Mom, so for one wonderful second I’m alone with my choice of pizza. Beth and Zack arrive a second later, and each grabs a slice from different boxes.

  “I guess yoga makes you hungry,” I say.

  “You shouldn’t knock it till you try it,” Beth replies, her mouth already full. “It’s very relaxing and centering.”

  “I’m relaxed and centered enough,” I tell her, helping myself to a slice with pepperoni.

  “Ha!” Zack says.

  “What’s your problem lately?” I ask him. “Why did you tell Mom I have two boyfriends?”

  “Since when do you have two boyfriends?” Beth asks, narrowing her eyes at me.

  “Since never,” I say, turning back to Zack.

  “I told her to get back at you,” he says, reaching for another slice already.

  “For what?”

  “I don’t really know.”

  “Nice.”

  I hear our parents coming down the stairs, and suddenly I’m not in the mood for a group meal.

  “Whatever. Have a great dinner.” I put one more slice on my plate and leave the room.

  “Where are you going?” Dad asks when I run into him and Mom in the hall. “I haven’t seen you all day.”

  “I’m going up to take a bath since Beth hogged the bathroom this morning,” I tell them. “Also, I don’t feel so well.” That’s the truth, in a way. I’m sick of everyone.

  “Okay,” my father says, sounding a bit disappointed. “Maybe you’ll come talk afterward?”

  “Maybe,” I tell him, climbing the steps two at a time.

  I finish the pizza by the time I get to my room, and I lay the plate next to Mango’s pill bottle. He raises his head from the bed and gives a sleepy meow. I sit down next to him and scratch under his chin until he purrs like a train engine and mango-colored puffs fill the air. He reaches out a paw and bats at the string on my sweatshirt.

  I grab my portable radio, and Mango follows me to the bathroom. He circles the bath mat until he finds the perfect spot to curl up in. He learned the dangers of sitting on the edge of the tub last winter after he fell in and Dad had to blow-dry him. I’m attempting to duplicate the situation the woman wrote about where she saw all the shapes in the steam. I turn on the hot water full blast. Without my Partner in Crime, I’ll have to sneak into Beth’s room alone to find the last ingredient for my bath experiment. I close the door behind me to keep in the steam, look over my shoulder twice, and then pretend that Jenna is standing guard for me at the top of the stairs. Beth has so many candles that she’ll never miss one. I choose a short, squat yellow one from her bookshelf and grab a book of matches from the dresser drawer where I’d seen her stash them. We’re all forbidden to keep matches in our rooms since Zack nearly burned his left ear off when he was eight and in his playing-with-fire stage. Beth is supposed to ask one of our parents to light her candles for her. But
hey, if she hadn’t hidden these matches, I wouldn’t have them right now.

  I hurry back to the bathroom and am pleased to see a nice hazy mist has developed. The water is almost at the top of the tub, so I leap over Mango and quickly turn the handles. I doubt my parents would be too happy if I flooded the place. I put my clothes into a neat pile, light the candle, and tune the radio to a classical station. I switch off the light and admire the way the candle illuminates the steam. Right away all the colors of the music have more dimension. The steam makes them more solid somehow. It’s beautiful! The violins are hundreds of shimmering gold lights, the horns are cubes of green, and the drums are a bright aqua blue. It feels like I can almost reach out and touch them. Eventually I remember I’m supposed to be in the tub, not standing in the middle of the room. The water is really hot, so I get in slowly. The steam is still rising from the water, and I watch the colors flow through it. It’s like I’m a part of the whole fabric of the universe — the air, the water, the music, the colors, the shapes, and me right in the middle. I can’t believe I’m just discovering this. It makes me want to paint. It makes me want to sing. It reminds me of the sixth-grade field trip to the planetarium. Except this time it’s my own personal laser-light show.

  Eventually the water gets cold, and since I’ve already ignored both Zack’s and Beth’s knocks, I reluctantly drain the water and towel off. As soon as the water is almost gone, Mango jumps into the tub and starts licking the drain.

  “That’s gross, Mango,” I tell him, promptly lifting him back out.

  He shakes water off his whiskers, and I swear it looks like he’s winking at me. I stash the radio and candle under the sink behind the rolls of toilet paper. As soon as I leave the bathroom Zack rushes in and locks the door. I realize on the way to my room that I haven’t done the three good deeds to make up for lying to my mother about my homework the other day. Even though I’m not Catholic, I say a Hail Mary, give Mango his medicine, and then throw in another Hail Mary because I can’t think of anything else.

  After a week of stalling, I wake up Sunday morning with one goal — to call Roger and set up the acupuncture session. I can’t imagine it could be more intense than the baths, which have become an almost nightly event, and I can’t wait to find out. When my clocks read 10:00 a.m. I dial his number. A young girl’s voice answers, and I ask for Roger.