by G. F. Miller
Noah throws his head back and groans. “Come on. Did it have to be Kade?”
“Not my fault.”
“Are you going to help him?”
“Not a chance.” An invisible ninja sword stabs me through the forehead. I gasp. I lean into Noah and let him hold me up. It’s that or hit the floor.
“Charity? What’s wrong? What do I do?” There’s panic in his voice. I have to pull it together.
I straighten up as best I can, as the hallway swirls in a fog of vision-blurring pain. “Just a headache. I’ll be fine.”
24 An Unexpected Tag Out
I try to take a step but feel like I hit an invisible concrete wall. I stagger backward. Noah steadies me.
He says, “You’re not fine. I’m taking you home.”
I’m in too much pain to argue. But high school is kind of like prison. You don’t just leave. The next however long is a haze of Noah walking me to the office and presenting the case for me leaving, the school nurse asking me questions, me mumbling responses, my mom getting a call at work, Noah’s mom getting a call at work, and Noah finally being handed a green slip of paper indicating that we’re free to go.
He is silent for a few minutes during the drive home. I keep my eyes closed and concentrate on breathing. On my twenty-third exhale, Noah blurts, “This is like the Kobayashi Maru!”
“Uh?”
“It’s a test in Starfleet Academy that no one can pass. You’re ambushed on a rescue mission. It’s a no-win scenario. I feel like it’s the same for you. If you obey the glimpses, people get hurt. But if you ignore them, you suffer.”
I mutter, “Sucks to be me.”
The next thing I know, Noah is half dragging me to my front door. I don’t know if it’s the migraine, the motion, or only the next phase of the Universe’s retribution, but by the time we get to the house, my stomach is churning. He opens the door, and I throw myself into the hall half bath just in time to retch my guts out.
While I sit panting, Noah kneels next to me and gathers my hair away from my face. He presses a damp cloth against the back of my neck and says, “Well, I’m never going to feel the same way about taco bites.”
I laugh and then throw up again. He holds my hair, and that makes me cry. When it’s over, Noah helps me stand and walks me to the closest comfortable place, which happens to be the couch in the front room. He arranges the cushions behind me and gets me a drink of water.
He says, “This is worse than last time.”
“Just coming on faster,” I croak.
“Why do you think that is?”
I don’t want to talk or think. I grumble, “I don’t know. Maybe it gets worse every time until my head finally explodes.”
“Maybe we should just help Kade.”
“No way. The Universe is a sadistic bully. I’m not going to let it use me to screw with people’s lives.”
The Universe responds with a sledgehammer to my forehead. I cry in pain.
Noah’s hands hover over me. “Do you want some Tylenol? An ice pack? What should I do?”
I can’t handle him being sweet and taking care of me. Not when I’m trying not to get attached to him. I don’t want him to watch me cry. And I don’t want to talk with my head pounding like it’s pierced with a thousand daggers. I command weakly, “You should go back to school.”
“No. You’re a mess. You need me.”
“I DON’T NEED YOU!” I bury my face in the throw pillow, not caring that I’m ruining it with mascara. “I don’t want you here. So leave.”
“Ouch.” There’s a pause and a heavy exhale. “I’ll check in later.”
I don’t lift my face, but I hear the door click behind him.
* * *
At 3:22, my headache disappears instantly and completely. It’s like magic. As soon as the pain fades, guilt sets in. Noah was nothing but sweet to me, and I threw it back in his face. I text him: I’m sorry.
There’s no response.
I turn on Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan and watch it while I do my homework.
* * *
At 8:01 p.m. Noah texts me: How are you feeling?
I am ridiculously relieved. I was starting to imagine he’d decided I wasn’t worth the effort. My first impulse is to send him a gushing text about how grateful I am that he took care of me, then repent for being horrible… and, oh, by the way, I love you. But I don’t. I write back: Totally fine now. Sorry for freaking out.
Noah: It’s okay. What time did you start feeling better?
Me: 3:20ish. Why?
Noah: Just testing a hypothesis.
What is that supposed to mean?
Noah again: Want to ride to school together?
Me: Of course. I’ll pick you up. You ARE my boyfriend.
* * *
There is no word in the English language strong enough to describe the obsessive behavior of a “theoretical physics man” trying to figure out magic.
This fact becomes clear to me before we even get to school on Wednesday. First he pumps me for information about how the nudges work, and how do I know when they work, and how does it feel, and are there side effects.
“Yeah,” I admit for the first time out loud. “Actually I get pins and needles. And the more nudges I do in a row, the worse it gets.”
He nods like he’s cataloging that in some scientific chart in his brain. “Fascinating. Nudging must be really taxing for your nervous system.”
“And you know that because?”
“We get that tingling sensation when our nerves start misfiring. It usually happens because the blood flow is restricted. But in your case, using your telepathic—”
“Magic,” I insist.
“ ‘Magic’ is just a word for something science doesn’t yet have an explanation for.”
That statement is so gloriously nerdy that I have to hold myself back from diving across the car and kissing him on the mouth. Right now I love his giant brain. I love that he sees life as one big logic puzzle. I love… him.
Eventually he moves on from “telepathy” to “precognition.” These terms still make me squirm. I’ve never thought of myself as having paranormal abilities. It’s always been magic to me. Anyway, semantics. I let it go.
He asks me one thousand and one questions about yesterday’s glimpse, how I felt before and after 3:22, and was it exactly 3:22, and how did it differ from the Greg glimpse—
“I don’t know.” I sound like one of those guys in a movie who’s about to crack under intense interrogation. Because that’s how I feel. “With Greg it faded slowly over a few days. This time it just, poof, vanished. Maybe it’s random.”
“Nothing is random. There are only patterns we haven’t found yet.”
I park at school and cut the engine. “Okay, Spock. And the pattern is?”
“Well, uh.” He pushes up his glasses and scratches his head. “I… offered to help Kade with his paper.”
“You did?”
“Yeah.”
“YOU did?”
“Ironic, I know.”
“Why?”
Noah turns his viridian-and-gingerbread eyes full on me. Which is pretty unfair. He stammers, “I just, you seemed so… sick. And I thought, ‘Maybe this is how it works. Maybe if destiny is on track, the FG’s off the hook.’ So I tried it.”
Oh. Okay. I get it now. “You were testing a hypothesis.”
“Well… yeah.”
I am so pathetic. Here I am acting like all those desperate alien ladies who were always trying to get it on with Captain Kirk. But the whole time Noah’s been studying me for science. Honestly, he’d probably chop me up in a lab if he thought that was an option.
“Okay. Thanks for that.” I paste on a smile and practically throw myself out of the car. I would like to march defiantly away. Or possibly run, weeping, to an emotionally safe space. But there are people all around and appearances to keep up, so I stride—purposeful yet peppy. I’m about a third of the way to the entrance when Noah
catches up to me. He captures my hand, threading our fingers together.
I dart him a look. His cheeks are so pink. He smiles sheepishly and says, “I figured, since we’re ‘dating,’ right?”
“Right,” I say brightly.
* * *
The morning unfolds pretty much like yesterday, but with 50 percent fewer paparazzi flybys. Noah and I are literally yesterday’s news. I try not to feel any kind of way about that. Not happy about additional privacy with my darling research scientist. Not sad that our ten days are slipping away. I don’t think about anything except that we’ll need to do something soon to grab the spotlight again if we’re going to make Holly see what she’s missing.
At lunch, while I’m sitting with Noah, Sean graces us with his presence. He doesn’t sit, but looks pointedly at Noah and says, “Excuse me, can I borrow your girlfriend for a bit?”
Noah is wide-eyed, either because Sean has never spoken to him before or because he sounds like he’s accusing Noah of something. I stand with a sigh.
Sean holds his hand out to me. “Charity, walk with me.”
As we take a slow stroll around the courtyard, Sean says, “Tell me the truth. Is he a Cindy?”
I bite my lip. “More or less.”
“It’s a yes-or-no question.”
“Then yes. He is. Happy?” I smile and wave at a group of JV cheer girls.
He gives them a nod. “NO. It’s an absolute train wreck. Charity, what are you thinking?”
“I’ve had loads of Cindies. It’s never bothered you before.”
“You’ve never crucified yourself for any of your other Cindies.”
“I don’t know what you’re—” I pull away slightly, enough for Sean to notice but not so much that anyone else can tell we’re fighting.
“How does this end, Charity? You’re too close to this.”
His aim is too good. I deflect in an “I’m rubber, you’re glue” kind of way. “Maybe you’re just jealous. Maybe you’re scared that JLHS has a new It Boy.”
He looks mortally offended. “Pettiness is so tacky on you.”
We give each other the silent treatment for a full ninety seconds before Sean touches my elbow. “Are you in love with him?”
As much as I’ve been lying to myself, I can’t lie to Sean. In nine days, he’ll be the only real friend I have left. So I murmur, “More of an infatuation. Strictly one-way.”
His hand tightens on my elbow, a reassuring pressure. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Charity. Please guard your heart. That’s all I’m going to say.”
I nod again. We walk on, my hand in the crook of his arm, stopping to chat with a few groups on the way back. I get the feeling Sean is purposely stretching out the lunchroom tour as long as possible. By the time he deposits me back at my table, Noah is gone.
* * *
I spend the afternoon tallying up all the messes I’ve made and trying to figure out how on earth I’m going to clean it all up. Let’s see, there’s:
Vindhya. Still counter-snubbing all the people who are snubbing her. Still won’t talk to me.
Holly. Still acting like Kade’s human football trophy. Still no closer to realizing that one of the most amazing people on the planet would sell his spleen for her. Not sure she even deserves him.
All the other Cindies.
Me.
* * *
I have depressingly few ideas for fixing the HEAs. What if I try to help and just make everything worse? I’m still deep in this headspace as I drive Noah home after Poms.
“You’re quiet.”
I grunt.
“Anything you want to talk about?”
“No.”
“Did you have another glimpse?”
“No.”
He shrugs and looks out the window. But after a minute or so, he starts up again. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about your progress on finding the switch.”
“Huh?”
“You’ve been trying to learn to turn the glimpses on and off, right?”
“Riiiiight.” Kind of. Got busy.
“So, how’s it going?”
“You know.” Eyes firmly on the road. I admit nothing. “Good. Slow.”
He takes off his glasses and goes to work cleaning them with the hem of his T-shirt. “I wish we had access to one of those electroencephalography devices that can measure the electrical impulses in your brain. We could hook you up to that and figure out which areas are active when you’re nudging or glimpsing. I have a hunch that it’s somehow related.…”
SERIOUSLY? Why not just jump straight to vivisection? I growl.
He leans forward like he’s trying to make sure I can see his encouraging smile. He taps my arm with his knuckles. “Yeah, it’s frustrating. But don’t give up. I believe in you.”
My heart squeezes. I still don’t want to disappoint him. I’m like a lab rat that’s in love with the guy who’s experimenting on me.
So after I drop Noah off, I take myself to the mall, determined to find the switch by trying to glimpse the wishes of random strangers. What’s the worst that can happen? Migraine from hell, public puking, some Abercrombie worker calls 911, and I die of fairy godmother withdrawal in the ambulance. No big.
Two hours later—exhausted, discouraged, and 100 percent glimpse-free—I head home to do trig and watch Star Trek.
* * *
The next morning Noah shows up at my door looking as tired as I feel. His eyes are bloodshot, and his shoulders are slumped. He’s wearing a shirt that says NO INTELLIGENT LIFE REMAINS ON THIS PLANET.
I actually recognize the quote. It’s from an episode of Star Trek where they get zapped back in time, Spock goes primeval, and the sun is about to explode. I watched it a couple of nights ago. I decide to throw Noah a bone. “Did you come in through the time portal?”
Noah looks startled and then confused.
I point at his chest. He glances down at his shirt and then back up at me, a huge grin taking over his face, which almost immediately turns into a yawn. He covers his mouth with his elbow, then scrubs his hands through his hair. “Come on, Zarabeth.”
I smile to myself as I lock the door. Star Trek references—it’s like a secret language that we both know. Sharing that with Noah gives me a rush of pleasure. Then I remember that Zarabeth totally did it with Spock and then turned out to be evil. So that’s awkward.
We trudge side by side to the van, climb in, and buckle. He yawns again. “I don’t know how you keep this up. I went from being on public display for two days to trying to get Kade to formulate complete sentences on paper for a few hours. Then I had to get my own homework done. When do you sleep?”
I dig at him a little for fun. “Welcome to my life. Now imagine how crappy it would be if someone woke you up at shits-turdy every morning with a bunch of pointless texts.”
“Man, what kind of jagoff would do something like that?”
“Right?” I lean my head back and let my eyes close for a second. “Speaking of jagoffs, how’d it go with Kade?”
I shouldn’t care. I washed my hands of it. But my inner fairy godmother just can’t help but root for Cindy, whoever he may be.
Noah pulls a here’s hoping face. “I’m not gonna lie. I had to give him all the big words. And he types at a mind-numbing eight words per minute. Anyway, he turns it in today. Ms. Adams is going to grade it overnight because, you know, the world will end if Kade doesn’t play in the football game tomorrow.”
I feel Noah’s pain. How many times have I been in the same thankless situation? I put my hand on his knee. “The whole school owes you one. You know that? You did a good thing.”
Noah looks down at his knee and blushes. “I didn’t do it for the whole school.”
Right. He did it to test a hypothesis. Whatever.
At school, hardly anyone takes our picture or watches our every move. I do catch a weird look from Holly, though, which makes me think we’ve got her attention at least. So that’s great. I guess.
After Poms and homework, I have my regular Thursday-night call with Hope. She spends most of the time talking about how pathetic Kiet is being. He’s been writing her poetry, sending gifts, texting her way too much. When she told him she wanted space, he literally got on his knees and begged her not to shut him out.
“Wow,” I breathe. “It sounds like he really loves you.”
“Yeah. That’s the problem. He’s such a great guy. And he does love me. But I can’t get tied down here.”
Or anywhere. To anyone. I stir my plastic fork pensively around my Thai green-mango salad. “Sis, you know, you are coldhearted.”
She laughs.
25 When Does Making Good Choices Get Easier?
Instead of going to lunch on Friday, Noah and I stake out the football coaches’ office so we can spy on Kade’s destiny moment. As soon as Kade goes in and closes the door, we creep close enough to peek through the little rectangular antiprivacy glass.
“Here.” Noah hands me an earbud, and I stick it in my ear automatically.
“Hey, Coach. You got a minute?” Kade says in my ear.
“What—” I glance around to see Noah, grinning, holding a clearly fake plastic phone that says Science Spies!™ Surveillance Gadget across the “screen.”
“What is that? A toy?” I whisper.
Noah scoots closer so we can both see through the little window. We’re practically cheek to cheek. I’m breathing an intoxicating potion of Curl Commando, Old Spice, and fabric softener. And now we’re tethered together by the earbuds. You have no idea how hard it is to keep my snark up under these circumstances.
“It’s Nat’s,” he whispers back. His breath tickles my cheek. “It really works though.”
“You know, for a man of physics, you are a total child.”
“I’m told it’s charming.”
“By who? Your mom?”
He darts me a look because it was 100 percent his mom. The fact that he doesn’t even try to play it cool makes me more obsessed with him than ever.