Chemistry

by Jodi Lamm

“It’s a bad thing because I’m not a bird.” He pauses. “Or I am a bird. Or something about freedom.” He can’t think straight. I almost have him. “I mean I have dreams for my future like anybody else. I want to do good things. I want to make my mark on the world. And I don’t go around stabbing people, so why should I be punished for it?”

  I take my cue from him. This is getting easier as it goes along. “But just think about all the good you could do from prison. You are a bird in that the greatest gift you can give the world is your song, but who will hear it? That’s the point, isn’t it? That’s the most important thing. Do you know how the statistical likelihood of your work getting published skyrockets when you’re in prison? Compare that to the likelihood of you doing anything of value out here. You’re a nothing. You’re one voice in a cacophony. No one can hear you. And when you finally publish your memoir—”

  “Biography,” Peter corrects. “I would ghostwrite it.”

  “Biography then. Just think about how it will touch people’s hearts to learn that you took the fall for an innocent girl, that you saved her from a fate she didn’t deserve. A martyr for love. Like St. Peter, your namesake.”

  “Like Jesus.” Peter stares up at invisible stars. “I can see it. You’re right. It’s like Kierkegaard said: ‘A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret sufferings, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the cries escape them, they sound like beautiful music.’”

  My God, I love his vanity. On the one hand, I should feel guilty for manipulating him like this. On the other, I’ve always wanted to see just how far I could push him. He has an endless imagination and an enormous ego. He’ll go far if he just adds diligence to his collection of qualities. But while this has been amusing for me, it’s not what I need from him. I need him to fight this idea with another. I need to bring him back to reality.

  “So you’ll do it?” I say. “You swear? I’ll go and tell the soccer team myself, and Esmeralda will be free in a matter of hours.”

  “In a matter of hours,” he echoes. And I see the stars in his eyes go out.

  “No time to waste.” I offer him my hand. “You’re a good person, Peter Gringoire—a better person than me.” When Peter doesn’t take my hand, I pat him on the shoulder and turn to walk away.

  “Wait,” he says. And I pause to smile before turning back. He is so unbelievably easy. “I can’t go to prison. It’s just… It’s ridiculous. And if the team was going to kill her, just think what they’ll do to me.”

  I do my best to look disappointed in him. “Fine. I’ll tell Esmeralda she has to choose between deportation or being murdered by her classmates. It’s too bad. I heard they’re holding this year’s prom on a cruise ship. She would have loved to see it.” I sigh. “After all she’s done for us. But I guess that’s what happens when you cast your pearls before swine.” Again, I feign walking away, count to five, and hope.

  “Hold up!” Peter calls after me, and I say a quick prayer before turning around again. St. Jude, don’t abandon me now. “I mean I don’t think I need to go to prison in order to fix this. I’m sure there’s another way we can help Em. If we can just get Phoebus’ soccer thugs out of the picture…”

  It’s working. Unbelievable. I can almost hear Peter’s thoughts whir in that brilliant, blond head of his. He’s coming up with a plan. And it’s going to be the most off-the-wall, unexpectedly perfect plan ever.

  For a moment, his eyes glaze over, and then he grins. “It’s so simple,” he says. “It’s a wonder I hadn’t thought of it before.”

  Yes. That’s my Peter. I knew he could do it. I knew it. “So…”

  “The Court of Miracles. They’ve been there all along. The perfect resource I hadn’t even thought to use. They love Em. They’d do anything for her the same way the team would do anything for their captain. And in all the commotion…” He trails off and gazes at the wall as though it were another masterpiece.

  “Peter!” I wave a hand in front of his face. “What’s the plan?”

  He brushes me aside. “Just a second. I’m working this out.” Silence, and then, “Sure. Of course. It’s the only way, really.”

  “Peter, for the love of God!”

  “The team will be apprehended,” he says, beaming. “They’ll be out of the way for a while, at least. Watched constantly. And their credibility will be shot to hell.”

  I’m grinding my teeth in anticipation. This is the method of my salvation he’s pondering, and he won’t even tell me what it is.

  “There’s no way they’d be brave enough to murder anyone after that.” Peter starts to walk away, distracted with his own genius, and I follow, fully ready to both hug and punch him. “But then,” he says, “do you think they would still hurt Djali?”

  He turns to me. As though I have an answer. As though I even want to give him one. I throw up my hands in frustration. “God damn it, Peter!”

  He frowns. “They probably would. I heard Jack got bored last summer and killed a kitten. Honestly, what kind of person takes pleasure in torturing a helpless animal?”

  “She’ll be dead before you’ve finished talking!”

  “Okay. Okay.” He’s so proud. This is what he does best, and he knows it. “I’ll tell you my plan. But afterwards, you have to admit I’m awesome.”

  II

  I take the long way home to give myself time to think. Peter’s plan is indeed simple, but it has given me an idea of my own. When this idea first stirred in my mind, I brushed it aside. My primary focus was on getting Esmeralda safely out of my home, away from my sanctuary, and far from my reach. But now that I’m alone with my thoughts and that blip of an idea stands in the spotlight, I can see it for what it is: a way I could keep Esmeralda forever.

  Ideally, I would arrive home, slip in unnoticed, and move through the darkness straight to my room. I want to peruse this new idea in solitude. I need to examine it from all sides to see whether there’s a crack, a flaw in what appears to be my perfect, final hope. But nothing is ever ideal.

  When I step into the orange glow of the church’s outdoor lights, I see that someone is waiting for me. He’s busy spray-painting a portrait on the outer brick wall. As I approach, I can see that the portrait is meant to be a nasty caricature of me, and that the painter is Gene.

  Normally, I’d chide him. I’d insist he be back in the morning to clean up the mess he’s made. I’d be furious, and then he’d crack a joke and smile and laugh, and I wouldn’t have the strength to stay angry. But this time, when I look at him, I can only see a stranger who stands in my way.

  I reach into my pocket for my keys as Gene pushes between me and the door and starts his usual speech. He’s repenting, admitting his faults. He always does. And I always listen, but not tonight.

  Tonight, I’m thinking about how Peter will convince Esmeralda to accompany him to the prom by dangling the prospect of winning back Phoebus; about how he’ll join the planning committee and request a masked-ball theme, so I can attend unnoticed; about how the Court of Miracles will join us there, our own personal, violent escort; and about the soccer team getting involved in a fight they can’t win, getting arrested when we return to port, getting out of my way for a long time.

  Incarceration will be nothing to the members of the CoM. Many of them have already been through it before. But for the team, it will mean failure, and their parents will descend on them en masse. They’ll be watched, regulated, and put back in their places. As for me, I have nothing left to lose and everything in the world to gain. I have to seize this opportunity.

  Gene pauses in his speech and waits for my response. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I know exactly how it will end. He’s going to ask me for money. “Go on,” I say.

  “Well, I’ve just been thinking a lot about your advice and how you’re always right. I want to start over, you know? I want to…” Blah blah blah.

  I’ll need money, that’s for sure. This is going to take a lot of money
, which means I have none to give to Gene. And time. I have little more than a month to plan this, to research and make sure it’s possible, to get all the paperwork in order.

  “I’ve been thinking about college, too,” Gene says with a grin. He knows what would normally please me. He’s pulling out everything he’s got for this. “I thought I could go into something practical. Maybe computer science. Or I could major in linguistics like you’ve always said I should.”

  “And?” Any second now.

  “And I was thinking I could get a head start on researching schools.”

  “Sounds good,” I say. “So is that all?”

  Here it comes. Gene’s been building up to this, and I see his eyes sparkle as he prepares to deliver. “Well, I’ll have to travel to the schools and talk to the counselors there.”

  “And?”

  “And I’ll need some money for the trip.”

  “Of course.” I can’t resist a smile. “Unfortunately, I’m broke.”

  It takes Gene a moment too long to react, as though he doesn’t really believe in what his own ears have told him. His smile lingers a few seconds after the sparkle leaves his eyes. “I… don’t understand.”

  “It’s simple. Between you and Valentine, I have nothing left.”

  He frowns, an expression I have rarely seen cross his face. “I guess that settles it. There’s only one option left to me.” He waits for my response, but I give him none, so he continues. “I’ll have to join the Court of Miracles.” And he cringes because he expects me to shout at him, to chide him for being shortsighted. He expects me to be so horrified that I give him whatever he wants.

  All I can do is stare at my baby brother as every conversation we’ve ever had steps into the spotlight of my memories. He knows me. He knows how to get what he wants from me, and he’s never had a problem with it before. Now he’s pulling out all the stops for the last of my savings.

  While it stung to watch Valentine betray me the way he did, this should be unbearable. My brother. Gene. No matter how much I adore him, how responsible I feel for his well-being, or how much effort I put into becoming a meager replacement for the parents he lost, he will never love me. Not like I love him. He doesn’t even see me as a brother. I’m just a sucker he can beg for money. I’m a means to an end.

  The family I thought I built is a lie and always, always has been. I ought to feel lost, but I don’t. Instead, I feel like the universe is forcing me down the path I am destined to take.

  I push past Gene and say, “Join the Court of Miracles,” without even looking at him.

  People always talk about the beginning of the end, and I usually roll my eyes when I hear it. But now I can feel the end creeping up on me. The planets are aligning, so to speak. The stars have taken their places and await the command to fall. And Gene… My aggravation rises until I can feel it coloring my cheeks. So many years I have provided shelter, money, and tutoring to the people I cared most about. And they never even saw me. Not one of them ever knew me or tried to know me. Not one of them thought to find out what I wanted, what I needed, what was broken in me.

  I’ve never been quick to anger, but a slow fire burns hotter. And I am searing. I enter the sanctuary and march down the aisle toward the priest’s antique Bible, the one treasure in my care that hasn’t been tarnished by my hands. It’s worth a few thousand dollars, at least—more than I’ve ever seen in my life, more than I need to turn my idea into an active plan.

  I enter my private room and cross to the desk, behind which I intend to hide the Good Book until I find a buyer. The streetlamp outside my window illuminates several rolls of laundry quarters I’ve managed to save by washing my clothes in the sink and hanging them to dry. I grab three rolls and open my window.

  Gene has rounded the church and is just passing by on his way out. I call to him. When he turns, I throw a roll of quarters at him. Then another. Then another. The third hits him hard and breaks apart. Quarters rain onto the pavement, ringing all around Gene, who looks confused as to whether he should be angry at the abuse or happy for the cash.

  “That’s the last you’ll ever get from me!” I shout to him. “Just remember that while you’re smoking it!” And I slam the window shut, leaving him to collect his winnings.

  I have no family.

  III

  I am obsessed and giddy with the prospect of my future. Everything is coming together beautifully. So far, the cruise line has been tremendously helpful. Peter has access to Esmeralda’s apartment and, therefore, all her paperwork, and he’s not inclined to question why I need it. We have the Court of Miracles on our side… or on whichever side they believe is Esmeralda’s. And I have over six thousand dollars from the discrete, online auction of the antique Bible I stole.

  The more things fall into place, the more I begin to enjoy seeing Esmeralda mope around the church. I will make her happy soon. Right now, she’s sitting on the steps of the altar, reading a novel by inadequate light. Her hair is tied back in a messy ponytail and she’s wearing unflattering, but comfortable clothes. She looks like she’s home. And the thought that my home is also hers warms my heart until she glances up, sees me watching, and snaps her book shut. She won’t say a word to me. Why should she? But I know she’ll have to one day, even though right now she’s stalking from the sanctuary in a bad temper.

  I feel a touch on my shoulder and turn to see Valentine. He’s also troubled, and I can’t help but wonder why. He doesn’t leave me wondering long.

  “She’s going to the prom,” he signs. He hasn’t spoken aloud since the incident with the baseball bat. I wonder whether I will ever hear his voice again.

  “Does that bother you?” I sign back.

  He nods.

  “Because you’re not taking her?”

  His cheeks flush, and he runs an enormous hand through his red hair. “I need you to take me,” he signs, hastily. “I can’t go without a date.”

  Of course, he can’t; he’s not a senior. His absence has always been part of my plan. But I don’t like the way he’s looking at me now, like he suspects Peter’s inviting Esmeralda is more than just a chance occurrence. More than anyone else in the world, it’s Valentine’s judgment I can’t bear.

  I grit my teeth and try not to avert my eyes. Valentine’s suspicion could destroy everything. Esmeralda trusts him almost as much as she trusts Peter. She might listen if Valentine advises her not to go.

  “I didn’t want to get you involved after what happened at the last dance,” I sign. “This is Esmeralda’s one chance to talk to Phoebus before graduation, so she insists on attending. The only problem is her attackers will be there, and she won’t talk to the police about it because she fears deportation. I know I can never make up for what I’ve done.” I can’t look him in the eyes, even though most of what I’m saying is true. “But I have to try. So I’m going with them. It’s a masked ball. Esmeralda won’t know it’s me. I just want to make sure she’s safe. I promise.”

  He shakes his head and signs, “I’m coming with you.” I can see the struggle in him. He wants to believe I’m a good person, that I’ve fully repented and that this is my penance. The truth is I want to believe it, too.

  “You know she’ll never love you,” I sign to him, but really, I should be saying it to myself. “She’s obsessed with beauty. She won’t touch anything that doesn’t please her eye.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” he signs. He’s so close to breaking. It’s painful to see him like this.

  “Why are you doing this for her if you know she’ll only hurt you?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.” He lifts his head and his one, good eye burns a hole into my heart. He sees so much. I know now that he recognized my love for Esmeralda long ago. I know now that his betrayal was not accidental. He made his choice. Now it’s time for me to make mine.

  “What the hell,” I sign. “I’ll register you as my date, so you can get in. Let the gossips have a heyday. Peter and I could probably use
your help.” And it’s done. I will use Valentine to my advantage. He’s not a person any more. He’s a chess piece. He’s a rook.

  Valentine stares up at me, doubting. I won’t show him how afraid I am, how the look on his face makes my vision blur and my palms sweat. Even though I stand taller than he does, even though he’s given me authority over him, if Valentine wanted to, he could crack me in half with his bare hands.

  He shifts and signs, “Thank you.” And then he shuffles away.

  I do what I can to remain on my feet until he’s out of sight. Then I fall into a pew and catch my breath. What am I doing? This is crazy. But I can’t go on trying to be who I’ve always been. I don’t want to go back to that person who doesn’t feel anything, who’s too proud to see his own weaknesses, who believes he can shoulder the burden of every lost soul he finds. The lost guiding the lost was every bit as crazy as my new plan. But this time, I’m not kidding myself. This time, I’m going in with my eyes wide open.

  IV

  The evening air is warm but still has that spring crispness to it. I’m kicking stones behind the church with my hands shoved into my pockets, waiting for Peter to show with my costume.

  Two weeks ago, I handed him several hundred dollars and asked him to get the best costumes he could find for Valentine, Esmeralda, and myself. I had only two requests for him. I wanted my costume to completely conceal my identity, and I wanted Esmeralda’s to be white. “She doesn’t trust me,” I told him. “It’s better if she doesn’t know who I am.”

  “Gotcha,” he said. “And why is hers white?”

  “It will make her easier to spot in a crowd,” I lied.

  Now I see him walking toward me, a tall phantasm, clothed in black and painted gray from his head to his chest. He has a gray wig and false beard, which he wears around his neck like a tie. His eyes are the worst part of his costume. He’s wearing those white contacts that make them look milky all over.

  “What are you supposed to be?” I ask when he’s come close enough to hear.

  “Can’t you tell?” He puts his beard in place. “I’m the bust of Homer.”