Can't Beat the Chemistry

by Kat Colmer

  There’s an almighty crash behind us that jolts us apart. I look over my shoulder where I’ve knocked the cymbal stand to the floor.

  ‘Ah, sorry.’ I bend, more to hide the heat that’s shot across my face than to right the stand. When I turn back, MJ’s eyes are larger than I’ve ever seen them before, and a little dazed. I can’t help my smile. Her gaze drops to my mouth and the already small room shrinks to half its size, sucking the air supply into the soundproof padding.

  If her second kiss with Jason is anything like her second kiss with me—No. Not going there. I shove my hands into my pockets, and damn if my fingers don’t curl in the denim like they’re grasping for reasons that she’s better off with me than him.

  Everything inside me freezes, then heats to a point beyond melting. There’s no use trying to fight it anymore—I want MJ. I want the little hedgehog, spines and all. Because if you brave a closer look, you see the deep-seated vulnerability hiding beneath the sharpness, you hear the genuine desire to help others behind the deceptive lack of filter. And she believes I can be more. It’s scary as hell, but I want her. All of her. Almost as much as I want her to want me.

  I’m nothing next to her super-brain science partner but I’m a solid low Distinction.

  Maybe, if I prove to her I won’t be a total embarrassment come final exams, I can show her there’s more to a relationship than a matching GPA and a joint hate of asparagus. Yeah, if I play my tutoring cards right, there might never be a second kiss with Jason.

  ‘So, um, was that … How did I do?’ MJ’s hands reach for that damned bag strap of hers, don’t find it, and cross over her chest instead. Classic defensive gesture. But her bunched shoulders, coupled with the wide-eyed vulnerability spreading across her face, tell me she’s gearing up for a serious blow to her pride.

  I shove my hands further into my pockets to stop myself from reaching for her again. ‘Better.’ Understatement of the year.

  Her shoulders relax, just a little. ‘Really?’

  I nod. ‘Really.’ Any better and I’d need CPR.

  She inches forward half a ruler’s length. ‘In what way?’

  How the hell do I answer that? But I promised her honesty. She trusts me to give her the truth. ‘More, ah, you were more involved, more responsive.’

  She blushes, a fast flush of her features, and my fingers itch to trace the warmth.

  ‘Give me a grade.’

  What the—? My head snaps back and I can’t control my frown. ‘I’m not grading you.’ Where does she come up with this stuff?

  Her nose twitch is my warning she’s not finished with this line of thought. ‘If you’re worried I’ll be offended, don’t be. I’ve been told I take criticism well.’

  I raise a brow.

  ‘Okay, reasonably well. Besides, how am I meant to improve if I don’t know where I stand in relation to the normal population.’

  The normal population? I shake my head and move to the back of the drum kit, busying myself with packing up my stuff—before I give in to the temptation to cover her mouth with mine and show her exactly how much of an abnormal reaction her kiss has on me.

  ‘Luke, come on!’ Like a hedgehog with a bone, she follows me around the drum kit. ‘I’m dying for some answers here.’

  ‘No.’ Grading her would be … degrading.

  ‘On a scale from one to ten.’

  ‘MJ, no.’

  ‘Okay, fine, I get it. Time didn’t melt and you knew exactly where you were.’

  My hands still on my backpack and my gaze darts to the cymbal stand—the stand I knocked over because kissing her had shot my spatial awareness—before I lift my eyes to her. ‘You really don’t know the effect you just had on me?’

  But this is MJ. MJ, who slowly shakes her head, and I know I should spell it out for her. ‘Why don’t you ask Theo about the persistence of memory.’

  Her forehead furrows like I figured it would, but I’m not ready to lay it all on the line yet. I have a few more chemical equations to conquer before I risk my heart on her spines.

  When her mouth opens, I brace myself for an interrogation, but the buzz of her phone diverts her attention from me to her messenger bag on the floor. Puzzled eyes never leaving mine, MJ bends to pull her mobile from her bag. One glance at the screen though and those furrows of confusion dig deeper into her brow until they’ve morphed into welts of worry.

  I feel my own set forming across my forehead in response. ‘Everything okay?’

  She gives a curt nod but doesn’t take her eyes off the phone, letting it ring in her hand. I’m all but convinced she won’t answer it when she takes a breath and lifts it to her ear.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ she says as she hoists her messenger bag over one shoulder and turns away, leaving me with a view of her profile. ‘I’m fine.’

  Her rigid posture tells a very different story. Trying to at least give her the illusion of privacy, I force my attention back on my backpack but her frustrated sigh snaps my gaze back to her face.

  ‘At the university.’ Another sigh. ‘Yes, Mum, about three hours today. Those articles you suggested, some chemistry—’ she throws me a quick glance, ‘—and some extension Engl—what, this weekend?’ Her free hand goes for her bag strap. ‘I know but—’ Knuckles white, she wrings the life from the leather, and it takes all my self-control not to round the kit, prise her fingers from the strap and pull her into the safe circle of my arms. ‘—Really, you don’t have to. And final exams, they’re only a few weeks—’ her shoulders slump, and I hate it, hate seeing her so defeated, ‘—No, of course. You choose, I don’t mind. I—yes, six thirty, sure. I’ll tell Sand—Right, I get it. She’ll understand. Okay then, bye.’

  Slowly, she lowers the mobile and stares at the screen for a few silent moments. ‘My mother,’ she says, not looking up at me.

  ‘I gathered.’ A million questions burn my tongue, but MJ’s shell-shocked expression stops me from blurting them out. I offer her silence instead, hoping she’ll trust me with some of the answers anyway.

  She does.

  ‘It’s my birthday next Monday, but since I’ll be at the boarding house, my parents want to celebrate with a dinner out on Saturday night.’

  ‘Something you’re not thrilled about?’ Because that bag strap of hers is being subjected to another round of torture.

  Finally, her gaze inches its way up and braves mine. ‘Dad’s great, but my mother, she’s …’ MJ works her teeth over the corner of her bottom lip. ‘We don’t always see eye to eye.’

  And if that phone conversation is anything to go by, MJ’s the one doing most of the backing off during their mother-daughter disagreements. It’s all wrong, this fierce, determined steamroller of a girl deferring to someone else.

  I nod and give her what I hope is an encouraging smile. ‘Want company on the night?’ Because suddenly I want nothing more than to be there for her. ‘I’m happy to be your …’ I clear my throat, just managing to swallow the word ‘date’. ‘Moral support.’

  She lights up. There’s no other word for it; her face just lights up, shooting warmth smack into the middle of my chest. So much so I need to take a couple of extra breaths. She wants me there.

  But the next moment the warmth drains from me as the smile slides off her face.

  ‘It’s a Saturday night. What about Rosie?’

  Rosie. Ah hell. I close my eyes and let my head drop back on a quiet groan. For the first time in … ever, resentment at my weekend responsibility ripples uncomfortably under my skin—until MJ’s next words drown it in a wave of guilt.

  ‘You can’t ditch Rosie. She’d be devastated.’ Her genuine concern for my sister tugs at something inside my chest. ‘She needs someone to beat at bowling.’ There’s a tiny smile chasing that sentence before it disappears into the tight line of her mouth. ‘And it’s meant to be a family only thing. Beside
s, if my mother finds out I’m wasting my time tutoring instead of studying …’ MJ takes a shaky breath. ‘It’s probably better if you don’t come.’

  Whoa! Talk about burn. My brain knows her words are weighed down by her mother’s ruthless expectations, but my ego—or maybe my heart—flinches at hearing her say time with me is a waste.

  I try to force a smile, but I’m not that good an actor. Instead I bend to swipe my backpack off the floor and pull my hoodie from the bag as I turn for the door. ‘Guess you’ll have Theo to help smooth things over.’

  ‘If I can convince him to come.’ MJ’s voice is so tiny it barely registers in the soundproof room. She falls into step beside me and we walk in silence down the music department’s hallways, lost in thoughts neither of us wants to share.

  ‘Tell you what, I’ll text you quotes from the Patrick Swayze torture fest Rosie’ll have chosen for Saturday night, just to remind you there are worse punishments than a family birthday dinner.’

  MJ lifts a haughty brow. But by the time we reach the car park, my barrage of Dirty Dancing quotes has wiped the defeated look off her face.

  I turn to face her when we stop at her car. ‘I mean it, MJ.’ I bend my knees a little so I’m eye level with her. ‘If it gets too much just head to the bathroom and call me. I’ll talk you down off the ledge.’ This time the smile I offer her is anything but forced. I might not be there physically on Saturday, but I can be there for her in other ways.

  She blinks at me, two flutters of dark, dark lashes. ‘Thank you.’ Her voice is still tiny, but there’s a mountain of gratitude in her moonless midnight. Just enough to sooth the sting of her thinking it might be best I don’t meet her mother. My one consolation? At least she’s not asking Jason to meet her parents either.

  ***

  Friday mornings are my favourite. Mainly because I know I’ll get to see Rosie later in the day. But also because my first lecture isn’t until ten, which means an extra hour or so of much needed shut eye.

  This Friday morning, however, my eyes are wide open at the ungodly hour of seven with no hope of sliding shut again—because my usually considerate roommate is making enough noise to wake a coma patient. When Theo’s lead feet thump across the kitchen for the third time, followed by the creak and bang of the fridge door opening and closing, I haul my backside out of bed to find out what the hell has crawled up his.

  Eyes caked half shut with the weight of interrupted sleep, I slink into the kitchen and find Theo scowling over a bowl of cereal.

  The scowl turns into an expression of surprise when he sees me. ‘Yo, did I wake you?’

  Because my mouth isn’t awake enough to form an answer, I make do with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says. He looks it too. Actually, he looks a million worried worlds away. ‘Couldn’t sleep. Been up since, I don’t know, maybe five. Tried to paint but—’ he toys with bits of soggy cereal, ‘—it’s not helping.’

  Okay, this sounds serious. I test my morning mouth by swallowing a few times and pull out the chair opposite him. ‘Not helping with what?’ My foggy brain offers up explanations for his funk: he’s missed an assessment deadline, he finally asked Patrick out only to get burned, he—

  ‘My parents have organised a dinner thing for MJ’s birthday Saturday night. Macca’s asked me to come.’

  Ah, that. ‘Yeah, MJ mentioned something.’

  Taking a deep breath, Theo leans back in his seat and pushes the cereal bowl away. ‘Last family dinner was Christmas and you know how that went down.’ He runs a paint-stained hand through his hair, then down his face until it stills when his fingers brush his lip ring.

  ‘This—’ he circles his index finger around the silver stud and I know I’m about to hear the story again, ‘—she couldn’t stop staring, man. Dad was okay I guess—he’s always been, well, quiet but okay—but Mum?’ A laugh, minus the humour. ‘My bloody mother spent all night glowering at it—at me—with barely contained contempt. I’m surprised she didn’t toss her turkey.’

  ‘So don’t go.’

  He shakes his head. ‘Macca all but begged. I gotta be there for her. I can’t leave her alone in my mother’s clutches.’

  No, he couldn’t. If a phone call with her mother stripped MJ of all her spunk, I hate to think what this birthday dinner would do. This Meike Olsen-Wang must be a real piece of work. Makes me appreciate my own mother that much more.

  I lean in a little, catch his gaze. ‘Anything I can do to help, name it.’

  His brows lift slowly towards his bleached hair. ‘Come with me. You know, wingman?’

  I slump back in my chair. ‘Wish I could but—’

  ‘I know—Rosie.’ Theo drags the cereal bowl back towards him and, eyes on the soggy mess, stirs it around a couple of times. ‘It’s cool. Responsibilities and all. I get it, your sister comes first.’

  My sister comes first. But lately someone else’s sister has been a close second. ‘That’s what MJ said when I offered her my “wingman” services. She reminded me Rosie needed someone to flog at bowling on Saturday.’

  Theo’s dark eyes widen. ‘You’d have done that for Macca?’

  I shrug. ‘She was real deflated after your mother called. I just thought, you know, she could use a buffer.’

  ‘And you, what, forgot that you’re not around on the weekends?’

  I shift, my seat suddenly not all that comfortable. ‘Something like that.’

  Theo’s cereal spoon stops mid spin. He angles his head, narrows his eyes just enough to tell me he’s picked up on a subtext.

  ‘So, how’s the tutoring going?’

  He means the chemistry, but all I can think about is MJ’s mouth and hands and—ah hell—there’s no stopping the heat that shoots into my face.

  ‘Good. Great. Got a low Distinction on my make-up test.’ I force myself to meet Theo’s gaze. Wish I hadn’t. He’s still eyeing me through narrowed eyes, but the smirk toying at the corners of his mouth screams of too much perception.

  ‘She had a good time at your place the other weekend,’ he says.

  ‘Yeah, she told me.’ The memory tugs my lips into a smile. I catch myself but—too late. Theo has already registered the expression and everything it might mean.

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Did I what?’ I fight an eye roll; we both know what he’s asking. Problem is I’m not sure how he’ll handle my answer.

  His lips twitch, but he doesn’t call me on it. ‘Did you have a good time with Macca?’

  I lean back in my chair, drum my fingers on the table and give him a noncommittal smile. ‘Sure. Once she loses the spikes she’s almost fun.’

  His lips twitch again, just before he tongues his stud, sending a shudder down my spine. Bastard’s deliberately trying to throw me. My thumb heads for the serrated comfort of my teeth when … wait, what am I worried about? Theo knows me, knows I’d never intentionally hurt his sister. And if I’m serious about dating MJ, the sooner I have him in my corner the better. I’m going to need all the help I can get to convince her we could be good together.

  ‘Look, thing is, I mean MJ is …’ How the hell am I supposed to do this? How do I tell a guy I’m really, really into his sister? If someone told me they wanted to date Rosie, I’d … I’d—

  ‘You like her, don’t you?’

  My gaze snaps up to Theo’s. His lips aren’t twitching anymore; they’ve spread into a full out grin, one that makes me think he’s okay with the idea.

  ‘Yeah, I like her.’ And damn, again with the heat on my face. ‘So you’re okay with this?’

  His grin slips and skids into a screwed-up expression. ‘Why wouldn’t I be? I even told Macca I was okay with it, told her you’re one of the good guys.’

  That makes me sit up straighter. ‘MJ asked you if I could date her?’

  He shakes his head. ‘When she sp
ent the weekend at your place I asked if you two were, you know …’ Theo’s grin makes a reappearance. ‘But she put you firmly in the friend zone, man. Sorry.’

  Friend zone. Great. Not encouraging. Or maybe it is—because before that weekend describing us as friends would’ve been stretching it.

  ‘You think I’ve got a shot?’ Man, it’s weird talking to Theo about this.

  ‘Hard to say. I’ve never seen MJ go gaga over a guy, but there’s a first time for everything.’ Grin suddenly fading, he eyeballs me. ‘You know what you’re getting yourself into?’

  I get the feeling he isn’t talking about MJ’s socially challenged personality, or even the uphill battle I’ll have with their mother if MJ agrees to date me. But the Huntington’s? MJ’s not meant to know anything about it, so there’s a good chance Theo doesn’t either. I feel for the guy, but this isn’t my family secret to tell. ‘There’ll be issues we’ll have to deal with, but with MJ, whatever crops up, it’ll be worth it.’

  Still scrutinising me, he angles his head. ‘You really want this, don’t you?’

  I nod. I want to be part of her life, part of her future, for however long she’ll have me there.

  ‘In that case you might want to see if someone else can take Rosie bowling this weekend—’ he lifts a spoonful of his cereal sop, then lets it splat back into the bowl, ‘—because it turns out MJ already had plans with her brainiac science partner, and when the great Meike found out, she invited him to dinner tomorrow night.’

  MJ

  Happy Birthday To Me

  Normally, I enjoy Italian food. The different pastas, the creamy sauces, the decadent desserts, even plain old pizza if done in a wood fire oven. What’s not to like? But tonight, not even the most mouth-melting gnocchi can untwist my knotted stomach into a welcoming receptacle—not when my mother is sitting opposite me grating me like fine parmesan over pasta.

  ‘You say you’re managing three to four hours of study each day?’ Mum tears a piece off her sourdough roll and dips it into the bowl of olive oil on the table. ‘If we use your last physics paper as a gauge then three to four hours may not be enough. Don’t you agree, Jason?’