After a few more minutes of debating Mike picked the organized method. The only two things left to do were figure out how this organized method was performed and the answer to the problem. He knew that what was done to one side had to be done to another. What he had to do to these sides he couldn’t figure out.
“Perhaps,” he suggested to James, “we should try the trial and error.”
“Whatever, I’m flexible.”
Mike wrote beneath the first line and when he was done there was this: 0.5 x 3 = 1.5
“Well that’s not it,” Mike said.
“Obviously.”
He tried a couple more options and when done found out that n=8.
“Well James, here we are.”
“Interesting.”
“I suppose it is.”
“Took long enough, though. And I could have told you that. It was immediately apparent to me that if you wanted half a number to equal four, you’d have to multiply it by a number with twice the value of four.”
Mike didn’t believe James but agreed with him anyway. He then turned the book over to see exactly what his level of competence was. Before glancing at the cover Mike was feeling quite good and he shared this enthusiasm with James. “This is great!”
“Oh?”
He liked James’ ignorance and was happy teach him. He also liked the fact that when he was in ignorance James would be willing to teach him. “It’s more than great, it’s terrific, it’s stupendous.”
“And how do you see that?” James wanted to know.
“It means that there are no problems at all.”
“Oh?”
“Of course.” Mike now looked down at the closed book.
About here something changed in Mike — James didn’t change, he remained calm, oblivious. What caught Mike’s eye was a crudely shaped number, occupying an area apart from the simple picture that sat in the centre. This was located in the bottom right-hand corner. Mike suspected he wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t set out with the initial intent of finding out just how critical his problem was. And now he knew for sure it was indeed critical.
What occupied that lonely area was written in chalky blue and may have been only one continuous line. There was a right angled triangle from which two lines protruded from its bottom right edge, making a ninety degree angle. Mike stared at this with a painful awe.
“What’s wrong?” It was James. Well, to be a little more precise it was Mike but the voice that came out had been so different. It wasn’t upset at all, there was only a note of puzzled curiosity.
“What’s the matter Michael, you’re as pale as wax.”
Mike didn’t reply, he just glanced again at the single digit number then jumped out of the chair so quickly he knocked it over. With only one stride he was across the room and had flung himself onto his bed. Mike wasn’t crying, at least there weren’t any tears. Sobs and other sounds escaped his mouth in choking gasps. The truth was he was spent and this seemed to be as hysterical as Michael Gregory could get. He’d never lost control before. Now, twice in one day?… What was happening to him?
“Michael,” it was James. His voice sounded clear and calm. If anyone had overheard the conversation they would have sworn two different people were speaking. James’ voice was so mature, he sounded years older, “what on earth has shaken you so?”
Now Mike jumped to his feet and angrily strode back over to the desk. He took his hands and wiped from his face tears that weren’t there. “This is what’s wrong. Let me show you what’s wrong!” Mike swept the book off his desk and threw it across the room. “That’s what’s the wrong! Now do you want to know what we’ve done?”
“I suppose, however I highly suspect I could answer that question.”
“No, I don’t think you can. I don’t think you’re aware of the fact that what we’ve done is sweat over a grade four math problem — Wait! That book was for the advanced fourth grader.”
“Exactly as I suspected,” James said sounding joyous.
Mike was exasperated. “Is that supposed to be good? Perhaps, James, you’re not aware of the fact that last year I passed grade eleven math with a hundred per cent plus. And that was at the advanced level! How am I supposed to proceed with the advanced courses if I can now only do grade four math?” Mike’s voice kept rising and he was sure that if James could see him his reconstructed, curiously toned friend would have been surprised. Even Mike was surprised upon turning to confront a person that wasn’t there. He had, instead met his reflection in the mirror.
Mike’s hair wasn’t greased again that day. It was something he’d decided not to do anymore, and as soon as he could Mike would go to the barber and get a much needed hair cut. His bright pink lips were perched in a way that brought them together and formed a circle. Inside his green eyes something flickered and shone. That was something he had noticed before. Most of the time the constant change in his eye colour appeared when he was in bright sunlight. But the light in his room was dull and he suspected that would have been strange if something else hadn’t gotten his attention.
Putting all the changes in his appearance caused by his heated anger aside, Mike thought that surely there was something else that was different about him. The mirror provided a three-quarter body view. At this Mike lowered his eyes to examine every inch. When done he looked at the reflection over all, but he flicked back to his eyes. He searched the many shades of green that made up the irises and felt that if he looked hard enough and long enough he’d find that difference. Unfortunately it wasn’t long before James shattered his concentration by speaking again.
“I suppose that would be a minute problem.”
Had his lips moved? Mike couldn’t say for sure, he hadn’t been paying attention. With the reason for his anger newly revisited upon him Mike turned again — as if expecting to confront someone behind him — and started yelling in the general direction of his desk. “Minute! Minute! No, I think it’s a little more than minute!
“Michael calm down.”
James could afford to be unflappably cool. After all he didn’t even really exist.
“It’s nothing,” James went on, “that time and lots and lots of study won’t cure.”
“Lovely! Splendid! How am I supposed to cover eight years of math in less than two months? You seem to forget that I got over a hundred per cent at grade twelve math. What am I going to do! My dad will be crushed.”
“Like I said, nothing lots and lots of study won’t fix.”
Again Mike threw himself across his bed. He didn’t even attempt to cry. It would take too much energy and in his current state Mike felt he should conserve all the energy he could.
“Don’t worry Michael, the three R’s aren’t everything,” James spoke.
Mike thought and decided James was right, the three R’s weren’t everything. There was always the mind games. Just because he couldn’t do a math problem didn’t mean he’d suddenly become — ugh! — average. (Not that he would have minded. It was the prospect of explaining everything to his father that made him upset.) Yes, the mind games would decide it all. He’d wait for his Ma to come home and then the truth would be unfold.
Mike waited, patiently, in his room until he heard the old, sleepy car pull into the driveway, the engine sounding tired, like it could barely keep going. As he heard the car door slam shut he pictured, in his mind’s eye, the familiar action of his mother swinging the door closed with her foot. It was something she always did and although it couldn’t represent a good mood, it couldn’t represent a bad one either.
Mike had been lying down but now he rose and waited for his mother to call. He knew she would. The meat was still in the freezer. His challenge was to convince her otherwise.
“Mikey! Mikey!”
Mike thought it was about time. Already his digital clock was saying something to six.
“Mikey!”
“Yah Ma, I’m here.”
“Where is the me
at? You promised you’d take it out of the freezer. I phoned to remind you and everything. Now I’ve gone and invited Helen’s family to dinner and there’s nothing to serve.”
Mike entered the kitchen. His mother was bent into the deep freeze so far only the bottom half of her summer dress was visible. This was perfect, here was his chance.
“Hi Ma.”
She straightened up then whirled around. In her hands were two packages of meat but still she asked, “where’s the meat?”
That reminded Mike of the “Where’s the Beef” commercial. He wanted to laugh but this was too serious. The boy darted his eyes over to the counter. The trick was to make her believe there was something there. Not necessarily a package of meat, but something. He worked his eyes carefully as he fixed his gaze on one particular spot.
“Mikey, what’s wrong with your face?”
He had been concentrating so hard his mother’s voice had startled him.
“Nothing,” he said quickly. How embarrassing. What exactly did she mean?
James spoke then, silently, in Mike’s mind only, “well you have to admit,” the mature voice said, “you did look kind of weird.”
Mike didn’t answer aloud but he wondered how.
“You appeared to be in pain.”
“Great,” he mumbled aloud before he could stop himself. His regret was instantaneous. He’d only succeeded in getting his mother’s attention again.
“Are you sure you’re okay Mikey? I saw a movie once and a man had that exact look on his face. He was having a heart attack.”
“Ma, I’m fine. I said ‘great’ because I can’t believe I forgot about the meat. I’ll put it in the microwave. It’ll defrost in no time.”
“Well,” his mother said, “I suppose that’s what we’ll have to do.”
Mike took the packages of meat from his mother, wondering exactly what he was going to do. Feeling like a bundle of contradictions he now realized that he missed the polyhedron and he missed the magic. He became acutely aware of what he would loose if both had departed for good. As he pushed buttons on the microwave Mike decided that tomorrow he’d venture into the Drop, just to be sure both were really gone.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The morning air was cool and clean, fresh with the scent of wood and pine. David inhaled deeply and was instantly relaxed. No manufacturer anywhere could possibly capture the fresh scent of pine, wood and outdoors in any type of air freshener, no matter what the label said. That morning David was running at a fast but easy pace, really in the zone. He could have jogged forever were it not for the shadow of summer school looming menacingly overhead and could not be out-run, no matter which direction he turned. He’d from this day forward dedicate his life to earning straight A’s if it meant never attending summer school again.
When he left the house for the second time that morning, back pack half-heartedly slung over one shoulder, David decided to take the shortcut through the woods to school. Amongst the trees the clean scent of the air was even stronger. Following a foot-made path, he saw early rising campers fishing in a small stream. The slight breeze that was blowing picked up momentarily and David found that he had to hug himself against an unnatural chill. It wasn’t long before the harsh breeze passed, leaving David to muse about how out of place it had seemed in a day that otherwise promised to be perfectly sunny and pleasant with only a temperate breeze now and then to jostle the air. Not that he dwelled on the matter for long. As he left the woods and began to cross the schoolyard he was feeling as good as he had when he’d slipped back into the house that morning after his run.
Once inside the school David was struck by the dull, artificial quality of the lighting. He frowned. His upbeat mood faltered. The thought of having to spend a good half of his day within the old brick building depressed him… almost as much as the undeniable truth that he’d brought that one upon himself. If he’d done his work the first time around there’s no way he’d be here having to do it now.
Making his way through the halls David tried to re-capture his upbeat mood from just moments earlier but it was tail-spinning fast. He then tried to convince himself that the day would go quickly and he’d soon be back outside, but deep down he knew it wouldn’t. Summer school science was nothing like regular school science. It wasn’t science, one hour at a time; and there wasn’t much lab work. Instead hours were spent taking notes while sitting on hard metal stools that became uncomfortable after just a short while.
David walked into the classroom to see Samantha in his spot. (Good thing his mood had already soured or else that would have really done it.) He stopped short then glanced at his wristwatch. There was still ten minutes before the start of class. What was she doing here? He composed himself and tried to bring back some of the good humour he had been feeling before entering the building.
“Wow, your early,” David said, trying not to let on how annoyed he was.
Samantha barely glanced up as she said, “Morning,” then went back to painting her nails.
Chiefly because there wasn’t one, but two jars of nail enamel out, plus another bottle of something else that reeked just as bad, sitting by the window that particular morning didn’t seem like much of a loss to David. The colour today was a beautifully understated pearly pink; the smell made him fear for his health. As David took his seat he turned his face into a warm breeze and inhaled deeply.
“It’s so nice out today. I have a feeling it’s going to be a good day,” David offered, attempting conversation for the second time.
“Who cares? I don’t have any plans for the great outdoors — and neither do you,” she replied, managing to sound both smug and bitter at the same time.
David turned to face her, “You mean you and your boyfriend wont be running down innocent pedestrians in the parking lot today? …Well, you two aren’t much fun.”
He had yet to forget what had happened the week before.
A smirk came over Samantha’s face but she still sounded bitter as she told David of her boyfriend’s other plans.
“He’s leaving for some college workshop today,” she huffed.
“Don’t worry, he’ll be back, I’m sure.”
“He will not! He’s staying there for the rest of the summer and then he has orientation and fall classes starting immediately after.”
Samantha seemed genuinely upset, thus David couldn’t help but be genuinely sorry. “I’m sure you’ll find something else to do like, you know, complete a science project or something.”
Samantha dropped the brush she was holding into one of the jars of nail enamel. She then threw him a look that asked how he could be so insensitive.
“Or find a job, or do some volunteer work…. Anything to get your mind off of him,” David added quickly.
She seemed pleased with one of the latter ideas. “Hey,” she told David, “that’s a great idea. Maybe I’ll head over to Ceedon’s Square right after school.”
David assumed she was going to the mall in search of a job. The picture of Samantha enduring any type of labour, free of charge, was an awkward one. So much so he had trouble conjuring up the image in his mind’s eye.
“What about our project?” he wanted to know.
“What about it?”
“We have to put it together tonight. If we can’t find someone to type up our slides we’ll end up doing that part ourselves.”
The look on Samantha’s face wanted to know who cared. So, David thought it logical to add the fact that neither of them knew how to type.
“All right, all right, I’ll be there, but not until late.”
“How late?” David demanded.
“I don’t know.”
“Well could I at least have an estimate? I’m not going to do an ounce of work until you’re there to help,” he told her in a defiant tone.
Samantha looked at him like he was being a pest and David suspected that he was.
“How about seven o’clo
ck?” she offered at last.
“Fine, I’ll meet you in the library at seven o’clock — sharp.”
She gave him a look that he couldn’t read then went back to her nails.
Class did in fact come to an end eventually. David had made up his mind the night before that he would return to the Drop one last time to ensure that what he had thought he had seen he really had seen. He made his way there now, his book bag weighing him down almost as much as his doubts and questions. The day outside still seemed fresh and clean like any other forested area, though the afternoon sun had burned off the cool newness of the morning air. David inhaled deeply in search of that foreign smell that he’d become accustomed to finding beneath the clean scent of pine and wood. After a moment he decided it was not there.
David turned onto the dirt path that ran alongside the Drop and absently threw his book bag behind some of the brush growing at the side. Not that he thought anyone would want to steal it. The truth was that if he went home without his books he’d have to answer to his mother. Besides, there was actually a ton of work to be done. Hopefully Samantha would be there to help but he had no intentions of holding his breath.
As he walked along the path David kept a careful look out for the entrance. The exact spot where Mike had vanished was still fresh in his mind. As he walked he looked carefully at the leaves and branches. If he passed the spot and had to double back he would begin to question whether last week’s peculiar set of events had even taken place — then he wouldn’t know what to think.
After walking a little further up the path David spotted the entrance. It was there all right, but still nicely hidden. The only reason he’d caught sight of it was because he’d been looking for it and at that moment his gaze was focused on the ground. At the entryway there was a small trench in the ground. The deepened strip of narrow earth — hardly wider than the width of his foot — and the brightness of the day caused a deep shadow to be cast over it.
Looking down at the trench a moment longer David straightened up and did the same peculiar thing he’d watched Mike do only a week prior: He looked first to his left, then to his right. As usual the path was clear. Satisfied, he quietly parted the branches. Slowly he inched his way through the screen of leaves, firmly planting his feet on the ground. He shifted them ever so slightly until they were as far entrenched into the dirt as they would go. Now, with the outer light closed off only inches behind him David found a deep shade waiting to greet him. He stood perfectly still for a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust.
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