by Wendy Brant
My mom is waiting for my answer. I touch her arm and her fractal is still there. But it feels different somehow. Some of the yellow — the bitterness — has mellowed to a softer gold. Some of the red anger is just pink now. Her fractal is changing, not my ability to feel it.
“They’re still there,” I tell her, and her hopeful look disappears. “But it’s better, Mom. I’m not really afraid of them anymore.”
I lace my fingers through hers, something I haven’t done in years.
She clears her throat. “I wasn’t going to tell you this.”
I let go of her hand to wipe my nose with a tissue. “Tell me what?”
“Someone from the Telegraph called. They want to run some kind of story about us, about how your parents died and I adopted you. How you and Zenn became friends without knowing how everything was connected. I assume someone from the scholarship committee put two and two together and they thought it would be a good ‘human interest’ story.”
My mom does sarcastic air quotes, and I can tell she doesn’t like the idea of our story being used as some kind of bait for people to buy the newspaper.
“Anyway, I was angry. I was trying to figure out why you would give up the chance at a huge scholarship to stay here for the son of the guy who killed your parents, and I told the reporter, ‘Well, you know how teenagers are when they think they’re in love.’ And I’m not proud of it, I’m not, but I was angry and frustrated and I suggested that maybe Zenn convinced you to —”
“Mom! He had nothing to do with it! He didn’t even know!”
“I know. Honey, to be honest, at that point I didn’t even know he was one of the other finalists. I just thought you gave it up so you could stay here and be near him.”
“What? That would be so … stupid.”
“I know! And I was so disappointed you would do that. But when that reporter called, I realized that you gave it up for him to have the chance.”
Am I supposed to feel more or less foolish now?
“How did you figure that out? Did they tell you?” I try to remember my reply to Stephanie Rayner. I’m almost positive I never said anything about Zenn.
My mom shakes her head. “The reporter said that he withdrew his name, too.”
This surprises me at first. But Zenn is proud and I’m sure when he found out that I had pulled out, he did the same. I explain to my mom.
“No, honey. He did it before.”
“Before when?”
“Before you did.”
“What?”
“She said he actually withdrew first.”
I just stare at her.
“He gave it up for me?”
I drive by his place, but his truck isn’t there. Of course it isn’t. Even if he is as heartbroken as I am, he still has to go to work and pay the bills. Self-pity is a luxury he doesn’t have. But I know his schedule by now and I know that if he did go to work, he’s at the grocery store today.
I pull into the parking lot and wait next to the cart-return rack, watching the store’s automatic door from the minivan. My heart races every time it opens. Finally Zenn comes out, orange safety vest over his winter coat, knit hat pulled down, no gloves. No gloves in this weather? No wonder his hands are such a beautiful disaster.
The wind has picked up and he hunches against the cold as he makes his way toward the rack. I don’t get out right away and he doesn’t notice me sitting in my mom’s van.
I am a wreck, a jumble of devastation and hope and anger. I have no idea what to say.
He starts to collect the carts from the rack. I take a deep breath and open the door.
When he sees it’s me, he pauses, letting his hands drop from the cart he was pulling from its metal cage.
“You left out some important information this afternoon.” My voice is so smooth I almost can’t believe it.
I think he knows what I’m talking about. I can see it in his eyes.
“I can’t believe you gave me that high-and-mighty speech when you did the exact same thing.” I can hear the anger creeping into my voice. I am a mess of conflicting emotions: angry at him, but also grateful and touched. Disappointed that we’ve both screwed up our chance, and petrified of losing him.
He looks up at the sky, which is dark already, before five o’clock. He doesn’t ask how I found out. I don’t suppose it matters.
“It’s different, Eva.”
“No. It’s not different at all.”
“It is. You …” His hands go up to his head in frustration, grabbing his hat and pulling it farther back on his head. “My family ruined your life —”
“No one ruined my life. My life is just fine.” And I realize that it is. Fractals or no.
“They wouldn’t have given me the scholarship anyway.”
“That’s for them to decide.” I kind of like throwing his own words back at him. “You are not the kind of guy who gives up everything for a girl,” I say, trying to remember his exact phrasing. “I wouldn’t fall in love with a guy like that.”
I see the hint of a smile.
He looks down at his feet and shoves his hands into his pockets. He sighs. “Well, shit. We really fucked this up good, didn’t we?”
I step a little closer to him. “Yep.”
“Maybe we should talk before we do anything idiotic next time.”
I’m happy he’s referring to the future. “Probably a good idea.”
He smirks a little and my heart skips. “Who do you think would have gotten it?”
“Definitely me,” I say. “I mean, who could resist my mad math skills? It’s super fun to watch me use the Chebyshev method.”
“I’ll bet.” He takes his hands out of his pockets, like he wants to reach for me. But he doesn’t.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I really didn’t want to break up with you.”
“Of course you didn’t.” I reach out and tug at his sexy orange vest.
His arms slip around me, encircling me.
I think about when we met and I asked him his name and he made that Venn diagram with his hands. I probably fell in love with him right on the spot. I think about how our circles once seemed to barely overlap. Two separate lives with a tiny sliver of math tutoring in common. But now it’s like my whole circle and his whole circle are the same: our past, our present and maybe even our future.
EPILOGUE
STUDENTS WHO SACRIFICED SCHOLARSHIP MAY GET COLLEGE MONEY AFTER ALL
A tragic car accident leaves a young couple dead, their infant daughter orphaned. A war veteran is sent to jail for manslaughter, leaving his unborn son to grow up without a father. They are heartbreaking stories pulled straight from the headlines, and they definitely caught the attention of the committee who reviews applications for the prestigious Ingenuity Scholarship, which awards a gifted Wisconsin teen $100,000 for their college education. Two applicants with these exact stories — Eva Walker and Zenn Bennett — were chosen as finalists for the scholarship from a pool of thousands.
When it was discovered that Bennett’s father was actually responsible for the death of Walker’s parents, and then both teens withdrew their names from scholarship consideration within days of being named as finalists, truth quickly became stranger than fiction.
After Walker and Bennett withdrew, the scholarship was awarded to the third finalist: Jason Barber of Maple Grove. But Scholarship Chairperson Stephanie Rayner wondered if the first two finalists had each withdrawn to give the other a better chance of winning.
“That possibility seemed very ‘Gift of the Magi,’” Rayner points out, referring to the story by O. Henry in which a poor husband and wife each sell their most prized possession to buy a gift for the other.
The Milwaukee Sentinel ran an article announcing the winner, with a small sidebar about the unusual connection between Bennett and Walker.
Their story gained immediate and national attention. Since that time, social media has worked its magic and to date, their story has been shared on Face
book alone over 500,000 times. A GoFundMe account was anonymously established for both of them, and money started pouring in.
Both Walker and Bennett declined to be interviewed for this article, stating that they’ve gotten far too much undeserved attention already, but they thanked the public for their generous support.
If the GoFundMe account keeps growing, Walker, with the help of some academic-merit aid, hopes to attend Northwestern University in the fall and major in engineering science and applied mathematics with plans to eventually get her PhD in neuroscience. Bennett, a gifted artist, hopes to attend the Art Institute of Chicago in the future.
The two remain very close.
Acknowledgments
So many, many thanks to so many wonderful people:
My original agent, Bethany Buck of Sanford J. Greenburger Associates, who first believed in this book and sold it faster than I could have hoped. Thank you for loving my story and taking a chance on me. You’re wonderful.
My current agent, Wendi Gu, for all of your thoughtful feedback on my upcoming projects. Go Cats!
All the people at Kids Can Press and KCP Loft: Lisa Lyons Johnston, Michaela Cornell, Naseem Hrab, Kate Patrick and anyone else who helped behind the scenes. I’m not sure I’ve ever met a more kind, funny and intelligent group. Thank you for lovingly and beautifully bringing Zenn Diagram into the world.
My amazing editor: the talented, smart and awesome-in-every-way Kate Egan. Working with her has been a dream come true and she made this book so much better. Trust me.
My lifelong friend, Cindy Malin, who has always shared my nerdy love for words and has helped me get this book out into the world.
The talented Cindy Kennedy for taking my headshot (which was probably the most daunting part of this process — no lie).
My friends and “life coaches,” Sara Reddington and Amy Miller, for years of encouragement, support and gentle pushes toward my dream.
The family and friends who have read my work over the years, for being kind, generous and gentle with your feedback: Jon Aguilar, Suzanne Burns, Susan Cain, Kym Garcia, Amy Gold, Pam Griffin, Heather Horita, Rachel and Mollie Hughes, Betty Jones, Dierdre Kelleher, Jackie Kieltyka, Sam Lanham, Chloe Leith, Rebecca Levenberg, Nancy May, Mary Jo Pape, Deb Price, Chris Rayner, Zoe and Wendy Rudd, Mackenzie and Deb Russ, Jennifer Russell, Doug Sabo, Gina Seaton and Eric Zorn.
My loving and generous parents, Barbara and Dennis Walters, who have always encouraged creativity, hard work and balance.
My brothers, Rich and Glenn Walters. We have different talents, but you both understand the desire to make things from the stuff that runs around in our brains.
All of my extended family for their loving support: Jackie, Kit, Evan, Kaylee, Landon and Teagan Walters; Jerry, Ceil, Kevin, Danny, Kathy, Michaela, Joey and Alaina Brant; and Theresa, Pat, Jack, Andrew, Mary and Danielle McCluskey.
My beloved grandparents, who I miss dearly: Fred and Nessie Bartels, Elmer Walters and especially Esther Walters, who loved to read and would be so proud.
Lastly, to my patient husband, Jim, who often gets ignored in favor of a computer screen and loves me anyway, and my amazing children, Emma and Nathan. You guys inspire me to dream big and set an example of what it means to be brave and live fully. Love you forever.
About the Author
At age ten, Wendy Brant wrote her first book, My Mysterious Double, the story of a girl and an imposter pretending to be her. Wendy put not one but two copies of her glorious fourth-grade school picture on the cover. Toni Tennille bowl haircut, yellow turtleneck, denim vest with wide lapels. Brave might be one word to describe her ...
Years later, after graduating with a degree in journalism from Northwestern University and completing the Publishing Institute at the University of Denver, Wendy wrote adult fiction (albeit unpublished) while working as an HR manager and being a mom. But when she started reading the same YA books as her kids, her attention and passion shifted. Now she likes to write about isolated teenagers who somehow find a way to connect with others, and she’s also a sucker for a little romance.
Though Wendy miraculously manages to keep her kids and pets alive and well, she has a brown thumb and kills plants indiscriminately. She likes to bake but not to cook. She loves the smell of coffee but not the taste. One of her favorite things is videos of unlikely animal friends. Wendy has always been somewhat of an introverted nerd, but she was also a cheerleader in high school … so figure that one out.
Wendy lives in the Chicago area in the best neighborhood in America (as crowned by Good Morning America in 2010) with her husband, teenage daughter and son, and guinea pigs Mac and Tosh.
You can find out more about Wendy on her website and blog (wendybrant.net) or on her Facebook page (ZennDiagram), or follow her on Twitter @wendyjobrant.
Praise for Just a Normal Tuesday
“There is grief and there is grace, and this book is full of both. A look at love, loss, and learning to live with questions that have no answers. Kim Turrisi is an exquisite new voice.”
— Martha Brockenbrough,
author of THE GAME OF LOVE AND DEATH
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“You’re the drummer,” she said to herself. “It’s your job to keep them on beat. To hold it all together.”
But how the bloody hell was she supposed to do that?
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