by K. K. Perez
Lucy sank her front teeth into her bottom lip, undecided.
“Actually,” he began, “I was hoping you could tutor me—for real this time. I’m going to fail the physics final without you.”
“You mean now that you actually have to do the work?” Lucy couldn’t keep an edge from her voice.
“Yes.” Cole had the grace to look ashamed.
Lucy thought about what Claudia would say. She’d tell her to stop fixing Cole’s messes. And yet, here he was, genuinely asking for Lucy’s help. How could she turn him down flat? She didn’t want to be the reason Cole didn’t graduate. Besides, after her moment—or whatever—with Ravi, Lucy should maybe do some penance herself.
Cole plowed his fingertips through her curls and massaged her scalp the way he knew she liked. “So, physics and pasta. How ’bout it?”
Lucy’s gaze dropped to his lips, unable to take the intensity of his stare. Misinterpreting guilt for desire, Cole hugged her closer and kissed her hungrily. Her stomach turned over.
Coming up for air, Cole smiled as he said, “It’s a date.” The look in his eye was less confident than his smile.
He rested his forehead against hers so their noses touched. If she were honest, things had been strained between them for a while, but was she truly ready to say goodbye to the first boy she’d ever loved?
“It’s a date,” Lucy agreed. She kissed him back, softer this time, but she couldn’t rid herself of that nauseated feeling.
A tug came on Lucy’s shoulder, extricating her from the lip lock with Cole not a moment too soon.
“Share and share alike,” said Claudia, trailing her eyes from Lucy to Cole.
Cole goofy grinned. “What’s up, Short Stack?”
“I need to borrow your moll, doll face,” she replied in a Mafioso tone. Cole just stared. “Your better half is required elsewhere,” she clarified, casting Lucy a quick glance, and Lucy tried to hide her relief.
“She is?”
“You forgot.” Her friend’s voice hardened. Not good. Claudia could be scarier than all three of her brothers combined when she wanted to be.
Picking up on the tension, Cole evaluated his options and wisely chose a quick exit. “Saturday,” he whispered into Lucy’s ear as he kissed her cheek. Claudia kept her eyes on Lucy and she had that rampaging elf look about her.
Lucy opened her mouth to say … she wasn’t sure what, but Claudia cut her off.
“Cate and Stew are waiting. Hope the planetarium was real inspiring.”
She started toward the auditorium and Lucy trailed half a pace behind, regret gnawing at her. Claudia was the most loyal, dependable person ever. She deserved better from Lucy.
“Clauds—” she began as her friend swung open the backstage door and announced, “Welcome to Gangland!”
Cate and Stew were perched on ladders on either side of the stage, paintbrushes in hand, working on a series of eight-foot-high backdrops. Lucy’s eyes darted to a portrait of the Statue of Liberty with a mustache, holding an ice-cream cone instead of the Eternal Flame.
She nudged Claudia. “Why is Lady Liberty sporting a Movember ’stache?”
“It’s Dada.”
Lucy attempted a sage nod but Claudia saw right through it. “Dada was an art movement in the 1920s that criticized the commercialization of art,” she explained. “Poked fun at high culture. They painted mustaches on the Mona Lisa and framed toilet seats—which you would know if you’d read any of the emails I’d sent you this week!”
Emails?
“Did you even glance at the sketches I sent you?” Claudia said.
“I’m sorry.” Guilt spread over her like a rash. Lucy had become self-absorbed and a liar. Her eyes flitted around the auditorium. “It’s a really cool concept, Clauds. Like a 1920s Occupy,” she said, cajoling a tiny smile from her friend.
“It was Jess’s idea. Who knew anti-establishmentarianism could be so hot?” They shared a laugh. Claudia surveyed the backdrops, then snapped her focus back to Lucy. “So, mon amie, are you going to make my Dada Speakeasy electrifying?”
“I’ll do my best.” That was Lucy’s specialty, after all.
“Good. Let’s join the rest of the worker bees.”
As if on cue, Cate greeted them with a double-dimpled smile.
Over the next hour or so, Lucy studied the half-painted sets and the sketches strewn around the stage, determining which color gels she could recycle from the fall musical for the lights and what she would need to order. In addition to Lady Liberty, there was a panorama of the New York City skyline complete with King Kong in a top hat. Since there wouldn’t be any alcohol at the prom (at least, not school-sanctioned), Claudia had designed a trompe-l’oeil beveled mirror lined with shelves of multicolored liquor bottles to sit behind the fruit punch stand. She’d even stenciled MOONSHINE in capital letters on empty wine bottles that would be filled with Kool-Aid.
Stew suggested they sprinkle some sawdust on the gym floor to make it feel like an authentic bootleggers’ paradise. They all agreed that was genius, and Lucy added it to her shopping list for the hardware store. By the time they were finished for the day, she felt more like her old self. She clung to that feeling—with all her might.
Cate and Stew waved goodbye but Lucy was so concentrated on double-checking her notes she hardly noticed. The seat beside her whined as Claudia plopped herself down in the front row. She traced a finger along the sketch of a theater marquee Lucy was holding.
“Think we can really pull it off?” she said with an uncharacteristic quaver. This meant a lot to her friend. Lucy wouldn’t flake out again.
“Definitely. We’re Broadway-bound, baby.”
Claudia had been thrilled with Lucy’s idea to have Times Square–style billboards dangling from the ceiling, dotted with halogen lightbulbs to capture the Prohibition Era ambiance.
“I guess the stars really did inspire you,” Claudia said. She pulled one of her curls straight. “I shouldn’t have been so snarky.”
Lucy stopped scribbling. She shifted in her seat, angling her body until their knees touched. A burst of warm energy radiated from the spot.
“Does that mean our fight is over?” she asked.
“That wouldn’t even come close to qualifying as a fight in the O’Rourke household.”
Lucy drilled the tip of the pen against the notebook. “It’s as close as I ever want to get.”
Claudia’s hazel eyes searched hers out and the truth began pushing its way to the surface.
“Listen, Clauds.”
Her friend listened.
“I didn’t go to the planetarium.”
Head nod.
“I went to see my neurologist.”
Nod.
“I’m fine.”
“Why didn’t you want your mom to know?”
Trust Claudia to get to the heart of the matter. “I thought I might have had a seizure. I didn’t want her to overreact.” One day Lucy would be suffocated by her pile of half-truths.
“That’s why you weren’t riding Marie Curie,” her friend deduced. Lucy smiled guiltily. Her bestie really did know her better than anyone else.
Claudia didn’t smile back. “Why didn’t you tell me, Luce? You promised.”
Lucy nearly uttered the phrase It’s complicated before deciding she would sound exactly like Cole had trying to justify his sins of omission.
“I was scared.” Finally, the truth.
Nod.
Lucy lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry.”
“But you’re okay now?”
“We adjusted my meds.” The rest of the truth cut at her insides, but she was still too afraid to let it out.
“I understand why you’ve been distracted. I just wish you knew by now that you can trust me.” Lucy raised her eyes to Claudia and she instantly wished she hadn’t. Her confusion was mirrored back at her. “I’ll always have your back, Luce,” she said, as solemn as any vow.
Lucy nodded because her throat was too
scratchy. She drew Claudia into a tight hug and they stayed that way for a good long while. They both ignored the crackle of static in the air.
Regaining her voice, Lucy asked, “Wanna come over? Hang out?” The question was hesitant, her chest tight. “Or are you working at the Gallery? I could come with?”
Claudia pulled out of the embrace. She bit her lip.
“Jess’s expecting me at her dorm. Soon.”
“Right. Wouldn’t want to stand in the way of young love!” Lucy said with forced cheer. Five weeks and dwindling. Lucy didn’t want to share Clauds with Jess for any of them.
“I can drive you home first.”
“Nah. I’m good. I could use the fresh air. And I wanna double-check the gels again.”
“You sure?”
“Sure. Have fun.” Lucy beamed a smile brighter than the lights of old Broadway as Claudia left for her date.
She sat in the quiet for a bit, then turned off the auditorium lights one by one.
OUROBOROS
Plodding toward home, Lucy peered down at Tesla’s enigmatic expression on the cover of The Current Wars. She’d renewed it at the library that morning.
Since experimental science and medical science had so far yielded unsatisfactory results in explaining Lucy’s freaky symptoms, she’d decided to return to the source. Perhaps the clues to what had happened in the Tesla Suite were hidden in his life story?
Tesla’s light-blue eyes seemed so alive to Lucy, brilliant, like they contained the solution to a thousand riddles. He claimed that his eyes had once been a darker hue but employing his intellectual faculties so heavily had diluted them.
As if being a brainiac could change your eye color!
For every one of Tesla’s incredible innovations, Lucy discovered there was an equally untenable belief. By the end of his life, Tesla had shunned human company, and New York society shunned him. His most frequent visitors at the New Yorker Hotel were the injured pigeons he rescued and nursed back to health.
If Lucy couldn’t find a way to control or rid herself of her symptoms, would she wind up a recluse like him?
A honking horn wrested Lucy’s glower from Tesla. She swung it toward a black Land Rover with tinted windows that had pulled up alongside her. The passenger-side window slid down to reveal the one person Lucy couldn’t keep at a distance. Although she really, really should.
“Hi, Ravi.” A ridiculous smile overtook her face. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Men in Black car, blacked-out windows and everything.”
“You never know when you need to go off-roading. Or outrun the paparazzi. Besides, it belongs to Professor T.” He raised an eyebrow. “Need a ride?”
Yes. No. “Sure.”
Without stopping to consult her conscience further, Lucy jumped into the shotgun seat.
“Don’t worry,” Ravi said as she fastened her seat belt. “I’ve almost got this driving-on-the-wrong-side-of-the-road thing down.”
“Gotcha. I’m taking my life in my hands.”
The cadence of his laughter made Lucy’s heartbeat trip over itself.
“Where to?” he asked.
“Take a right at the end of the street. I’ll guide you.”
“Where I’m from, you’re the one in the driver’s seat.”
If Lucy were a romance novel heroine rather than an observer of objective fact, she might be tempted to call his gaze a soul-searching stare. She also might add double-entendre to the catalog of auditory hallucinations that preceded a seizure. Either way, Lucy looked away first, dropping her gaze to her lap.
The car edged away from the curb. “What are you reading?” Ravi asked.
All Lucy’s senses went on high alert. As if she’d been caught in a trap, her fingers splayed taut across the book. The crunching of wheels on the badly paved road resounded in her ears.
“Did you know Nikola Tesla invented the alternating-current system?” Her voice hitched up an octave. “Edison was already heavily invested in direct current, so he tried to convince the public that alternating was unsafe. Launched a smear campaign. Even publicly electrocuted an elephant to prove his point.”
Eyes on the road, Ravi murmured, “Sounds dramatic.”
Shaky laugh. “Yeah, I’ve been reading up on the Current Wars.” She tapped the title. “Getting more context for my final paper. It’s almost done, by the way.” Put that shovel down, Luce. “Anyway, I’m just surprised Tesla isn’t on the syllabus. He’s never been in any textbook I was assigned, for that matter. Not even when my dad homeschooled me.”
“Hmmm.” Ravi hit the turn indicator. “I suppose there’s limited room in any curriculum, and Tesla’s inventions are more about technology, about exploiting science, rather than the laws of science themselves.”
Huh. Lucy hadn’t made that distinction before. She wondered if her dad would agree. Could that be why he’d barely mentioned Tesla to her?
“Also,” Ravi continued, “a lot of Tesla’s projects were more theoretical than what’s required for a sixth form—er, high school—understanding of physics.” He dashed her a cheeky grin.
“Still getting the colonial lingo down?” she teased, matching his grin.
“Studying my vocab every night. Although I might be considered a colonial as well.”
“Oh, right. Of course.” Idiot. Lucy flushed. “Americans aren’t great at world history, but I do know that much. Sorry.” She cringed in her seat.
Ravi glanced at her sideways. “I was born in London. I’m as British as they come, really. I still have relatives in Rajasthan, but I’ve never met them. I kind of lost touch after…” His voice trailed off. “One of these days I’m going to pick up Hindi. Or a Rajasthani dialect, maybe.”
“Did you speak that with your parents?” Lucy asked.
“Not really. Mostly when my mum was telling me off.” His laugh held a tinge of melancholy.
“I’d like to learn another language. I only know dead ones.” Ravi raised an eyebrow, and Lucy elaborated, “My mom is a classicist. She taught me Latin and Greek while I was homeschooled.”
“So your mom covered arts subjects and your dad taught you science?”
Lucy nodded. “And maths,” she said in the British way. Ravi smiled. “He did postdoctoral research before going into finance. He invests in tech firms now. Westinghouse funded his Ph.D. research—the same guys who bankrolled Tesla.” Okay, she was bragging. Was it wrong to try to impress him? Ravi’s godfather had a Nobel to his name, after all.
“Interesting,” he said without inflection. “What’s your father’s field?”
“Quantum mechanics.”
Half his face lifted in a crooked smile. “I see why you like to get your hands dirty in the experimental side of things. Who did you say he worked for?”
She hadn’t. “The Sapientia Group.”
From the corner of her eye, Lucy noticed a muscle twitch in Ravi’s jaw as he nodded.
“I’m sure Professor T knows of them. He launched his own biotech company a few years back. When he retired as chair of the department.”
“Why’d he retire?” Lucy asked.
“Fancied a new challenge, I suppose. He’s still a fellow at Trinity College.”
Like Newton. “Must be nice. You wouldn’t rather work with him than teach American high schoolers?” Lucy teased.
Ravi’s posture grew rigid and she knew she’d said something wrong.
They were saved by a stoplight. “Which way from here?” he asked.
“Another right,” she said. “Onto Salisbury Street.”
His face crinkled more and then he laughed to himself. “I almost forgot—if you’re dead into Tesla, you should check out one of my favorite graphic novels.” To her questioning eyebrow, he replied, “The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen,” as the light went green. “He’s this mad, steampunk fantasist.”
“Thanks. I’m not sure if I’m dead into Tesla, but I will.” Lucy would leave no stone unturned in her elusive quest. “Although I do
n’t think ‘fantasist’ is a fair way to describe him.”
“Go on. I do enjoy our debates.”
So did Lucy. Too much.
“Take Niagara Falls, for instance. The idea may have come to Tesla in a boyhood dream—but it doesn’t automatically make him a fantasist. He was the first to harness hydraulic power. Not that I believe in dreams.”
“Why not?” Ravi captured her gaze.
Because she didn’t want to. “Do you?” she countered.
“I don’t discount anything. And I never said there was anything wrong with being a fantasist.”
Was that Lucy’s problem? Was she too logical to be an innovator? To find a way to fix herself?
“The alchemy thing again,” she said.
Amusement framed his next words. “The alchemy thing?”
“Yeah, um, the eight-pointed star. Creation and transmutation. Your tattoo, it … intrigued me.”
This time Ravi went quiet for so long Lucy considered flinging herself from the moving vehicle to avoid further awkwardness.
“One the all,” he breathed at last. It was prayerlike, reverent. “The eight-pointed star represents the alchemical principle of the Ouroboros—the snake eating its own tail.” He laughed. “Doesn’t sound appetizing, I know.”
“You can say that again.”
“Alchemists believe that one thing can be transmuted into another because at the deepest level they’re all the same. Just like the snake perpetually consumes and regenerates itself. It’s a constant. The Ouroboros always was and always will be.”
Lucy wished she could believe in something constant.
Ravi’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “I got the tattoo on the fifth anniversary of my parents’ deaths.”
When he was fourteen. A pang of sympathy constricted Lucy’s chest. “Does it make you feel closer to them?”
“Sometimes.” His knuckles bulged on the wheel.
Lucy touched his elbow and his hold loosened. Why had she done that?
“The Ouroboros sounds kind of like a renewable energy source,” Lucy said, trying to direct the conversation to something less fraught. “Right up Tesla’s alley.”