by Laura Steven
‘Okay, so . . . I was adopted, right?’ I start, voice a little trembly. ‘When I was really small. And I don’t have any conscious memories of who I was before then, or what my life was like. Yet I have this recurring dream. I’m in a house – a house I know intimately – and I’m alone.’ I don’t mention the body. It seems too dark. ‘It doesn’t feel like . . . just a dream. It’s so vivid. When I was younger and first learning about theoretical physics, I was convinced I was accessing the fifth dimension.’
Haruki frowns. ‘The fifth dimension?’
Bless his heart. He really doesn’t understand string theory. ‘Oh, so that’s the one where you’d be able to move forward or backward in time. As easily as swimming through a lake or walking down a corridor.’
‘Awesome. So you think you’re accessing that dimension while you’re asleep, and travelling back in time?’
‘Not anymore. It’s just a memory, albeit a very rich one.’
He scratches the side of his head. ‘How do you know it’s not the fifth dimension?’
‘Because I’ve never moved forward in time,’ I explain. ‘Unless the whole flying thing is a prophecy.’
Haruki chuckles. ‘Here’s hoping.’
‘Yup.’ I take a deep breath, ready to cut my metaphorical chest open. ‘So, when I was younger and first learning about string theory, I kept thinking that . . . if I could subconsciously access the fifth dimension, why couldn’t I access the others? The sixth dimension, for example. That’s where you could see all possible futures, presents, and pasts in universes with the same start conditions as ours.’
‘The Big Bang?’
‘Exactly. If I could get there, to the sixth dimension, and I could move along those timelines like I can my own . . . I could essentially live two lives. The one I have now, with my dads and my brother and Sirius. And the one . . . the one where I still have my birth mom. Best of both worlds.’
The words settle between us like dust. No, not dust. Something heavier.
The silence isn’t uncomfortable, though. Haruki just looks like he’s processing the magnitude of what I’ve just shared. Peeling back the layers of my words to get to the emotional core.
Softly, he asks, ‘Do you think about her? Your mom?’
I consider this. I want to make sure my answer is truthful, because everything up until this point has been. And I never get the chance to deep-dive into my brain like this – at least, not with another human being.
‘Only in an interdimensional sense,’ I say slowly. ‘I think it’d be too painful any other way.’
Haruki nods. ‘Okay. Hypothetical question. Say the Large Hadron Collider did find evidence of these other dimensions, and anyone could access them. Would you?’
‘Of course. In a heartbeat. Wouldn’t you?’
He chews his lip, thinking hard. ‘No. I think it’d destroy all appreciation for what we have now, in these four dimensions. It’d be so easy to get lost in all those permutations of what could have been, what could be in the future. You wouldn’t appreciate the right-now. Which is us, sitting in this bookstore, discussing impossible things.’ He smiles. ‘And it’s pretty damn nice.’
I smile back, despite the fact that these things aren’t impossible at all. Because I think I see something shift in his eyes; something in the way he sees me. And I don’t think it has anything to do with the drugs. It’s like he knew I was smart, but now he’s peeling back a layer and understanding why, and he actually likes what he finds under there. It feels warm and surreal, and I want more. I buzz with the possibility of it.
Over vanilla lattes and espressos, we spend the next few hours getting to know each other a little better. We talk about his fascination with marine biology, about how his parents were barely around when he was a kid so he’s super close with his cousins. His eyes glinting in the industrial-style lighting, we chat about HEMA a little more, and the comic bookstore I used to work at. We debate Marvel versus DC, the best starter Pokémon in the original games (I’m team Bulbasaur, he’s team Charmander), and cheesy mid-noughties rom-coms, with which he is surprisingly au fait.
At one point, we even read together in near silence, occasionally reading interesting stuff aloud to each other. Not for the first time lately, I feel old and young all at once.
It’s impossible in its perfection, this moment. It’s the flawless date you see in movies, not real life. As a result, I don’t trust it, but I try to enjoy it as best I can.
At seven, we meet Gabriela and Ryan at the diner to grab a pre-movie burger. Gabriela has gone hard on the makeup look – metallic eyes with a feline flick of eyeliner, fluffy brows, nude matte lips, and perfect contouring on her already killer cheekbones. She looks amazing, and it must’ve taken her hours. She’s topped off the look with a plain black sweater, tight skinny jeans and her trusty Birkenstocks. It’s petty, but I feel a twist of envy. Gabriela doesn’t need miracle pills to get guys’ attention. I shake off the ugly emotion as best I can.
Ryan, on the other hand, is wearing the same T-shirt as yesterday and jean shorts. He lets Gabriela slide into the booth first because she likes the window seat: a small, sweet gesture, showing how comfortable they are together, how well they know each other.
I can’t wait to get to that point with Haruki, says an excited voice in the back of my head. But the second my subconscious thinks it, I shudder the idea away. It feels presumptuous, like a jinx, entirely at odds with how this is all too good to be true.
We all order shakes – Haruki plumps for vanilla, yaaaasssss – and the pink-haired hostess hands us menus.
As I peruse the sandwich offerings, I feel Ryan’s eyes burning into me. At first I think I have something on my face, but then I remember the pills. My heart sinks. I did not think this through.
I remember Gabriela’s small voice after Armawooden. ‘Sorry, Caro. I want to know too. Ryan was like . . . looking at you funny.’
Oh god. Am I about to screw up the most stable relationship in history?
Gabriela clears her throat and says, in her soft, feminine voice, ‘So Haruki, how’s cross-country going? Ryan said you’re shooting for a college scholarship?’
I look up, and Haruki is just kind of . . . gazing at me. While before, when it was just the two of us, his attention felt nice, now it’s a little sickly and stifling. He doesn’t even turn to face Gabs, just mutters, ‘What? Um, yeah. Running’s great, thanks.’
Gabriela flinches so subtly that only a best friend could catch it – she’s such an introvert that making conversation is physically painful for her – but she recovers fast. ‘Cool. What’s your favorite distance?’
Haruki shrugs. ‘Just the standard three-point-one.’
Ryan snorts. ‘I still kick his ass every time.’ For some reason, he’s making his voice deeper than usual.
‘Whatever, dude.’ Haruki grunts and squares his shoulders cockily. ‘I could run for days. You’re all speed, no endurance.’
‘I endure your company on a daily basis, asshole.’
For god’s sake. I roll my eyes at Gabriela, and she smirks quietly into her strawberry-shortcake milkshake. She shares my lack of interest in male feces-flinging contests, but I can tell she’s feeling a little wounded after Haruki’s brush-offs.
Besides, her long-term boyfriend is currently staring at me, or competing with Haruki to see who can piss the loudest, or whatever it is boys care about when they’re together. No wonder she feels uneasy.
I try to get the focus back on to her. ‘So Ryan, how cool is it that Gabs hit twenty-two k on her beauty Insta?’ Gabriela glows sweetly at the compliment.
He screws his face up. ‘Blergh. Girl shit.’
What the hell? He’s normally super-supportive of her, always sharing her posts to his story with sweet comments. Is he trying to put down ‘girl shit’ because he doesn’t think that’s something I’m into?
‘Yeah,’ Haruki agrees. ‘Not for me.’
This conversation is souring fast.
There’s an awkward silence. We all drink our milkshakes, and Ryan stares at me some more. Not with annoyance at my snark, I don’t think, but with lust. It feels strange to believe that to be the reason, but there’s something in the magnetic quality of his gaze. Gabriela looks sideways at him. Guilt squeezes my guts. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.
Haruki is the first to break the quiet. ‘So what movie are we seeing?’
‘That new rom-com with Rebel Wilson,’ I say, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. I’m still irritated at the way they just took a dump on Gabriela’s passion. ‘It’s supposed to be awesome. I’ve been watching the press junkets on YouTube for weeks.’
‘Really?’ Ryan asks. ‘But you’re so smart. I wouldn’t think you’d be into girly rom-com nonsense.’ By the weirdly flirtatious look on his face, I can tell he’s stupid enough to think he’s complimenting me.
I feel Haruki tense next to me, but again, he says nothing to my defense. Guys are so spineless sometimes. But then I think of the way Gabriela and I tiptoe around Keiko, and I realize standing up to your friends just isn’t that easy, irrespective of genitalia.
But Ryan isn’t my friend. And even though I hate conflict, I can’t stand it when people are dicks to my pals. Especially Gabriela, who’d never speak up for herself. So I fold my arms and say, ‘Unfortunately, your IQ is not high enough to understand why that’s such an ignorant statement.’
Gabriela looks at me pleadingly. ‘Caro, don’t . . .’
‘No, it’s cool.’ Ryan leans back in his chair and runs his eyes up and down me appraisingly in a way that makes me shudder. ‘She’s feisty. I like that.’
‘Dude,’ Haruki finally says. My knight in shining armour. (You can’t see my face right now, but that’s sarcasm.)
Gabriela’s perfectly painted face drops, and I know she’s seconds away from crying. Her eyes are bright and shiny, and her bottom lip trembles as she says, ‘I’m leaving.’
Within seconds, she’s grabbed her purse, clambered awkwardly over Ryan, who’s too busy staring at me to let her out, and stormed toward the exit.
‘Let me out,’ I say to Haruki, who has the aisle seat. ‘I’m leaving too.’
‘But you really wanted to see this movie,’ Haruki says half-heartedly. ‘Please, stay.’
‘I said I’m leaving,’ I insist, standing up and draining the rest of my milkshake because I might be upset but I’m not a shake-waster, damnit.
‘Okay,’ Haruki mumbles, reluctantly letting me out of the booth. ‘I’ll see you at school?’
To the horror of my past self, I don’t reply. I stride away after Gabriela, out on to the warm street. The sun is low in the sky and blinds me as I look up and down the road, hoping for a glimpse of shiny brown hair and silver eyes, but I’m too late. She’s gone.
On my walk home, I try calling and texting her dozens of times, but nope. She’s ghosting me. Usually when one of us goes all Nearly Headless Nick, we’ll send ghost emojis until they finally relent, but I can’t bring myself to do that. Because yeah, Ryan is clearly the dick here. And Haruki, too. But deep down, it’s mainly my fault.
My little miracle drugs caused this whole mess and hurt my sweet friend in the process. There’s a hollow pit of guilt sitting in my stomach like an avocado stone.
If I keep taking these pheromones, is this how it’s going to be? Alright, so Ryan was an asshole tonight, but he’s usually so kind and caring with Gabriela. Am I going to ruin that? Am I going to devastate my best friend over and over again?
Hell, am I going to ruin relationships everywhere I go?
I mean . . . people are often attracted to other people even when they’re in a relationship. You can still appreciate someone’s beauty even if you have a romantic partner. It’s when you act on it that it’s a problem. Hot people can’t be held accountable for their own hotness, right? Keiko doesn’t let herself get bogged down in whether her hotness causes other people’s relationships to fail. She just embraces her striking looks and lets other people deal with the consequences. Still, the look of quiet devastation on Gabriela’s face tonight rocked me.
I should stop taking the drugs. I should. I should.
And yet I imagine going back to my normal life, where Haruki doesn’t like me and people look straight through me, where my future is all science and no love, and I just . . . I can’t. The thought is a clamp around my heart. I feel so close to where I want to be with Haruki. It’s within touching distance. And I don’t know if I can let it go.
I know that makes me weak. I know it makes me selfish. I hate myself for it, and yet love is a drug I’m becoming quickly hooked on.
My phone dings with a group-chat notification, and I open it faster than the speed of light, but it’s not Gabs. It’s Keiko.
Ya gurl has a pussy problem. Pls bring me UTI meds asap. I’m pissing pure magma???
Then:
Caro, you said you wanted a Pompeii exhibit. WELL.
I laugh at first, but my guilt intensifies. We didn’t tell her we were hanging out without her tonight, and when that comes to light, there’s going to be another fallout on my hands.
Might as well rip off the Band-Aid. I open up the private message between me and Keiko and say:
Coming over now. I’ll swing by the pharmacy on my way.
We hang out in Keiko’s bathroom until the meds kick in. She perches on the toilet, plaid pyjama bottoms hanging around her ankles, while I sit with my back against the door, forming a barricade. The lock has been broken since forever, and the last thing we want is Momo parading in and asking when Keiko became part-volcano.
‘So then my mom was like, Keiko, you need to dye your hair back to normal. The blue is really upsetting your grandma.’ Right now, her sleek blue locks are pulled up in a messy bun, undercut on full display. ‘And then I was like, bitch, grandma’s gonna be blue soon enough anyway.’
‘Why?’ I ask innocently. ‘Is she part Smurf ?’
‘She’s gonna die.’ Keiko taps her temple with her forefinger. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be smart?’
‘And that doesn’t bother you? That she’s gonna die?’
‘I mean. It does. I’m not a monster. But she’s been on my back for years about my appearance. By the look on her face when she saw the undercut, you’d think I’d broken into her house and bleached her asshole while she slept.’
I snort. Keiko always goes all-in on the vulgarity when Gabriela isn’t here to wince about it.
Gabriela. My stomach clenches. I check my phone: nothing. Well, not nothing. There’s a selfie of Vati deep-throating a parsnip. Honestly, I’m going to ring child services any day now.
‘Kiks,’ I say slowly, still staring at my phone. ‘I have something to tell you.’
‘Oh my god, are you dying? I’m so sorry for being so insensitive about blue people. I’ll make sure the person who does your corpse’s makeup covers up the cerulean tinge. Wait, that’s what Gabs could do! Makeup for dead people! Why should death stop you from rocking a statement lip?’
‘Actually, it’s about Gabriela.’ I swallow hard, mouth suddenly dry. ‘We went on a double date tonight. With Haruki and Ryan.’
‘Oh.’ The word is short and heavy.
‘It . . . didn’t end well.’ I tap my phone screen with the nail on my index finger; a nervous tic. ‘We were going to see a movie, but it didn’t even get that far. Ryan was being a jerk, and he wouldn’t stop staring at me, so Gabs stormed off. Now she won’t answer her phone.’
Keiko nods and starts peeing again. ‘That sucks.’
‘Yeah.’ Neither of us say anything for a few beats. ‘I think I took the eggplant thing too far.’
She flushes the loo, pulls her pants up and washes her hands with jojoba soap. ‘What?’
‘With the staring. Honestly, Ryan was looking at me like I was a Jenner sister. I feel kind of bad f
or doing that . . . spell, or whatever. I ruined Gabriela’s date.’
To my enormous surprise, Keiko actually cackles with laughter. ‘I don’t know how to tell you this, Caro, but eggplant magic isn’t real. If Ryan was staring at you, there’s another reason.’
I frown. ‘Like what?’
She takes a seat on the floor, leaning back against the bathtub. ‘You really don’t consider yourself attractive, do you?’
‘Well, no. Obviously.’
Keiko sighs and rolls her eyes. ‘Why is that obvious?’
I stare at her like she’s a moron. ‘Because of the way I look.’
‘You’re kidding me, right?’
‘No? I mean. We all know it’s a thing. I’m not pretty.’ I think of when they were trying to console me during cross-country, when Haruki had ignored me. They showered me in compliments, but none were about my looks. ‘And that’s fine,’ I add, even though it’s not and it hurts. ‘I have my brain. But that doesn’t explain why Ryan was staring at me. He wouldn’t know a subatomic particle if it kicked him in the dick.’
Keiko shakes her head vigorously, the messy blue top-knot waggling all over the place. ‘Back the fuck up. You’re not pretty? Are you kidding? Caro. You’re beautiful.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘I can’t tell if you’re trolling me. Do you honestly not see that you’re beautiful?’
At first I think she’s blowing smoke up my ass just because I’ve directly addressed the issue. But instead of staring at the ground, gritting her teeth through the uncomfortable lie, she’s looking at me intensely.
‘I’m not,’ I argue. ‘Not like you or Gabriela.’
She shrugs as though this statement is meaningless. ‘Yeah, I mean, we all look different. But we’re all beautiful, too. You’ve got that distinctive fifties movie-star thing going on.’
‘I guess . . .’
‘No, listen. There are so many different types of beautiful. Sunsets and fairy lights and peonies and mountains and ballgowns . . . none of them look even remotely alike, but they’re all undeniably beautiful. That’s like us.’ She studies my face, smiling. ‘I think you’re like . . . a lake on a winter morning.’