“Is this about Wolfe?” Oliver says now. “Please tell me it’s not about Wolfe.”
“It’s not about Max,” I say. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because he’s right here,” Oliver says, sitting up and leaning on his elbows.
“Hi,” Max says, from where he’s standing over us.
“Hi,” I say with a little laugh that mortifies me, and I brush the hair away from my face.
“Hi,” Oliver says in a tone he doesn’t even try to mask as suspicious.
“Hello,” Celeste says loudly, and we all turn to where she is standing a few feet away, hands on hips, in the middle of the quad.
“Is it true?” she asks, sucking in her cheeks a bit as she looks at Max.
“Is what true?” Max says, his posture stiffening.
“You two,” she says, looking at him but nodding to me. “I have to admit, I did sort of wonder about it. I could tell you acted strange around her, but I didn’t think you’d actually . . .” She stops talking and just looks down, shaking her head.
“What’s she talking about?” Oliver mutters to me under his breath, but I don’t move a muscle.
“Where were you yesterday?” Celeste says to him, tears welling up in her eyes.
Max just keeps staring at her, his face like stone. As I watch him, I realize people might think he’s being a jerk, or that he doesn’t care. But I know better by now. He’s shutting down. He’s scared.
“Because the thing is,” she continues, “you said you had to go to some event with your mother. Some stupid event with those giant scissors and the big ribbon you hate. So did you?”
Max opens his mouth as if to speak, but nothing comes out.
“Did you?” she asks again, her voice breaking. I want to put my face in my hands.
Max exhales. “No,” he finally admits.
Celeste’s mouth is hanging open. “So it’s true. When Francesca Dello Russo texted me this morning and said she’d just seen the two of you kissing on a quad at MIT when she went for a run this morning, I said, no way. She must be mistaken. But deep down I knew she was right.” She looks to me now. “I was nice to you. I liked you, Alice.”
“Celeste,” I start to say, not knowing what’s going to come out. “We didn’t mean to hurt you. We just—”
But Max interrupts me. “It’s my fault,” he says. “Don’t blame Alice. I kissed her. But it just sort of happened . . . we . . . I didn’t mean it.”
Now it’s my turn to stare at Max in shock. I know what he means, it did just happen. There was the symphony music and the painting and my dress and the twirling . . . and yes, it was all a bit dreamlike and fuzzy. But it didn’t end there. There was also the drive to CDD and the handholding. The bedtime stories and the kiss on the quad today. One thing was for certain—last night and today, I meant it when I kissed him back. I thought he did, too.
“You didn’t?” I ask.
“As if that makes it better,” Celeste scoffs as she starts to turn away. “And by the way, in the future, if both of you would be so kind as to never speak to me again, I’d really appreciate it.” She marches off, and it’s only at this moment that I realize the entire quad is staring at us.
Max doesn’t chase after her, but he doesn’t turn to me, either. He just stands there a moment, looking dazed, before walking off toward the boathouse. I turn to Oliver and see he’s already long gone.
After all the mixed signals and emotions, the MRIs and EEGs and dream reenactments, I thought we were starting to figure it out. Not just the science . . . us. But we weren’t. We’re no closer than we’d been since the day I got here. As the quad starts to hum again, no doubt with the gossip of what a terrible person I am, I put my headphones back in my ears and slink away to hide out in a place where nobody will see me cry.
22
He’s Not Your Boyfriend
I UNLOAD SOME potting soil in Nan’s garden, pausing to shoo Jerry away from a snail he is sniffing, when my phone buzzes. My heartbeat picks up speed as I look to see if it’s a text from Max, but it isn’t. It’s about my mother. Apparently I forgot about the Google alert I set up for her a few years back. When we figured out what Google alerts were all about, most of my friends chose televisions stars or pop singers. Who is he dating now? What did she buy at the supermarket? But my mother was just as elusive to me as any celebrity, perhaps more so. It just never worked . . . until now.
PRIMATOLOGIST MADELEINE BAXTER
TO ATTEND ENVIRONMENTAL RALLY IN DC
AND SPEAK AT THE SMITHSONIAN ON THE ROLE
OF DEFORESTATION IN THE ACCELERATION OF
SPECIES EXTINCTION AND CLIMATE CHANGE
I stare at my phone, stunned, then put it back in my pocket and walk into the house, where my father is reading National Geographic in the living room.
He speaks before I can. “Did you know that in certain indigenous cultures of Papua New Guinea, yams are considered sacred?”