carefully everywhere descending (11 page)

I only make it halfway through when, for the second time that day, tears well up in my eyes. I toss the book aside and get up. I need to go for a walk.

To my great relief, I don't pass anyone as I head out. I'm not sneaking away, exactly. Just something very close to it.

My mysterious new neighbor's light is back on. I can't say exactly why I'm so intrigued by him, but all of a sudden, I'm reckless. I don't like things that don't make sense to me, and so I march toward his house to introduce myself.

Before I know it, I'm on the steps. I ring the doorbell. There's a TV show or movie playing inside, and I hear the volume suddenly cut. I ring the door again, in case he hadn't heard me with the sound on before. No movement or sound comes from inside the house.

Perplexed, I open my mouth to call through the door that I'm a neighbor and I just want to say hi. A slight motion out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. I turn my head and see the curtain in the window fall quickly back in place. Nothing else happens.

Now I feel like an idiot, just standing outside.

I walk away, but the resident of the house has only made me more determined to figure out what is going on with him.

I recap it to Amber the next day during lunch, who is not nearly as enthralled with the situation as I am.

“And I
knew
he was in there!” I say for the third time, trying to impress upon her how weird this is.

She doesn't think it's weird.

“Maybe he's just shy,” she suggests, peeling an orange and releasing the sweet, tangy aroma.

“Or! Or!
Maybe
he's a
serial killer
.”

“In that case, you should definitely not be poking around his house,” she says. She offers me a wedge. “Want some?”

“I mean, from what you've told me and what I've seen, it's not like you have the friendliest neighborhood in the world,” she continues as I take a bite out of the orange. “I would just let it rest.”

I open my mouth to retort along the lines of a mind full of curiosity cannot be so easily sedated when I catch a glimpse of chocolate-brown hair beyond her shoulder in the cafeteria. It's Scarlett, walking with Serhan and laughing at something he's saying. I drop my eyes immediately to the half wedge in my hand, the jewellike interior vibrant. I preoccupy myself pulling off tiny pieces of white peel still clinging to the exterior.

Amber frowns, fishes out her phone, and clicks on her mirror app. She holds it up and pretends to check her teeth while scoping out the scene behind her. It doesn't take her too long to land on Scarlett.

“Oh,” she says sadly, putting her phone back down. “Did you want to talk about it more… tonight?”

I'd given her the bare-bones account of what happened this morning, after she pleaded with me to come to her house for a second-by-second recap of prom with Steven Chaffee (spoiler alert: they're now dating, so I'm guessing it went well).

“I don't want to drag the mood down,” I say. “We should be celebrating the beginning of a new relationship, not the charred remains of one that couldn't even get off the ground.”

“I want to hear all about it,” she says firmly, so, when it's 5:00 p.m. and I recline on the floor in her room, propped up by her bright yellow beanbag, I recount the whole tale. She's very sympathetic. She hasn't urged me to put on my party dress and get out there, because she knows I never do either anyway.

“Just get back to being you,” she advises. “Forget about her. Before you know it, there will be another girl who catches your eye.”

“Sure,” I say.

“No, I'm serious. I think this was an awakening for you. You weren't interested in girls before, any girls, and I think this is the start of you being interested. Scarlett is gorgeous, there's no way to get around that, but I bet you'll start seeing how nice-looking other girls in our class are as well. What about Annie McCormick?”

I make a face before I can help myself. Amber laughs. “Okay. I'm not going to force anyone on you. Just… don't get too down.”

“You're doing everything but saying, ‘There are other fish in the sea,'” I say.

She throws her hands in the air. “I was! I was! I promised myself I wouldn't use clichés!”

“I appreciate that,” I say with a smile.

“But more important,” Amber says seriously, “you were fine before Scarlett and before being interested in girls. You found hard work and purpose and goals fulfilling. Those are things that will never go away, regardless of who you're interested in or dating. I understand that you hurt now, but you have so much else in your life.”

I'm quiet for a moment.

“I think you're the smartest person I know, Amber,” I finally say. “But seriously, enough about me. Tell me about Steven.”

Amber swoons dramatically back on the bed.

“Steven is
heavenly
,” she says. “He picked me
up
in his dad's
car
, and he gave me a
corsage….”

She lives up to her promise and goes beat by beat through the night. It's immensely entertaining, and I'm genuinely glad for her that she had such a magical time. It all sounds like a lot of work without much payoff to me, but Amber revels in reliving it, so clearly she has a different view on the proceedings.

Her account spills over to the dinner table (quinoa and butternut squash) before Pallav steals the show to complain about his teacher (he's a giant dork, and it embarrasses Pallav). By the time Amber drops me off at my house, I walk to my door with a confident step. I've mourned, I've grown, and I'm ready to face life without Scarlett.

 

 

“I
WANT
your science experiments to be involved and for you to work on collaboration skills, so I'm going to pair you up,” says Mr. Nwaogu in a tone that forestalls disagreement. “What project and what subject is up to you and your partner. Just make sure it's something that we have covered or will cover in this class. You'll be working together over the next two weeks on your science project, and the winning team gets to present at the ImagineExpo's preprogram in Chicago.”

I feel my face light up. What an opportunity! I can just see the impressed look on a college admissions officer's face when they come across that in my application. Mr. Nwaogu pulls out the class roster and eyes it. I'm so used to being the first person called that I'm not surprised in the least when he looks at me.

“Anderson. You'll be with West. Barker, you're with Wade. Berrios, you're with—”

He keeps pairing people together in the most unimaginative way possible while I struggle to regain feeling in my face.

What. The. Bleep.

I sneak a look over my shoulder at Scarlett. She's frowning absently at her desk but doesn't seem particularly angry or upset. Or uncomfortable, which is what I mostly am.

I drop my head into my arms and take a moment to quietly groan before straightening up. I can handle this.

“All right, everyone get with your partners and start working on your projects,” says Mr. Nwaogu before sitting at his desk and shamelessly pulling out and tapping at his iPad.

I get up with my stuff and go to Scarlett, who pulls a nearby desk closer for me.

“Any idea of what you want to do?” I ask, settling sideways in the seat to face her. She raises an eyebrow.

“And hello to you too. Lovely weather we're having, isn't it? How's the family?”

“Hi,” I say, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. “So, have you got anything in mind?”

“I suppose a baking soda volcano wouldn't wow the crowds?” She's leaning back in her chair, swiveling herself as much as she can with the restrictions of the desk.

I try to laugh, but the thought of such a simplistic approach alarms me (and an earth science project! Not for a physics class!) and I bet my rigid smile is terrified.

“Ha-ha. No. Look, why don't I research some options that we could conceivably accomplish with our timeframe and resource restrictions, and let you know tomorrow what I think?”

This strikes me as the perfect plan. Not only will I vet the project and be able to think through how it should be handled, but I won't have to spend any excessive time with Scarlett and the awkwardness and embarrassment that come with that. I smile at her reassuringly.

She looks back with hooded eyes and a blank expression.

“Sure,” she says tonelessly. “Sounds like it will end up being a real winner.”

“Yeah,” I say, now a little uncertain. “I'm going to see if I can run to the library to get a start on it. Talk to you later?”

She nods without looking at me, instead focusing on pulling her textbook closer and flipping it open. Feeling wrong-footed and unsure why, I get approval from Mr. Nwaogu to spend the rest of the period researching in the library. I put it from my mind as I log on to a computer and start. After that the rest of the period flies by. I spend the last fifteen minutes finding information for Jimmy about becoming a vet tech and job openings with veterinarians in our area. He would be so much happier there. He isn't home when I get there, so I slide the printouts under his and Sam's door.

I didn't see Scarlett for the rest of the day, which was both a relief and a disappointment. I spend my next two lunches happily plotting out several viable options for us to work on. I realize pretty quickly that due to the time restraints we need to do something that's got zing rather than actual scientific research that needs to be conducted over a long time. On Friday I try to catch her eye before physics to present them to her, but it's difficult. I almost think she's avoiding looking my way, and I wonder if I'm being paranoid.

Everything used to be so simple and straightforward, with no hidden emotions or messages in every gesture. I really wish I could go back to that.

Since it's the last day of the week, Mr. Nwaogu talks only for about ten minutes before telling us to get with our partners and work on our projects so he can phone in the rest of the class—he doesn't say that last part.

Cheered by this opportunity, I leap to my feet and hurry over to Scarlett's desk, dodging the other slower, socializing students. She hasn't pulled a seat close for me this time, and I pause to realize this before fumbling my stuff onto a desk and pushing it over. The front legs catch on the carpet and the desk tilts alarmingly, spilling my books and pens to the floor.

“Oh, shoot,” I say, flustered. I crouch down and try to gather them as quickly as possible. One pen keeps rolling away from me before I finally get a good hold on it. Scarlett reaches over with a long arm and tugs the desk the rest of the way, face a little softer than it had been.

“So, what have you got for us, brainchild?” she asks.

“Oh, boy. I've narrowed it down to three viable options,” I say, pulling out my notepad with enthusiasm. I open it to the first of ten pages filled with extensive lists of materials and step-by-step directions. “One, we can measure the sugar content of sodas by using a laser pointer. Not complicated, I know. It's more math than flash, but I think anything using a laser should earn us interest from the judges. Two, we can create a way to cook food only using solar radiation, even on days of low-light availability. Lots of eco implications, very trendy. Three, how magnetic fields affect the flow rate of water—both salt solution and tap water. Magnets are always a winner. Plus we can extrapolate a lot from the results about the applications of diamagnetism.”

She listens with a half smile. “So which one are we doing?”

“It's your pick,” I say with surprise. “What one sounds most interesting to you?”

She cocks an eyebrow, and then her forehead furrows in thought, revisiting the options I just presented. She pulls the notebook over and props her head on her fist to read my notes.

She takes her time with it. After a few seconds, I start lining up my pens. After that I open my textbook and reread half the chapter before she sits upright and says, “The magnets and water.”

“That was my favorite too!” I say, beaming.

This doesn't make her happy. In fact she seems annoyed.

“Then why didn't you just say so, and be done with it?”

“Because…. Because I didn't know which one you'd want,” I say, again unsettled by whatever is happening that I can't identify.

She scoffs and rolls her eyes before asking, “So, how long is this going to take?”

“If we stick to my outline, less than a week.”

“Does it have to be so long?”

“It does if we want a good grade!”

“Fine. What do you want me to do first?”

“Well, can we meet after school to get started?” I ask. There's a squirmy feeling in my stomach. The nice thing about doing solo research, and about getting caught up in explaining said research, was forgetting to feel nervous around her. Now, though, I'm confronted by a vision of us at the same table in the lab, heads bent together….

“I can't tonight. I have soccer practice.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow's no good. We're playing against Martinsville. In Martinsville.”

“Then Sunday it is,” I say, nettled.

“For religious reasons, I'd rather not work on a Sunday,” she replies. I stare at her to see if she's joking. I can't tell; there's a very slight smirk playing around her lips, but her eyes are serious.

It's clear she's trying to get out of spending time with me. I try to tamp down on the flash of hurt and self-consciousness. Maybe I made her more uncomfortable than she let on, throwing myself at her like I did. Maybe she's worried the second we're together I'm going to… do something. Beg her to dump Carolina. Try to touch her. I don't know.