He stared at me for a long moment. “Why not? Isn’t that what you’re doing?”
I looked at the equation, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Changing your name just to fit in?” Reece studied me through the rain-slicked ends of his hair. “I mean, aren’t you glad you’re not a Jennifer or a Susan? Why do you hate your name so much?”
What the hell? He had no idea how it felt to grow up with a name like Nearly. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“No.” He kept digging, ignoring my don’t-go-there glare. “What’s the story? A name like that has to have a story.”
I dropped the pencil and slouched back in the bench. “I was born premature, and I almost didn’t make it. My mother didn’t have a name picked out, but when the doctor told her they ‘nearly’ lost me . . .” I rolled my eyes over the air quotes. Why the hell was I telling him anyway? Just chemistry. That was the deal. I didn’t have to tell him anything about me. “Stop changing the subject,” I said, poking the equation with a finger. “Besides, we’re not just talking about changing the name of an element. Even if it were possible, your solution would change the fundamental nature of the element. It would be like turning it into something else.”
Reece looked from the paper to me, trying to look serious, but the gleam in his eye gave him away. “So you’re saying an errant—and maybe slightly unbalanced—element can’t fundamentally change?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
He leaned over the table. “Even if it really, really wanted to?”
I drummed my fingers, patience wearing thin. “Can we please just focus on the equation?”
“Okay, fine.” He slouched back against the booth. “So the elements are different. Big deal. Why don’t we just put the elements together as they are, and mess with outcome later?”
I wasn’t biting. This was all a big game to him. “You can’t do that. The aluminum oxide molecule is what it is. You can’t change the elements within a compound to force the fit.”
He tossed the pencil down. “Are you always so rigid?”
“This is chemistry. The rules don’t bend for good behavior.”
“Well, it’s a shitty rule.” He glared at me across the table. “I’m just trying to get to know you.”
“Getting to know me wasn’t in our agreement.” That was his agreement with Nicholson, and I’d be damned if I wanted any part of that.
“What if I want to change our agreement? What if I wanted to take you out sometime?”
“You’re not my type.”
“And that Jeremy guy I’ve seen you hanging out with? Is he your type?”
I stood up and reached for my backpack. Watching me was one thing. Involving Jeremy in this was where I drew the line. “We’re done.”
“Wait, I’m sorry.” He reached across the table and grabbed my hand.
My mouth grew dry with thirst and a void opened like a cold pit inside me. Loneliness. He was contrite. Even curious. But mostly, he was alone.
I pulled my hand out from his and eased back into my seat.
After a moment of silent contemplation, he leaned in, elbows resting on the table. “Look. I know we’re different. I know you probably don’t want to have anything to do with a guy like me. Assuming I can’t just erase the parts that don’t balance . . . assuming I can’t change anything . . . fundamentally—” His eyes locked on mine and held. “How am I supposed to make this work?”
I reached for the pencil. He held the other end a second too long, forcing me to meet his eyes before letting it go. How were we supposed to make this work?
Easy. He pretends to like me. I pretend to let him. He realizes I’m boring—and rigid. The police figure out who killed Marcia and my life goes back to normal. That’s it.
I erased the 1.5 in front of the oxygen and the 2 in front of the aluminum, brushing away the eraser dust with my sleeve. “We can’t get rid of the unwanted parts of the element—no matter how much we might want to . . ” I let my eyes flick back to his. “But we can build up both sides until they balance each other. Try multiplying the entire equation by two.”
I was surprised when he took the pencil and followed my directions. He scratched out a few numbers, laying down the pencil and turning the notebook in a slow circle toward me. “So . . . if a wayward element is willing to give twice as much of himself, he might have a shot?”
The booth suddenly felt a little too close. “A shot at what?” “You know, this whole balance thing.”
He looked serious. As serious as the person I’d felt hiding underneath when he touched me. I wondered how difficult it must be, to walk a tight rope between two lives and two identities. Unless those two people weren’t actually different from each other at all. “I think it would depend on how bad the element really is.”
Some nameless emotion crossed his face, making me regret letting go of his hand. He picked up a dull knife and balanced it between his fingers, letting it hover over the fragile silence between us. “I got busted in a drug raid.”