Life at the Speed of Us

by Heather Sappenfield

  I looked into Handler’s penetrating gaze and sneered. “Never.” I moved to the door, not waiting for a pass to Art. “Like I said, Dad knows now, so we’re done.”

  After school, I headed to City Market and bought six bags of chips and a cylinder of sea salt. I loped out the doors to find Gage’s BMW idling at the curb. Its passenger window descended and Gabe leaned over. “Hey,” he said. “Need a ride?”

  I looked toward the recreation path. “I’ll walk.”

  “It’s cold.”

  “I’m tough.”

  He laughed. “Don’t I know it.”

  Our eyes met, and though mine still emitted fury from my meeting with Handler, his lacked anger and rebellion.

  “Are you stalking me?” I said.

  “Listen, you don’t answer texts and you’re hard as hell to find. There’s something I want to say. Can I give you a ride?”

  “I’m walking,” I said.

  “You’re carrying two bags of groceries.”

  “They’re light.”

  He snorted. “You are one stubborn chick. Over there.” He chin-pointed toward the back side of the lot, where the spur from the recreation path entered. Window zooming up, he pulled away.

  I stepped out of the flow of the shopping traffic, considering bolting. Across the lot, Gage climbed from his car and pressed his fob. The BMW’s lights flashed and it beeped.

  He walked toward me. “Can I take a bag?”

  I shook my head.

  “Give me a bag. I’ll feel stupid letting a one-armed chick carry two bags.”

  Sighing, I gave him one, which he took in his outside hand so we could walk closer. We listened to the soft snare drum of swaying plastic bags, and a bubble of awkwardness surrounded us.

  “Are you pissed at me?” he said. “I can’t blame you. I’ve been an asshole.” He paused to let this sink in. “I tried to apologize, but really, I should just have listened. You bring out the asshole in me, Sovern.”

  I glanced at him. He seemed pale again, and his gait was slow.

  “I didn’t know I was supposed to answer those texts,” I said.

  Gage grinned at the clouds, shook his head, and said, “You’re the coolest chick I know.”

  “You don’t look right, Gage. Are you sick?”

  “Just tired. Sovern, listen. I can’t explain it—I’ve tried, believe me—but it feels like I’m supposed to be with you. In whatever way it works out.”

  I bit my lip as my anger drained away. In that one vision, Mom had seemed genuinely sad that Gage and I might have broken up. Did that mean we were destined to be together?

  We approached the spruce on the recreation path, and I kept walking but studied the trampled snow at its base. I recognized Súmáí’s moccasin print on the path’s edge. From two days ago? Or might he be lurking in the forest right now? I scanned around.

  After we crossed the Gem Bridge, our steps sounding hollow on the wood, Gage said, “Sovern?”

  I stopped. Gage stopped. I forced myself to face him square. He looked haggard, but the play of symmetry between his lips, nose, and brown eyes below that knit cap must have fit into some equation for beauty, because it had always been irresistible to me.

  “I’d bore you,” I said.

  “Sovern. We snowboarded together constantly. We liked the same music. We laughed at the same things. You’re brilliant. Even if you don’t talk much, even if you don’t get social stuff like texting, just being with you feels … well … right.”

  My eyes longed to flee, but I kept them on his face. He’d told me he loved me—so brave—and look what I’d done. Maybe I wasn’t fully recovered after all, because I swayed. Gage steadied my arm. When I looked up, both of us were uncharted territory. Variables.

  I wanted to kiss him, but if I was going to promise Dad about staying away from trees, I was also going to make good on what I’d told him about being done with Gage.

  We started toward the gondola, heard its hum, and he said, “Where are you going, anyway?”

  “We moved.”

  “Moved?”

  “To City Center,” I said.

  “Seriously?”

  “Uh-huh. It’s great.”

  “When?”

  “Five days ago.”

  Gage gazed up the gondola’s cables. He walked slower, scratching the back of his head through his hat, and I sensed he was revising the reality he’d imagined me in over the last five days, moved his images of what I was doing up to City Center. He stopped at the lift’s rope maze. “Wish I had my pass.”

  The liftie checked mine with his hand scanner through my parka’s pocket.

  I held out my hand, and Gage gave me the grocery sack. “That’s a lot of chips.”

  “Bye.”

  He leaned forward and kissed me, just above my jawbone. He smelled like laundry soap. He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and walked to the gondola’s far side, no doubt heading up the run’s edge to his house. He paused and waved. I waved.

  I boarded a gondola car and set the bags on the seat. I watched him, miniature below me, headed up the groomed slope to his house.

  Sure, he’d always turned me molten. Sure, he’d always been illogically attractive to me, but I’d always assumed I’d really only been using him to get Dad’s attention. Yet we did like the same music. We did laugh at the same jokes. Things did feel right, somehow, when I was with him. Might there be a way Dad could accept him? My thoughts leapt to Súmáí, and confusion’s weight sagged me. Súmáí wasn’t even from my reality.

  For relief, I tore my gaze from Gage, the size of my pinkie now. I formed in my mind the Sovern who Dad wanted me to be. The Sovern from before Mom died. Yet Mom-less. A Sovern who didn’t rebel. A Sovern who accepted life and moved forward. A Sovern who didn’t date Gage. A Sovern who loved a dead mother. A Sovern whose equation curved up.

  Bookmark:

  Action at a Distance

  An object can be moved, changed, or

  affected by another object even though they

  are separated in space. Causes for this

  could be electromagnetism or gravity.

  26

  Day nine of no palm to spruce—and no cigarettes, no pot, no alcohol, no movies, no Gage outside of school. My goal was to make it to tomorrow and achieve double-digit days of good behavior.

  Now, in Calculus, Kenowitz said, “These equations we’re starting today involve motion in two dimensions, and suddenly things become more confusing. With motion in one dimension, you are dealing with either vertical motion (y in terms of t) or horizontal motion (x in terms of t). With these next equations, you are combining these ideas. Picture the flight of a soccer ball that has been kicked. It moves vertically and horizontally. Be careful not to confuse the speed of the object with the slope of its path. It has to do with the fact that dy over dx is the slope, but dy over dt is vertical velocity and dx over dt is horizontal velocity. Combining them, dy over dx equals dy over dt over dx over dt. This is different from the speed.”

  I raised my hand.

  “Sovern?” Kenowitz said.

  “I know an easier way.”

  His grin was priceless.

  At the SMART Board, I said, “It’s simpler to add another dimension like this.”

  Kenowitz studied what I’d written, nodding for a full minute. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s try this on the next problem.”

  As I returned to my seat by the window, pride was pasted on Gage’s face.

  Of course the shortcut worked on the next problem. And all the rest. Kenowitz switched off the SMART Board. He looked across the room. “People, let’s do the homework tonight incorporating Sovern’s method.”

  The bell rang and everyone’s attention turned to leaving. I stacked my folder, book, and calculator and kept my eyes from the window, lik
e I had for nine days.

  Kenowitz stood by the door. “Sovern?” He waited for everyone to leave. “I’ve been teaching for twenty-one years, was in college and grad school for six years before that. In all that time, I have never met a math genius—”

  I laughed. “Genius? ”

  Kenowitz’s face turned stern and he nodded. “A true genius. Sovern, I don’t want to embarrass you, but it’s important that you understand you have a gift.”

  I pressed my lips not to argue.

  Gage waited for me in the hall. We walked along, me confused and off balance.

  “That new Star Trek movie’s out Friday. Want to go?” he said.

  I was playing Kenowitz’s praise over and over in my head. “Huh?”

  “Star Trek. Want to go Friday night?”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t sound so excited.”

  “It’s just—”

  “Just what?” Gage said.

  “It’s Dad … ”

  “He doesn’t like me.”

  “I pretty much used you to drive him nuts.”

  “Used me?” He snorted. “I guess I did the same to my folks.”

  My steps faltered. I couldn’t be that bad. But as I scanned over the last year, I saw that any sane parent would have flipped out at their son dating the person I’d been. Mom would be so upset, knowing that.

  Seconds ago, I’d been sorting through a compliment. Now, my legs wouldn’t support the weight of who I’d been, so I lunged to a stretch of blue wall and propped myself against it.

  “Right now, I just need to figure out things with Dad,” I said.

  Gage shrugged. “How about I talk to him?”

  “What?”

  “Convince him I’m not so bad. Tell him I’m turning over a new leaf.”

  I opened my eyes. Had he actually said leaf ?

  “Sovern?”

  Everything seemed connected in some equation I had no clue how to form. Double-digits, I told myself. Keep your equation curving up. I shook my head. “I need some space.” I bolted down the hall before I could change my mind. It conjured when I’d walked away from Shelley, and that made me feel even worse.

  Friday night—day eleven post-spruce—Dad and I burrowed on the couch watching a sci-fi movie. My first movie since the accident. I felt proud of that. Proud, too, that I wasn’t at Star Trek with Gage.

  Dad was in a thoughtful mood. No doubt our time at the spruce was still right there with him. Way to go, Sovern, I thought.

  “Popcorn?” I said.

  He paused the movie as I went to the kitchen and slid a bag into the microwave. The lit microwave hummed, the bag swelling inside.

  “I haven’t had a call from Handler in a while.” Dad turned to me over the couch’s back.

  I leaned my hip into the counter.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  Kernels started bulleting the bag.

  “I saw Gage today,” he said.

  “What?”

  “At the halfpipe.”

  The halfpipe had stadium lights and stayed open till ten on Fridays and Saturdays. Gage and I used to free-ride on Crystal Mountain’s runs mostly, but some weekends we’d hung at the pipe.

  “A kid missed his trick and landed on the table.” Landing on the table, the horizontal top edges of the halfpipe, was the worst kind of accident.

  “And?”

  “He’s alive, but his back’s in pieces.”

  “Was Gage with the guy?”

  “No. But he approached me afterward and asked if we could talk. It took me a minute to put together who he was, since I’ve only seen him a couple times.”

  I grew interested in the wood floor, shamed by how Gage and I had lurked around. “And?”

  “And he asked permission to date you. Like asking permission to marry or something.”

  I swallowed back a fierce anger. “What did he say?”

  “Something like, Mr. Briggs, sir, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but, well, I’m reforming, cleaning up my act. Sovern is about the best thing that’s ever happened to me. We’ve been broken up, but I wonder if you’d mind if we started going out again.”

  The microwave pinged off. I couldn’t keep myself from saying, “And?”

  “He seemed so sincere that I gave him my blessing.”

  “Blessing?”

  “Well, not in so many words, but I said it was fine.” Dad chuckled, and I wished I could glimpse the scene playing out before his eyes. “Not sure how this affects that liftie … Súmáí?”

  “Dad, Súmáí’s not—” I stopped myself before saying from this world.

  Dad gave me a look and turned back to the TV.

  I pinched open the popcorn, steaming my face. I poured it into a bowl and coated it with extra salt. I carried the bowl and a glass of water to the coffee table. Dad already had a brown bottle of beer. I settled beside him and as he turned it in his hand, I considered that round bottle’s symmetry. In two dimensions, that symmetry was infinite. I considered three dimensions and pictured a sphere. A sphere like the soap bubble membranes of universes.

  “I liked Gage.” Dad nudged me with his shoulder.

  I’d just shoved a handful of popcorn into my mouth, and I gave him a lumpy smile. I eyed the glass of water and thought of Súmáí’s wonder when I’d given him a glass just like this. Such a simple thing.

  “I can tell him no.” Dad watched me.

  “It’s fine.” I was equal parts pissed at Gage and flattered.

  “Something’s not right.”

  “I just wish I could take back the last year.”

  Dad scratched his cheek. “So do I.” He leaned forward and nudged me again. “Can’t wait for our doc appointments tomorrow.”

  I knew he was just being nice. Saturday mornings were his busiest times, and no doubt this Saturday appointment was about me not missing any more school. “I hope I’ll be able to snowboard again. It’s supposed to dump tonight.”

  “I hope I’ll get this cast off, so I can drive.” We both knew he meant a snowmobile.

  Dad sighed, relaxed back, and pressed play. Don’t ask me what happened in the rest of the movie; my head churned with confusion about Gage.

  Bookmark:

  Entanglement

  Entanglement results when two particles

  meet and develop a link sharing one existence. Even widely separated in space, measurement of one influences the other. These particles are expressed by the same mathematical equation, or wave function. Because it cannot be explained, this is

  also known as spooky action.

  27

  After our doctor appointments, Dad and I bypassed Crystal Mountain’s ten-o’clock rush-hour crowd by using the employee line to get to the gondola. Then we would hop on a snowmobile—Dad had gotten his cast off, so he could drive, and I was free of my sling, though I was supposed to keep wearing the brace.

  In the gondola car, we kept waving around our freed limbs, testing them out. Having my arm in my parka’s sleeve felt so good, even if it was tight over the brace.

  As we crested a row of cliffs, a group of snowboarders stood at the edge, trying to muster the guts to jump.

  “Job security for you,” I said.

  Dad grunted.

  We sped into the lifthouse, and Dad and I moved around the knot of skiers and boarders to one of two snowmobiles adjacent the ski-patrol station. We climbed on, and he drove cautiously up the edge of Sunset Ridge. It felt good to have him driving again. Like our life could maybe settle into something resembling normal. He pulled up in front of the cabin, and I climbed off.

  “Take it easy!” he said over the loud engine.

  “I will if you will!”

  I entered the cabin, grinning and shaking my head. Take it easy. Neither Dad nor I
knew how to do that.

  I slid my hand into my jeans’ back pocket and found Shelley’s phone number. The jeans had been washed, and the scrap of paper was limp with frayed edges. I plopped onto the couch and unfolded it. Her phone number, written in blue ink, was blurred but still readable. I want to help, Shelley had said. I tried to remember the details of our split in sixth grade. Kenowitz had called me a true genius—maybe I’d intimidated her?

  But worrying about Shelley was the last thing I needed in my life. Gage too. I needed them all to just leave me alone. This was my twelfth day of being good, and I was determined to stay in double digits. I wadded Shelley’s number and tossed it on the coffee table.

  I went into the bedroom and tugged on long underwear—a top and bottoms—and my snowboard pants. Three weeks without boarding had been a test of my sanity. I paused at the table and tried a butterscotch cookie from a plate Crispy had sent. It was only lightly burned, so I wolfed down four, thinking how he’d be psyched. Food = love for Crispy. I heard Gage say “love” and cringed; love was the last thing I’d sought from him. I blew out my breath. I buckled on my helmet, tugged on my gloves, and grabbed my board from beside the door.

  Love.

  You could change the world.

  “I need some space!” I muttered as I strode off the deck.

  Just beyond the sheltering pines that curled around the cabin, a run called Always ribboned into Gold Bowl. Inconvenient from the lifts, it stayed untracked on a powder day. I buckled in, ahh-ing at my board’s sensation beneath my feet. I’d weave in and out of the fluff along the run’s edge and blot out the voices in my head. I kicked my right foot into the fall line and rocked forward and back, easing my board into gravity.

  As I picked up speed, I skimmed to the snow’s surface. I pressured my toes, leaned in, and turned left. I weighted my heels, leaned back, and turned right. Relief spread through me. I carved a few more turns in the open before heading toward a glade. I wove around three aspens and out. Wove in again and passed an Upward Dog spruce with yellow spots.