She pulls away again and my lips are instantly bereft. Her face is, as always, impassive, though her cheeks are flushed a brilliant red. I guess I can see how some idiots might think her expressionless, but her eyes roam inquisitively over me, and they sparkle, all bright and intense. I know I’m smiling at her like some git on magic mushrooms, but I can’t make myself stop.
Her hand is on the very edge of my fingers, like she’s trying to acclimatise to the sensation. I turn my palm up, letting her hand wander carefully over mine. She looks puzzled, like there’s something she’s dying to ask.
‘What is it?’ I say, kinda desperate not to break this spell.
She looks up at me again, those curious eyes probing. ‘So
what did you decide on, in the end? What did you apply for?’
I link the tips of my fingers through hers. I wait, till I feel
the slight curl of her fingers in reply. I’m pretty damn proud
of myself for not whooping like an idiot. ‘Is this okay?’
She nods impatiently. ‘Yes. Answer the question.’
I’m so distracted by the feeling of her hand in mine that I almost forget what she asked. The question still spins me out a bit. But at least I have something approaching an answer.
‘Arts. I’ll probably pick up some History, and maybe experiment with a couple of other things. I don’t know what I’ll do with it, after, but I had this thought that maybe … teaching?’ I shrug. I feel like I’m talking about a weird future that belongs to someone I don’t recognise. ‘I dunno. I like kids. It’s something I might be good at. I reckon even I can picture me as the goofy emergency teacher who fronts his classes with a cage full of pigeons or something? Maybe not. I might change my mind next week. I know it’s not, like, huge or spectacularly exciting or anything. And, you know, hello – that cautionary tale over there doesn’t exactly inspire confidence,’ I say, nodding my head at Mr Grayson and eliciting a knowing eye roll from Sophia. ‘But I think – right now, anyway – I think I feel good about it.’
‘Teaching,’ she echoes. She smiles, her beautiful face all aglow. ‘I think, Joshua, you’ll be a really amazing teacher.’
‘Well, I dunno about amazing. And it’s going to be a while before I can set foot in a classroom again. High school burnt a hole in my brain that’s gonna take time to heal, you know?’
‘Yes. You may not be the only one feeling the pain.’ Then she narrows her eyes a little, the subtle twinkle in them all cheeky and bold. ‘So, David Copperfield – what would happen if I asked you to tell me how you did that thing?’ she asks.
I grin, gripping her hand just a little tighter. ‘Is that something you’re likely to ask?’
‘Well I’m assuming mirrors, and obviously lights plus some kind of holographic screen or projector or –’
I laugh. She rolls her eyes again. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out.’
‘Yeah, I have no doubt about that.’ I glance down at our linked hands. ‘So, Sophia, I think I figured out something as well.’
‘Oh? What mysteries did you solve, Joshua?’
My heart does that insane skip that it always does when she says my name. ‘I think I discovered that maybe some mysteries aren’t mine to solve. Maybe it’s not my job to, you know. Save you?’
She peers at my face, unblinking and thoughtful, with those eyes that seem to see the whole universe. ‘I have another theory,’ she says, her husky voice steady and sure.
‘Oh?’
She grins. It’s small, and reserved. I’m not sure anyone else would even peg it as a smile. But to me, it lights up her whole face. ‘Yes. Perhaps neither one of us needs saving.’
She kisses me again, just a gentle touch of her lips, and my heart takes flight like it’s mastered a levitation trick all on its own.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The expanding universe
I have a long way to go. I’ll never be great among crowds, and I know I’ll never be totally happy too far outside my comfort zone. I still have moments where my fears get the best of me, where I need to lock myself away, alone, and focus only on the maths. Joshua seems to understand; sometimes it’s not another person I need, just space to be inside my own head. But, as the poster on the Nayers’ toilet door advises, I am trying to find the wisdom to figure out which bits to work on, and which bits to accept. I’m even starting to pay attention in my counselling sessions, though I feel … well, as Joshua would say, I feel like a bit of a tool. But I am attempting to be less sceptical. Some of the exercises even prove to be a little bit useful. Puppets. Who knew?
My anxiety waxes and wanes; peaking when I start university, retreating a little when I realise that the advanced subjects I’m taking might actually be a challenge, but one that I know I can handle.
Of course, there is still something that sends me into a spin, one looming inevitability that no amount of logical evaluation can conquer.
One of Elsie’s favourite romance movies has this whole spiel in it about airports. Something to the effect that the departure gate of an airport is, like, a microcosm of all that is wonderful about humans. When we watched it, it made little sense to me, all cheesy music and slow-motion hugging. Though if I think about it, I suppose I can sort of see the point; maybe we’re always searching for tangible evidence of what we know is basically indemonstrable.
I haven’t flown much, but the departure gate at Melbourne International at 7 p.m. on a Sunday seems anything but romantic. It’s loud, overly lit by banks of fluorescent lighting, crowded with stressed-looking people and bawling children, and has a preponderance of sunglasses stores that make no sense, given that its patrons are all about to enter a climate-controlled aircraft and are not, say, boarding a glass elevator for a trip to the sun.
Elsie’s parents are trying to corral their family in front of the duty-free store. All of her brothers are here, as well as a handful of aunts and uncles, her grandparents from both sides, and a gaggle of cousins, all of whom are talking over one another and posting airport selfies on Instagram.
Damien Pagono managed to beg a ride with Joshua and me. Joshua was concerned that Damien was planning some grand airport declaration to Elsie that would probably end with his arrest, but at the moment he is merely sitting in a plastic chair, looking dejected. Though he does seem to be sitting just a bit too close to Elsie’s cousin Mira, casting occasional glances her way. He bumps her knee and flashes something on his phone; Mira, surprisingly, does not look disgusted.
I stand apart from the crowds. Even under normal circumstances, Elsie’s raucous extended family is too much for me; today, I fear that a misplaced question or errant touch might be enough to crack my carefully held equilibrium.
I keep my eyes on the departure board, even as I feel Elsie’s presence lingering beside me.
‘Elsie, you know you’re on a fourteen-hour flight, right? Sitting, on a fourteen-hour flight?’
‘Yeah,’ she says quietly. ‘So?’
I drag my eyes away and turn to face my best friend. ‘So – why are you wearing leather pants?’