by Laura Steven
A slightly hazy Mateo grows impatient as I study the board, weighing my options. I so rarely think offensively that I struggle to see the potential at first. But slowly, I come up with a plan. A way to force him to move in a certain order, leading to a queen-king pin, then a fatal rook-to-A8 finisher.
The buzz as I execute my plan is electric. Mateo realizes his fate a few moves in, but by then it’s too late – he’s a rat who’s backed himself into a corner, with nowhere to go but the trap set for it. I deal my killer blow and grin triumphantly.
‘Good game,’ he says, but it’s not begrudging. It’s flirtatious. And it causes the reality of the win to smack me in the face.
Is this a real victory? The pills gave me an unfair advantage. Mateo was distracted and off his game. Then again, I’m the one who used the initial edge the pills gave me and spun it into something real. I was more daring, less apologetic. I put my pieces – and myself – out there.
Still, I walk out of the classroom feeling a little like I cheated on a test. Not that I’d ever know what that felt like, but you know what I mean.
A small voice in the back of my head tells me, ‘You don’t deserve this.’
I arrive home to a snoozing Sirius, and two dads having a heated conversation in the kitchen. They don’t seem to have heard the front door click shut. I hover in the hallway and listen, even as Sirius wakes from his slumber and begins silently humping my knee.
‘Michael, you must follow your dream,’ Vati says passionately. ‘Writing this book, it is your life’s purpose. You will change the game for diabetes sufferers the world over. And that is where the dog is buried.’
‘Sirius is deceased?’
‘Ah, nein, maybe another German idiom. It is, how you say, the heart of the matter.’
Dad sighs. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticks aggressively. ‘Felix, my sabbatical is coming to an end, and so is my funding. It is not a responsible course of action to extend my leave of absence.’
‘Responsible, responsible, always you are concerned with the responsible –’
‘Well, one of us has to be.’
Vati lets out a long, slow whistle. ‘That, Michael, is a real kick in the dick. A knock in the bollocks. A punch in the gooch.’
‘There is no need to resort to vulgarity.’ Dad’s voice is getting quieter, which is how I know he’s getting annoyed.
‘You are a tenured professor.’ I can practically see Vati’s elaborate gesticulation, even though he’s in another room. ‘If money gets too tight, you go back to work. It is no big deal. They cannot fire you, that’s the beauty of it. You could go into the university in your underpants and they would just have to say, oh, he is a beautiful genius, we must respect the underpants. They must give you an extra sausage.’
‘Thankfully I am aware of that particular expression, and I know you are referencing “special treatment”, not . . . well, Caro would be amused. The two of you have minds in the gutter.’
True to form, I snigger in the hallway.
‘Ah, Caro.’ Vati’s voice softens. ‘That is what this is all about, ja ?’
A taut pause. ‘I would like her college experience to be the happiest, most fulfilling years of her life. If she spends most of the time worrying about money, it will make the program difficult to enjoy to its fullest potential. She should get a job alongside her studies, of course, but I would also like to have a pot of money put aside in case she ever finds herself out of work and short on rent.’
My heart pangs. He’s putting his book-writing dream on hold to support me.
‘She will be okay,’ Vati insists. ‘Of this I am sure. Our daughter is smarter and more hard-working than both of us combined, and if you do not realize this . . . well, Michael, I am afraid you have tomatoes in your eyes.’
‘Felix, I beg of you –’
I tiptoe upstairs, dabbing at my wet eyes with the sleeve of my shirt.
That night, I have the dreams again. The same as before – the broken crib, the boarded-up fireplace, the curled-up body in the corner of the dank room.
I’m torn between wanting to know more and wishing I could leave this particular truth behind. I love my life. I love my dads. I don’t need answers. I don’t need the details of this part of my life, because it has no bearing on who I am today. My mother gave birth to me, and then . . . and then . . . I don’t know.
Maybe that’s too big a thing to not know. Maybe it’ll remain an open wound until I can close it with knowledge.
Yet the only way to acquire those memories is by asking my dads, and the thought breaks me. I don’t ever want them to think they’re not enough. I don’t ever want them to think I’m going to abandon them and seek out my birth mother instead. They have given me everything I ever wanted and needed, and then some. They have adored me and cared for me and argued over me. They’re my world, and my love for them is bottomless.
I lie awake until sunrise. These flashbacks are a thorn in my consciousness; a blade wedged in a rift, threatening to crack it wide open.
The week blazes by in a haze of adoration. And it’s weird, because I don’t seem to get used to it at all. In fact, I find it harder and harder to wrap my head around as the days go on. When I walk down the hallway followed by a sea of eyes and whispers, it’s like I’m watching a celebrity I don’t know striding down the corridor.
Sometimes the feeling of being seen is pleasant, like a refreshing breeze of validation, while other times I find it a little claustrophobic. When you’re used to fading into the background, suddenly being thrust into the limelight – even when it’s by your own doing – is extremely jarring. It’s like riding an adrenaline high for days at a time; it’s a high, yes, but after a while it makes you feel jittery and a little spiky.
Still, I can’t deny that the surge in Instagram followers and multiple prom invites feels good. If that makes me shallow, so be it. Plus there’s the fact countless people keep offering to do things for me – carry my books, bring me coffee, hire me to tutor them. The small kindnesses I so desperately wanted from a relationship, except from dozens of people at once. It’s overwhelming.
Throughout the hysteria, I manage to stay on top of my schoolwork, keep pushing forward with my MIT application, and hang out with Keiko and Gabriela when we’re not participating in our respective hobbies, and when Ryan’s too busy to chill with Gabriela. I ‘garden’ with Vati, cook with Dad, Skype with Leo to discuss how college is going, and visit my grandma at the dementia care centre downtown. Grandma’s nurse – a young, attractive woman called Ana Sofia – spills lukewarm carrot and coriander soup down my grandmother’s wrinkled cleavage the moment I open my mouth to talk. Vati finds this extremely funny. Dad does not.
Haruki and I hang out a bunch during lunch, and Physics becomes our own private nerd club as we work through our college papers at the back of the classroom. Being around him is becoming more and more comfortable, and I can feel the real warmth of kinship beginning to grow between us. We actually have way more in common than I realized, like an obsession with elephants and a penchant for cinnamon rolls. Once he finds out the latter, he starts bringing me a fresh one every morning. It’s a small thing, but it feels warm and significant. I remember how much I envied Gabriela for her fresh egg and cheese bagels delivered by Ryan, and I smile, promising myself I’ll never take it for granted.
I beat Mateo a few more times at chess, which gives me enough confidence to take on Tara Black, the reigning state champ. She’s ace and doesn’t seem all that affected by the pheromones emanating from me. I still haven’t figured out the exact rules of the drugs, but it seems to only magnify attraction that was feasible to begin with.
Anyway, I get absolutely hammered by Tara, of course, but I actually try some interesting moves and catch her off-guard a few times. Despite the loss, I leave the match feeling invigorated and motivated to keep pushing myself out of my castled comfort zone – and eventually win a game against someone who isn’t drooling at the mere si
ght of me.
Today is also Ryan and Gabriela’s anniversary, and even though she knocked it out the park with his gift – tickets to see his favorite comedian perform in the city – he truly outdid her this year. He made the enchanted rose from Beauty and the Beast, complete with glass dome and fairy lights, then carved the date they met on the wooden base. It’s a little rough around the edges, being homemade by a jock with very little artistic flair, but it’s beyond sweet. He knows that’s Gabriela’s favorite Disney movie.
When I see the rose, the edge of jealousy isn’t as sharp as usual, but it’s there. I still want what they have, and I still feel years away from getting it. I wish I could fast-forward the weird dating stage and get to that point with Haruki.
On Friday morning, I close my locker to see Haruki standing on the other side of it, dressed in a deep red T-shirt, black skinny jeans and box-fresh white sneakers. He seems both super chill and a little nervous. My heart performs some kind of lindy hop. Even if I keep taking these drugs, surely it will never feel normal to see him so close to me.
‘Hey,’ he smiles, cheeks dimpling sweetly as he does. He holds out a still-warm cinnamon roll, and it smells divine. ‘Whaddaya think about inviting Ryan and Gabriela to the movies with us?’
‘Like a double date?’ I say, spraying pastry everywhere in a very hot way.
‘Yeah! If that’s cool?’
Despite a brief flicker of disappointment that I won’t get him all to myself, I grin and lick the sugar off my lips. ‘Sure. I’ll ask her if she’s into it.’
Haruki pulls out his phone, presumably to text Ryan. ‘Awesome.’
Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, ‘Wait. Was Ryan the one who stole your phone?’ I’ve wanted to ask this for a while, but I didn’t want to make Gabriela feel awkward if it was.
‘When?’ Haruki asks, but from the embarrassment in his dark eyes, I know he knows exactly why I’m asking.
‘First time you asked me out.’ I stare at my clown feet, the miracle pills not enough to take the sting off that awful memory. ‘Well. “Asked”.’
‘Uh, no. No, it wasn’t him.’ Haruki shuffles awkwardly. ‘It was Tom. I’m really sorry about that, by the way. People are jerks.’
‘Yeah.’ My tone is flat, and I hate myself for it. I don’t want Haruki to think I’m some self-loathing downer. But I can’t think of anything else to say, and the pause has stretched past awkward all the way into agonizing.
‘Okay. Well . . . see you tomorrow.’ Haruki does a cute little half-wave. ‘Probably early, let’s be real. I’m a disgustingly prompt human.’
I chuckle, taking another bite of the cinnamon roll. It is really good. ‘Me too. The movie starts at eight, so what time should we get there?’
‘Two-thirty,’ he replies, without missing a beat.
Smiling, I tuck a lock of blond hair behind my ear. ‘Perfect.’
He looks up at me through thick black eyelashes and nods. ‘Perfect.’
I catch up with Gabriela later. Keiko skipped her final class to hitch a ride into the city for a gig, so it’s just the two of us strolling out into the Friday afternoon sun, the air of weekend freedom all around.
‘Hey, so . . . question. Would you be up for a double date with me and Haruki?’ I ask her. ‘I know it’s kind of awkward. Keiko would be . . . not happy. But it could be really fun.’ Although I was initially unsure, I’m now really into the idea. Double dating with my friends and their partners was something I always fantasized about when I longed for a relationship: going bowling, taking road trips to the beach.
Gabriela immediately trips over the front of her flip-flop and has to throw her arms out to prevent herself from hitting the deck. She is adorably clumsy, like the female love interest in rom-coms where the writer clearly has to give her a flaw but doesn’t want it to be anything a man could feasibly find repulsive. She blinks and picks up the notepad she dropped. ‘Of course! That sounds awesome.’
‘Awesome,’ I say, arms straining around the stack of textbooks I need for my weekend assignments. Some of Gabriela’s friends from the cheer squad pass us as we leave campus and wave at her – then shoot me a weird look, like they don’t know whether to be annoyed by me or fascinated by me. After Armawooden, I don’t blame them. (Damn it. Don’t tell Keiko I’m using her joke.)
Gabriela bites down on the bottom of her lip. ‘But . . . yeah. Keiko. Won’t she be pissed?’
It’s true. She probably will be. And yet that very fact grates on me. Gabriela would do – or not do – anything for anyone. She shouldn’t have to feel like crap for doing something she wants to do.
With an assuredness I don’t truly I feel, I simply shrug and say. ‘Let her be.’
12
I don’t know if Haruki is actually serious about meeting at two-thirty, but I decide to stroll into town for then anyway. I figure if he was just kidding, I’ll drop my resumé around a few places then head to Barnes & Noble and set myself up in the science section with a vanilla latte and the fattest K.C. Cole book I can find.
As it happens, though, Haruki is precisely as big of a nerd as I am. When I pick up my vanilla latte, I find him perched in the B&N coffee shop with A Brief History Of Time propped up against his backpack.
He sees me walking over to him, and his face collapses into the most adorable grin. ‘Busted.’
I laugh. ‘Busted?’
He gestures to the book. ‘Doing my homework.’
Frowning, I ditch my purse on the spare seat and lay my coffee cup down on the table. ‘I don’t remember Torres setting any reading assignments.’
‘Not for Torres,’ Haruki says. ‘For you. The date. You’re so smart. It’s kind of intimidating.’
I take a seat opposite him, tilting my chin down to mask the absurd grin spreading across my cheeks. ‘You’re smart too.’
‘Not in the way you are.’
‘What do you mean?’
He shrugs. ‘Like in Physics . . . I learn the concepts, learn the equations, all that. I learn the science, but I don’t think I ever truly understand it. I can’t even think about string theory without my brain dissolving into a puddle of goo.’
I take a slurp of delicious vanilla latte. ‘Okay firstly, you using the word “goo” is adorable for reasons I cannot begin to explain.’ It feels weird to talk so brazenly and honestly about finding him adorable, but the pills make me feel invincible. I know he’s going to be into me no matter what I say. ‘Secondly . . . it’s supposed to be mind-bending.’
‘I guess.’ He stares at his empty espresso cup. This is obviously a real source of insecurity for him, and I sympathize. Although I’ve never doubted my brain, I feel this way about my appearance all the time.
‘The thing is, other dimensions are impossible to perceive because we don’t experience them.’ My hands gesticulate wildly like they always do when someone lets me talk about physics. I picked up the habit from Vati, who has on several occasions given Dad a concussion. ‘Like, imagine you were a fish living in a pond. All you know of sunlight is the way it cuts through the water, dim and refracted. So you go about your life convinced that this is just . . . how sunlight is. Because that’s the only way you’ve experienced it. And yet mere meters above you, there’s a world where the sun shines differently. How could the fish possibly perceive that world?’
‘Yeah.’ He nods. ‘Yeah, I get it.’
‘That’s impressive. Because string theory eludes me sometimes too. It hovers at the periphery of my mind, and if I look around too fast it disappears. I have to sneak up on it if I have any hope of understanding it.’
Haruki smiles, running his forefinger around the rim of his cup. For some reason, this causes a flutter deep in my belly. ‘I’m glad it’s not just me.’
‘Of course it’s not,’ I say, swallowing the situationally inappropriate pang of arousal. ‘Look, our brains – and bodies – have been conditioned to see the universe in a certain way. We innately understand the laws of physics becaus
e we must abide by them. There’s no escaping gravity, for example. We accept it as truth. But have you ever had a dream where you can fly?’
‘Yes! I’m always so disappointed to wake up.’
‘Oh, it’s devastating. But my point is that your brain can perceive this dimension where gravity doesn’t exist. Somewhere deep in your consciousness, these permutations of our universe exist. And you can access them subconsciously, without even trying to wrap your head around it.’
‘That’s true.’ His eyes widen, like he’s never thought of it this way before. ‘When you’re in the dream, you just accept it as fact.’
‘Exactly. It’s only when we’re awake that we’re bound by the confines of the dimensions we experience.’
He laughs and rubs his hands over his face. ‘You make my head hurt.’
I snort in a super hot way. ‘In a good way though, right?’
‘The best way.’ He leans forward and studies my face in an adoring way. Which feels nice, but also . . . not real. I shake away the discomfort. ‘Why do you love this stuff so much?’
My gaze drops. ‘I’m not sure you want to open that can of wormholes.’
Haruki shrugs. ‘Why not?’
‘It’s . . . pretty deep. I’ve never told anyone before.’
‘You don’t have to share. But I’d like to hear it.’
I begin furiously shredding a pack of sugar between my fingers. It’s true, I’ve never told anyone this before, and I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to. It’s always been the small kernel of truth I orbit around. The gravitational field that centers me. Showing it to another person would feel like carving into my chest to show them my inner workings: the flesh and bone and organs that keep me alive.
And yet right here, right now, the idea of opening up to Haruki feels . . . safe. Because I know he’s not going to see my inner workings and reject them. The pills make sure of that.
What do I have to lose? Maybe it’ll feel good to open up. Maybe it’ll even deepen his attraction toward me.