I do that sometimes: assume that everything is easy for other people compared to the stuff I have to deal with. But I forget that academics are easy for me and that’s something, at least.
“You should eat,” he says, “or Mr. Haase is going to blame me when your stomach is grumbling all through AP Calculus. Or whatever genius-level class you’re in.” He looks at me for a second. “What math are you in, anyway?”
I feel my cheeks go red. The truth is by sophomore year I had finished or tested out of all the math classes the high school offers. Now I do an independent study with the local community college. I sit down at a table, unpack my lunch and change the subject back to him.
“You know, there are lots of scholarships out there —”
He cuts me off. “Eva, I’ll be lucky to get an associate’s degree and paint motorcycle fuel tanks for the rest of my life.” His voice is calm but he flips off the switch for the light table
a little roughly. I sense that I’ve hit a nerve.
“Sorry,” I say quietly. “It’s none of my business. It’s just that you’re so … talented.”
“Everybody’s talented at something. Doesn’t mean we all get to do what we want.”
He’s right. I know he’s right. Only one person wins American Idol each season. Most of those really talented singers are never heard from again. But Zenn’s fatalistic attitude makes me question my own dreams. Am I destined to get a community college degree and find some office accounting job that will keep me isolated from other people? Is that my future if I don’t get a scholarship? If I can’t cure myself somehow? No. It can’t be. Zenn may settle for something like that because he can still have a normal life in other ways. He can get married and have kids and have relationships without secrets. But me … my only hope is to go to a school with an amazing neuroscience-research facility and then guinea pig myself into some sort of cure. There is no good enough job that I’ll settle for. It’s all or nothing at this point.
Chapter 18
Lately it seems like the most contact I have with Charlotte is through Josh. She and I text a couple of times a week, but it’s mostly Hey — hey — what’s up — not much, you?, and considering we used to be in constant contact, we might as well not even bother. We haven’t spent a Saturday night together since before homecoming.
Josh and I, however, have some quality time once a week to make sure his math grade doesn’t slip. So I may be tighter with him than I am with Charlotte now. Besides Zenn, he might be my closest friend.
Weird.
Unfortunately, when we do spend time together, all he does is talk about Charlotte. Maybe he doesn’t know we’re not hanging out much anymore. I can tell by the way he talks that he really likes her, and that is a relief. He tells me about all her quirks: that she stands on one foot a lot, her other foot resting up by her knee like the tree pose in yoga, that she still sleeps with her baby blanket (which is so threadbare it’s practically translucent), that she named her cello (Chelsey, obviously). I know all these things already, but I approve when he rattles them off.
I’m a little ashamed to admit that I’ve used our time together, while he’s talking, to check his fractal. Just once. Okay … more than once. I actually check it every time I see him. I touch his jacket or his phone and once I even placed my hand lightly on his arm, because skin-on-skin fractals are the strongest and clearest. Slowly I’ve started to put together his puzzle.
His fractal is tightly wound, like the rings of a tree trunk, which makes me think he’s being controlled, likely by a parent. Based on the masculine colors — blue and army green — I suspect the controller is his dad, probably a type A personality who dictates most of Josh’s decisions. I’ve gotten the sense, not so much through his fractals, but through spending time with him, that Josh is a bit of a closet nerd. He knows way more about superheroes and Star Wars and video games than most jocks would ever admit. But the intense structure of his fractal, combined with his expensive clothes and his Colgate smile, make me think that nerdiness is not acceptable for a Mooney. I get the feeling that nothing Josh does is quite good enough and, as a result (and maybe in rebellion), Josh may drink a bit. Maybe more than a bit, if the fuzzy, floaty feeling beneath everything is any indication. His whole vibe is less beaten down and lonely than it once was, and for that I credit Charlotte. Still, there’s a lot brewing beneath his happy-go-lucky exterior.
I wonder if Charlotte knows any of that. I wonder if I should warn her. But I’m afraid that anything negative I say about Josh will come across as sour grapes. I mean, Josh’s fractals are pretty intense, but so are Zenn’s. I’d be kind of a hypocrite if I was trying to protect her while not heeding my own advice. So I keep my mouth shut.
She’ll be fine.
We’ll both be fine.
Chapter 19
I am soaking wet down to my socks and underwear. The rain drips off my nose and runs in rivers down my backpack. My mom reminded me to bring an umbrella today but since the one by the front door was hers and I didn’t want to walk home from school battling fractals, I left it behind. Along with my cell phone. And my house keys.
It was one of those mornings.
At some point during the school day the skies opened up. I watched out the window while I was tutoring Josh after school, praying it would stop. Hoping that maybe Charlotte would be somewhere to offer me a ride. But … no luck. So now I’m walking home in a monsoon. I’ve given up on trying to keep anything dry. I head toward home even though I doubt I’ll be able to get in the house. My mom is with the kids at their Fun to Be Three class until around five. My dad is at church, which is even farther away. Basically, I’m screwed. And really, really cold.
I hear a car coming and I walk on the edge of the sidewalk as far from the street as possible. I can hear the spray from the car’s tires, a fan of dirty brown water that will surely add filth to my soggy hell. The car slows politely. Then it slows more, pulling up next to me. My stomach drops and I wonder if anyone will hear me scream when the rapist yanks me into his car. The rain is so loud, and no smart person is out in this weather.
I sneak a peek from the corner of my eye and see Eden Landscaping Service on the maroon door. Holy crap. Maybe God does answer prayers sometimes! And sometimes the answer is, Why, yes, Eva! I will send a handsome man to rescue you!
“Nice day,” Zenn calls cheerfully through his open window.
I look up at the sky. Rain pelts my face. “Gorgeous.”
“Want a ride?”
I pretend to think about it for a moment.
“Come on. Get in.”
I walk around to the passenger side, but hesitate after opening the door. I see his lovingly restored leather seats. “I’m soaked.”