But Liza would not be placated. “I still wanted to do it myself,” she grumbled. “And it’s poorly done besides.”
I wrapped my arm around Charlotte protectively. “I think it looks fine,” I said firmly—though in truth, Charlotte’s talents have always been literary, not artistic, much to her dismay.
Rather than close this letter on such a bleak note, I can share that I’ve made great progress at the factory, though it is due less to my many hours of practice than to the secret tricks Liza shared with me. Even when I sleep, my fingers curl toward my thumb as if clutching an invisible paintbrush, so much have I painted in these last weeks. I find that I grow accustomed to the taste and texture of the Lumi-Nite paint and mind it less than I used to, and I feel its effects on my general state of health, as Mr. Mills promised I would. Even Mother remarked on how well I am looking these days! Hurry home, my dear Walter, so that you may see for yourself. I count the days until your return, not knowing their number, but knowing as surely as I know anything that this terrible absence, like this terrible war, must in time come to an end.
All my love, always,
Lydia
PS: Did you, perhaps, venture to read my last letter in the dark? If not, please do so. More than that I will not tell you, for I should hate to ruin the surprise.
Chapter 13
Picture me like this: pupils dilated, shoulders hunched, paintbrush in hand, a nocturnal creature doing what can only be done in the dark. The sole light in my room came from the jar of glowing paint that had finally arrived. We’d met up at a pivotal moment, the paint, my painting, and me. What I did next would either solve the mystery of how LG made her paintings or ruin one of my own.
It had been days since we’d been to the factory, and to my extreme annoyance, Lauren still hadn’t managed to find out a single thing about it. If I wasn’t pulling doubles every day, I would’ve gone to the library myself, but budget cuts forced the library to close early during the summer. Lauren kept promising she’d check it out soon—and short of losing a day’s pay, I had no choice but to believe her.
Whenever I had an evening off, I continued searching thrift stores for paintings. The latest one I’d found was propped against the wall over my desk. Dozens of stars gleamed over a lonesome landscape where nothing grew, not even scrubby pines or brambly tumbleweeds or those determined dandelions that will bury us all. When the lights were out, the stars started falling, except they weren’t stars anymore. They were glowing teeth—molars and incisors and canines and cuspids—plummeting through the sky, planting themselves in the dirt so that they became tombstones with roots, covered with creeping vines and worm-eaten roses. I’d already looked up the French, Rien de bon peut en résulter, a more ominous message than usual: Nothing good can come from this.
But sitting there with a paintbrush in my hand, I had to disagree. I was getting closer every day. It was only a matter of time before I knew the truth.
I took a deep breath, dipped my brush in the glowing paint, and dabbed it on with quick, sure strokes, until two people magically appeared on the canvas, holding each other like they’d never let go. It was tricky to paint them entwined using only the glow paint; I relied on the power of empty space to reveal their arms, legs, heads. Hands. The paint I’d bought was some of the strongest stuff available, and it was worth every penny. They glowed beautifully. Brilliantly.
Then I snapped on the light…and realized that they were still completely visible.
“Damn it,” I whispered, before shaking off my frustration. There was no reason to be discouraged; this was a misstep in the right direction, a failure that surely pushed me closer to success. I knew now, without a doubt, that the only solution would be to paint the glowing image first, then layer a background on top of it. That must have been how LG had done it so long ago.
Which meant that I was going to need stronger paint.
Success or failure would all depend on the particle size, I figured. Too large, and the paint would glow just the way I wanted—but it would be visible even under a thick coat of oil. Too small, and the layer of glowing paint would disappear completely.
Firecracker inspiration struck in the form of an explosive idea: what if I made my own glow-in-the-dark paint? I could do my own little combinatorial chemistry experiments, adjusting the particle size, the binder, even the amount of catalyst. Everything! With that kind of control, I was sure that I could figure out LG’s technique. That was all it took for me to abandon my artwork for my laptop.
After some research, I decided that I wouldn’t waste my time with the old zinc sulfate and copper formulas. No, strontium nitrate with a europium catalyst would be way more powerful. There were premixed powders that I could buy online, but I had a better idea. It didn’t take long to find his email listed on the Newark University website.
Hey Luke,
So this is probably going to sound kind of weird, but I was wondering if you could do me a big favor. Can you hook me up with some strontium nitrate and a little bit of europium and a couple other compounds? I’m working on this art project, and I want to make my own glow-in-the-dark paint. Anyway, let me know if you have any in the lab or if you can order it. Without some special license, I can’t get it on my own. (Like strontium nitrate is dangerous, right? Ridiculous.)
Thanks,
Julie
As an afterthought, I included the formula and the website where I’d found it.
He responded in minutes.
J—
Glad you clarified re: strontium nitrate, otherwise I might’ve worried that you were concocting something nefarious. Some of strontium’s isotopes are not quite so benign, as I’m sure you know.
Short answer, yes, I can “hook you up.” You know where to find me.
L
I’m on my way.
Julie
* * *
Luke swung open the door to the lab before I had a chance to knock, like he’d been watching for me.
“And here you are,” he said. “Come in.”
“Thank you so much,” I said right away. “Seriously, thank you. This is so huge.”
Luke shrugged like it was no big deal, but I could tell he was pleased. “Actually, this sounds kind of fun,” he replied. “I haven’t done combustion synthesis in a while.”
“Combustion?” I repeated.
“Oh, yeah. Let’s go blow stuff up.”
After we put on goggles, Luke led me past his usual workstation to the back of the lab. The hood there was entirely sealed, with two openings attached to long, rubbery gloves.
“I checked out the site you sent,” Luke said. “This seems like a pretty straightforward reaction. You could just wear gloves, but I thought it would be better to use the glove box.”
“Why? Is it dangerous?”
“It could be,” he replied. “If you were careless or stupid. But you’re not. Anyway, I’ve set up everything you’ll need…You’ve got your strontium nitrate, your europium nitrate, your aluminum nitrate, a beaker of distilled water…The other materials are in the back. There’s an analytical balance in there too. You’ll want precise measurements, of course.”
“Of course,” I said. I already felt like I was in way over my head. “So I just…” I gestured toward the openings of the glove box.
“Yeah, by all means, go ahead,” Luke replied. “Do you mind if I hang out?”
“Sure,” I said, relief flooding my voice. “I mean, if you don’t have anything better to do.”
“No, I’m happy to assist,” he said. The thought of Luke assisting me in an experiment was hilarious, but to his credit, he didn’t laugh at all.
Be cool. I tried to psych myself up. You’ve got this. It’s just like chem lab, but with way better equipment. Equipment that costs more than your car. No. Stop. Be cool. And don’t break anything.
I took a deep breath and plunged my arms into the gloves. It was the weirdest feeling, my hands all clumsy and thick, like I was wearing a space suit o
r something. I was only distracted for a moment when Luke moved toward the glove box. I’m sure he was just trying to get a better look at the scale, but he was standing so close that there wasn’t more than a fraction of air circulating in the space between us. Then I forced myself to focus on the experiment. As I started measuring the compounds, I realized that I was right: It really was like AP chem.
Measuring such minute amounts of rare-earth metals took a while, but eventually I was ready to dissolve the compounds in the distilled water. The water turned cloudy as I swirled and swirled it until there was no trace of the solids.
“Okay,” I finally said. “I think it’s good.”
“Excellent,” Luke replied. “Let’s blow it up.”
He removed the sample as I pulled my arms out of the gloves. My palms were crazy sweaty. I tried to wipe them off on my shorts without him noticing.
“You’re not really going to blow it up, are you?”
“Just a little,” Luke said with a grin as he slid open the glass panel to a fume hood.
“Is that a…microwave?” I asked.
Luke nodded. “Yeah. It’s slightly more sophisticated than the kind you’d use to heat up a frozen dinner, but they both operate on the same basic technology. Not that you’d want to put food in here. It’s full of contaminates.”
Luke carefully placed the sample in the microwave, set the timer, and said, “Stand back.”
I watched the timer run down, second by second, waiting. Luke was so chill about it, but I was twitchy with expectation. Then tendrils of smoke started unfurling through the fume hood.
“Is that supposed to happen?” I asked.
“Not to worry,” Luke replied. His eyes never left the microwave. “The hood’s got exterior ventilation.”
Suddenly, there was a series of insanely bright flashes in rapid succession, explosions in miniature: combustion synthesis. I was expecting it, but I flinched all the same. A few seconds later, the microwave beeped. The reaction was complete.
Luke pulled up the glass panel of the hood and opened the door of the microwave. The clear liquid in the beaker had transformed into a crystallized mass, or perhaps I should say a crystallized mess. It looked like a clump of dirty snow that had been flung from the treads of a plow. I have to admit I was disappointed. But Luke seemed pretty pleased.
“Nice,” he said, nodding in approval.
“Is it…it doesn’t…It’s not really what I expected.”
“Really?” he asked. “What did you expect?”
“I don’t know,” I said, stalling. If he didn’t see what was missing—the mysterious glow, the otherworldly strangeness—how could I explain it to him?
But maybe I was wrong. Maybe he did understand. I thought his voice was reassuring as he said, “You’ll want to let that cool before you touch it. Then…what are you thinking?”
“Crush it, I guess. Into a powder that I can mix into some paint. And…is it okay if I make a couple more samples? I was thinking I’d play around with the proportions, maybe use a little more europium…”
“Absolutely. Go right ahead,” Luke said. “Holler if you need anything.”
I spent the next two hours mixing my samples and keeping careful notes about the amounts of compounds used in each one. When they were finally cool enough to touch, I brought them over to Luke’s workstation, where his samples were bubbling away in an oil bath. He slid a mortar and pestle toward me, then watched as I started grinding the first sample into a fine powder.
“You must be one hell of an artist,” he said suddenly.
I looked over at him, surprised. “What?”
“The fact that you’re even entertaining another field when it’s so obvious how much you love science…and how good you are at it…” he continued. “So where are you going to college?”
I shifted the pestle to my left hand and shrugged. I was running out of ways to dodge this conversation.
“Oh my God,” Luke said. “You’re still in high school.”
“No!” I exclaimed. “No, no. I graduated. In May.”
His look was piercing. There was nothing to do but tell him the truth.
“The thing is…I’m not actually going to college. I mean, I got in, I just…It wasn’t…”
“What?”
“It’s so boring to talk about. It’s completely not interesting.”
“I’m interested.”
I looked up and met his eyes. There was no judgment there and, best of all, no pity.
“My mom got into debt, and she couldn’t find a job, and the bank was going to foreclose on our house,” I said. I didn’t know why my voice was practically a whisper or why I felt like I was spilling a big, shameful secret. I hadn’t done anything wrong. “So I cashed out my college savings account and used it to pay off the mortgage.”
“Your mom couldn’t sell it?” he asked quietly. “The house?”
I shook my head. “No. There weren’t any offers, and the bank wasn’t…wasn’t going to wait any longer…”
“The real estate market,” Luke said, nodding like everything suddenly made sense. “I’ve heard it was bad.”
We were silent for a long moment. Then Luke leaned back in his chair and said, “Wow.”
“No.”
“Yes. Wow. That was an amazingly generous thing you did. So where were you going to go?”
“I hadn’t decided, actually. Either New York University for premed, or Parsons for art.”
“Those are some great schools. Pretty expensive, though.”
“I know. But I’ll get there eventually. I’m working two jobs right now. It’ll take me a couple years to save enough—”
“And I’m sure you can get scholarships. And loans.”
“Nope. No loans,” I said, shaking my head vehemently. I’d seen what debt had done to my mother.
Luke’s forehead furrowed. “So…you’re planning to fund a private school education through part-time jobs?” he asked. “That would mean working…eight thousand hours a year for each year of college? Twenty hours a day, every single day of the year?”
I wished he would look somewhere else. I didn’t know how much longer I could take the intensity of his gaze. “I don’t know. I haven’t done the math.”
“You haven’t done the math?”
“What is this?” I asked, anger creeping into my voice. “Why do you care?”
“Don’t get mad,” Luke said gently. “I’m just trying to understand. The in-state tuition here is so much less…Did you consider Newark University? Or one of the other state schools?”
I leaned down to scratch a mosquito bite on my ankle…or maybe just to hide for a moment. “So what about you? Why did you come here?”
Luke seemed like the kind of person who would keep pushing and pushing, mining for information until he learned every last thing he wanted to know, but he let me change the subject just like that.
“I have this younger brother, Liam,” Luke began. “Half-brother, technically, but who cares? He’s ten, and he is amazing. I mean, with a little support, that kid is going to do great things. And I just thought it would be best to…you know, stick around. In case he needs anything. Stability is, uh…it’s important. I think it is, anyway.”
“So he lives nearby? With your mom?”
“Well, he’s actually spending the summer with his dad in Montana,” Luke said. “And my mom…”
“What?”
Luke closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, and his whole face drooped a little. If I hadn’t been watching him so closely, I might not have noticed. “She left last month,” he said. “For France. The lease on her apartment was up, and instead of renewing it, she left.”
My jaw dropped. “Is she coming back?”
He shrugged. “Yes. No. Maybe. Who knows? Apparently, she is searching for my dad. Who she hasn’t seen in twenty-three years. Who I’ve never met.”
“And if she doesn’t come back?” I asked. “What happens to your br
other?”
“He stays in Montana, I guess.”
“So you chose Newark University to be close to your brother, but he might end up living thousands of miles away?”
“That about sums it up.”
“Luke, that’s awful,” I said. “I’m so sorry. And to be stuck here for no reason…”
Luke shot me a look. “Stuck here?” he repeated. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I just—”
“This is a fine school. Yeah, maybe it’s not fancy, and maybe the dorms are legendarily awful, but anybody who goes here will get out of it exactly what they put in. If you want to party and take a bunch of easy classes and mess around, then no, you won’t learn that much. But if you work hard…if you take the tough classes…and you want it…you want to learn…you can get as good an education here as anywhere.”
I felt like an idiot. “I know that,” I said. “You totally misunderstood. I just meant…I mean, obviously you made a big decision about your life so you could be near your brother, and I think it really sucks if he ends up in Montana now. That’s all I meant. I—”
Abruptly, I stopped. I had different dreams, that was all, and they didn’t include Newark University. It was that simple. I didn’t need to apologize or explain myself. If Luke thought that made me a judgmental jerk, that was his opinion.
“Yeah, well…” Luke leaned down to check the thermometer in one of his samples. “My family’s always been pretty unstable. Too many electrons, not enough protons, if you know what I mean.”
I tried to smile. “So you guys are all negatively charged? Or do you just generally repel each other?”
“You can’t keep people together if they don’t want to be together.”
“No. You can’t.” I realized that I’d been grinding the last sample for several minutes. “This must be ready.”
Luke stood up pretty fast. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“Oh. Thanks,” I said as I picked up my bag. I would’ve stayed longer. I, well, wanted to stay longer. But Luke was already halfway to the door.
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