I agree, whether he said it or not. The last three hours have been the happiest I’ve been in a long time. I hadn’t even realized I was feeling remotely melancholy. Being around James opens up the realm of possibility beyond books, school, my family obligations, and Sophia. Suddenly, I can see this kind of happiness on a regular basis. I can make decisions without any hesitation or fear, and the sudden independence is oh-so-liberating.
“How did you two meet?” I ask, just to say something. “You and Luca?”
“We lived on the same floor freshman year in Tener Hall.” He vaguely gestures in, presumably, the dorm’s direction. “Luca was a little bit of a party animal.”
“No way. Did you guys get in trouble a lot?” I imagine they did. James’ constant grin and Luca’s mischievous personality can mask a lot of stories.
“We avoided it pretty well.” He smirks. “Actually, I didn’t drink until I was about twenty. I was too scared of getting in trouble… doesn’t exactly look good on law school applications.”
“Soph and I met freshman year, too. We were roommates.”
“It’s cool you girls ended up being best friends, too.”
“It’s fun our best friends are dating. She really likes him.”
His silence is suspicious so I glance over. The expression on his face is sly.
“What?” I give him a strange look.
“You were right. You’re a real 007,” he says sarcastically.
I give a delighted laugh. I’ve been caught. “Shut up!”
I briefly wonder what kinds of things Luca and James talk about. To be a fly on the wall in that apartment… Do they share details about their conversations the way Sophia and I do? Guys are different than girls, but I still wonder what James knows about me through Sophia and Luca. Does he ask about me? I cross my fingers in my coat pocket that he hasn’t heard anything bad. Reputations can change people’s opinions, and if James catches on that I’m a little Type-A, safe and neurotic, he might run. Okay, maybe that’s the world’s worst kept secret.
A pang of déjà vu ripples through me as we approach my building. Last time we neared my place, a sense of dread enveloped me over the car ride ending. Tonight, that feeling is magnified. The longer buildup because we are on foot makes it unbearable. Between the laughter we have shared and stories we’ve told, tonight brought three hours of bliss.
“All right, miss, we have arrived.” He performs a silly bow as we stop in front of the door leading upstairs to the apartments.
“Why, thank you, sir.” I daintily curtsy back.
“Thanks for coming out tonight,” he says, softly. “I had a really good time.”
“Thank you for inviting me! I am so happy we got the chance to hang out.”
He beams at me. I wish I had a camera to capture the glowing look on his face. His eyes shimmer, an extraordinary emerald color. The radiance of his smile could light up the sky even as it warms my heart. He leans over and wraps his arms around my waist in a hug. I breathe in deep, and the smell of his cologne, fresh and masculine, wafts through me. His cheek brushes against my face as he pulls away. Will he kiss me? I want that. Then, there is a flutter of panic. I could royally screw this up. Tonight was perfect, and I don’t want to ruin it by being a klutzy, bad kisser.
I linger for a second before I finally look away blushing and head upstairs. This time when I enter the building, there is no uncertainty. As James turns away, I have no doubt in my mind: I have fallen for him hard, and there is no turning back.
ask James how Sunday was when I sit next to him in class. He tells me he was looking forward to Monday the whole time.
“I was, too,” I tell him, bashfully.
“Yeah? Why’s that?” He furrows his brow, feigning ignorance.
“You know, I spent Saturday night with this guy, and it was all right.” I play with my pen, a smirk curling my lips.
“It was all right?” He sounds wounded.
“Yeah, you know… Coffee, sweet compliments, great conversation. The usual.”
“Yeah, you’re right. He sounds like a real dud.”
“Totally.” I nod.
His perfectly straight teeth flash, and he leans back in his chair. He looks completely at ease, his long legs stretched below the table.
“The answer is B, by the way.” He points to the practice exam I have spread out on the desk in front of me.
“You know, nobody likes a know-it-all. Some might even call it pretentious.”
“And you would never go out with a pretentious guy.”
“Never.” I shake my head, grinning.
“So there’s no chance, then, that a girl like you would want to go out again on Friday?”
“There might be a chance.”
“Good,” he says, and the TA begins speaking.
The week is crammed with meetings, classes, and exams. On top of that, the deadline I’ve set for myself to finish my medical school applications is on Thursday. Even Sophia, in all her partying glory, buckles down. With the exception of bathroom breaks and food, we pass by each other like ships in the night, and our apartment is silent for a change, both of us intensely reviewing.
When I press the ‘submit’ button on the final application, I am jubilant. Come spring, at least one school will give me a positive response.
“How were your exams?” Sophia drags herself into the kitchen for a drink.
“95s. I have one more tomorrow,” I tell her, my flashcards spread out in front of me. “How were yours?”
“Nice work! I got a 93 on mine!” Her eyes slowly focus behind me on our large hanging mirror. She intended it to make our living room look bigger. Instead, I’m using it as a whiteboard. She raises her eyebrows.
“Sorry… I needed to see the reaction.”
“You do what you need to do. But you better get an A so we can live together again next year… or you’ll lose your study tool.”
“Roommates for life!”
“Back to work. Our dream schools are waiting!” she exclaims optimistically as she heads back to her room with a glass of milk and a plate of cookies.
ames and I compromise on this date: he chooses laser tag and I pick ice cream. He teases me that I sound like a five-year-old, but I tell him to shut up. Laser tag first, we decide, to build up an appetite. The facility is in the basement of an old building, hidden from the view of people walking the streets. We pay for our time and strap up while the bored-looking college student who mans the front of the maze tells us we have an hour.
“You ready?” James mock glares at me, and just like that, the fire is sparked.
“Bring it!”
Nothing electrifies me like competition. I must have inherited it from my parents since they bested everyone at their own schools, because losing isn’t in my repertoire. Not gracefully, anyway. In high school, my crush Eric and I competed in a mock debate tournament on opposing teams. Every time we would be up against each other, the murmurs of our teammates would resume. Too competitive and intense floated through the air. It didn’t matter to us. We would shake hands with glinting eyes, our own personal form of flirtation.
James and I step into the dark room, blinking furiously to adjust to the dimness, punctuated by flashing lasers, exit signs, and strategically placed light bulbs.
“Ready?” I ask.
“We split up in three…” We grip our guns a little tighter.
“Two…” We turn away from each other.
“One.”
We dart off in opposite directions and navigate through a maze of eight-foot walls. I keep my back against the barriers. Some paths lead to dead ends, and others to open spaces. I keep my finger on the trigger and the gun against my chest as I shuffle carefully to avoid making noise. My senses are heightened. I listen for any footfalls nearby and each creak makes my heart jump, as I turn quickly and point my gun at the direction the sound came from.
“SHIT!” Someone yells, and I launch what feels like twelve feet, scared out of
my wits. A relieved sigh escapes me–it is another player, somewhere else.
“Got you!” James shouts, appearing from around a corner.
The lights on my chest piece start to blink. I have been shot. He runs off, the cockiness of his first score marking his face.
I follow him quietly, taking a peek around each corner before I swing around. A girl hustles by and I trace her, prepared to fire. A movement in my periphery, and there’s James, peering around the edge of the wall. He looks in another direction, the tendons in his neck stretching and outlining his prominent Adam’s apple. His green eyes are dark, but occasionally flash florescent in the lights. The muscles in his forearm flex as he moves his finger to the trigger.
I take aim. He steps into my line of fire at precisely the right moment.
I pull the trigger.
The chest piece strapped to his body emits a flashing red light. His head snaps side to side as I saunter out from behind the corner.
“Done yet?” I ask with mock cockiness, as I blow across the barrel of my gun. The sway in my hips makes me feel like a heroine in one of those spaghetti westerns.
“Game’s not over yet, baby. Three, two, one.”
We continue for over forty-five minutes. James gets me two more times and I shoot him once. The pace escalates; both of us run now to elude each other. More and more effort is necessary to conceal my panting breath and heavy footfalls.
Suddenly, I’m face to face with him–a split second’s wait. Then our eyes widen, and we both fire, but he misses, and my laser strikes his chest first.
“HA!” I launch into a victory dance. “Tied!”
We separate and reposition. There’s time for one last shot before our time is up. I have to win. My instincts won’t accept anything else. Teetering on the balls of my feet, I spot him just ahead and poke the gun into his back. I win.
“Give up yet?” I whisper into his ear.
He jumps, whips around, and wraps his arm around my waist, pinning me between him and the wall. My gun is the only thing between us. His body heat warms me. The proximity is so unexpected that my breath escapes me in one short swoosh. Our faces are inches apart–the hot air from his rapid breaths puffs onto my cheek, faintly smelling of peppermint. Is now when he’s going to kiss me? My heart races; I am certain he can feel it pounding through the thick plastic of my chest plate, and I could swear I hear his too, thumping steadily against me. His steely eyes penetrate my own, which have to be giving away every thought I have.
“You’re like a little ninja.”
“I’d show you my moves, but I don’t really have any,” I confess breathlessly.
He lets go of me and laughs. I take a deep breath I didn’t know I needed.
“Fair enough. You win.” He lets his gun drop out of his hands, and it hangs at his side.
I exhale, trying to recover from our brief contact. I want him to be that close again.
“You may have been onto something with the ice cream. I’m starving,” he declares as we walk toward the ice cream place just up the street.
A gleam at his neck once we’ve sat down catches my attention. On a leather string hangs a silver circular pendant with the letters MJT and 2/3. When I gesture to it, his hand goes to it immediately, like when someone compliments me on a pair of earrings and I’ve forgotten what I’m wearing.
“What does it mean?”
“It’s a long story…”
“We’ve got time. Unless you don’t want to, which is okay, too.” Did I just make him uncomfortable? Oops. He glances at me, and his shoulders relax.
“Max is in the middle of his residency in pediatric oncology. He says he’s paying it forward.”
“How so?”
“We were eleven, seven, and five. School had just let out for the summer and, good God, it was like Christmas again. We had this group of boys in our old neighborhood, we’d go crazy on the trampoline, went to the beach together, and our moms would take turns driving us around. We were going to play football at the park down the street, and out of nowhere, Max says he’s tired and doesn’t want to go.”
He pauses to take a bite.
“So, Tristan and I leave him at home and go play. Then he does the same thing the next day. And the next. We figured he was being lazy, but Mom started to worry this was more than a growth spurt. He was sleeping all the time, never wanted to eat, and, damn, he was cranky. I mean, one time, he yelled at me for breathing too loud when I was sleeping.
“Mom takes him to the doctor. They lift up his shirt, and there’re bruises around Max’s underarms. The doctor orders a battery of tests to rule out anything serious. I think Mom knew it wasn’t going to come out the way she wanted.” He shakes his head and takes another bite of his ice cream. Mine is melting as I listen.
“Our parents didn’t let us go for the lumbar puncture, but we had to visit the hospital a lot for x-rays and blood draws. A week later, Max has an Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia diagnosis, and he’s in chemo and radiation. We weren’t allowed to play with him because of the treatment. Not that he could anyway, he was skin and bones. My mom told me Max wasn’t feeling well and needed to be in the hospital until he got better, but we just wanted him home. I don’t think the gravity of the situation hit us. It was like we thought he had the flu.
“Then one day, one of the moms gives me the most pitying look when she picks us up from summer soccer practice, and it was like the straw that broke the camel’s back. I told Mom we’d had enough and Max was done, we were done, and no more of this garbage.”
It’s been sixteen years since James was seven, but it could have been yesterday: the shamefaced boy is still there.
“She may have cried at that. I don’t know. I don’t really want to, honestly,” he says quietly. “Anyway, she bought us these necklaces. She said it was time for us to learn that an important part of being a brother is knowing without the others, you aren’t whole. That without supporting each other, we can’t be a family.”
“So you’re 2/3.” The numbers suddenly make sense. He nods, finally giving me a real smile. “And Max?”
“He’s been in remission since the first round of chemo. We have no idea how he did it, but he fought like hell.” His chest billows out in pride.
I shudder to think what I would do if one of my family members was ever so sick. I silently vow to call my parents more often. And then, the realization strikes–when I do call, I won’t be able to tell them about James, about how happy I am. I do my best to push the thought from my mind.
“I can’t imagine how hard that must have been,” I tell James softly and put my hand over his without realizing it.
He glances at our hands before looking up. Currents pass through our palms–he feels it, too. We talk for another hour. He asks me about how many times I’ve been to India and what it’s like.
“It’s not something you can describe,” I say after I give it some thought. “It’s something you can only feel. The air smells like dust and smoke. I would say it’s unappealing, but I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve stood on our deck trying to capture that very scent. There are more colors than words to describe them. The country is still new to being free and politics are mangled, corrupt, and frustrating… Yet the people speak of nationalistic pride, and there is nothing like seeing a cricket match between India and Pakistan, watching fireworks going off and eating the sweets that shop owners distribute in the streets when we win. My grandparents always tell us stories of freedom fighters because they are young enough to remember British rule, but old enough to have wisdom about how far we have to go. Technology and economic growth are huge right now, but the gap between the rich and poor is staggering. The American Dream is the ideal, but going to India and seeing the westernization is saddening. It’s like they think they have to lose the old culture to gain the new when it doesn’t have to be so exclusive… Sorry, I know that was a rambling mess. I wish I could explain better.” My lack of coherence is embarrassing.
“You did a good job.” He slurps melted ice cream off his spoon. We might as well drink it with straws at this point. “Is it hard? Living this dichotomy?”
“Sometimes,” I admit. “It’s hard when ideologies clash, like relationships or religion. Other than that, I think I’ve done all right with balancing things.”
“It sounds like it. So, speaking of relationships…”
Please don’t ask me about arranged marriages, I beg him in my mind. I don’t want him to abandon me after he finds out I am supposed to have one. I know that sounds selfish. But I have had such a good time on these dates, I can’t imagine not having another. I have to tell James this can’t go further, but I won’t. Not right now. It seems a crime against nature to cut our date short by explaining I can’t be interested in him (though I am), and I’ll never be able to have a relationship with him (though I want to). It can wait. Okay, breathe. Focus on what he’s saying.
“…I was sort of surprised you weren’t taken when I asked you out.” He is candid.
I giggle out of relief that the conversation hasn’t taken my predicted nosedive.
“I’m not.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m not exactly that experienced with guys.” I study the swirly knots in the wooden tabletop with an attention customarily reserved for an MCAT, the dreaded Medical College Admissions Test, a bane of every premed student’s existence.
“I find that really hard to believe.”
“I don’t know if that’s a compliment.” I giggle, munching on some leftover Reese’s.
“It is.”
“Well, thank you. I guess never been kissed isn’t tattooed on my forehead after all.” Sometimes, I am eloquent. Put together. Smooth. This is not one of those moments.
“Seriously?” His eyes are the size of plates.
“Well, now that you’re using that tone, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to say it out loud again.” Maybe it is a big deal.
“No, no, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
I believe him when he says he isn’t freaked out. Any normal guy would run for the hills confronted with a twenty-one year old who has never had a boyfriend. There’s a point where it’s cute, you know, when you’re thirteen. At my age, it seems like I’ve missed the train and never figured out how to get back on it. But then, James is not a normal guy.
The Rearranged Life Page 7