Not so super -- Chapter 12.
“he’s so cute”
My attention was suddenly drawn away from Channy’s DM. I could easily count six girls close enough that I might have heard them. Any one of them could have seen fifteen different guys. Any reasonable analysis of the situation suggested that “he” was not “me.” But it was an oddly familiar voice. I wondered who the object could have been.
Since I’d returned from break, school felt topsy turvy. Turvy enough that even I could have believed myself to have been described as cute, albeit subvocally. Among the various changes: Dro seemed more serious, Jenny seemed more taciturn and Shao and Anthony had struck up a friendship. They were laughing together and laughing while we waited for the math team bus. I couldn’t recall either one of them ever really laughing. To my right, Gers was one of the few rocks of stability in my all too changing world. As I looked up from my phone, we exchanged bleak smiles. They were bleak because of the bitter January cold. But also because of the odd presence to my left.
Of all the changes that had taken place in the last month, none were so striking as Zeta’s. She had lost the last vestiges of her hippie uniform. Her hair was now brushed straight and pulled back in a cute, tight ponytail. And her top? Well, she had gone from the loose fitting tops to tight t-shirts, showcasing the curves on top to go with those already displayed by her jeans. Oddly, in her new outfit, Zeta looked more mature than Channy. I tried to banish that thought. It felt disloyal.
But, for Zeta, the behavioral changes were worse than those that were physical. For example, she was standing next to me. Right next to me. Invading my personal space. I turned to look at her and she looked up. From my phone. I got the feeling that she had been trying to sneak a peek at my private exchange. I couldn’t imagine why else she’d be standing so near. She gave me a small, embarrassed smile. I grimaced and turned slightly, trying to place my shoulder between Zeta and the “something wrong with” phone. As surreptitiously as I could, I checked out Channy’s last DM.
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**Channing
@MyFakeWife
Run me through the plan, one last time.
Let's make sure that you have it.
=================================
I had described my last math meet to Channy. I was anxious about how she would take it. It could have sounded like I was blaming her for my lousy result. Instead she had “blushed and glowed.” I guess all she heard was the “daydreaming about her” part. She had missed the whole “I went down in flames" part.
As we got ready for the meet, Jenny led the team through various strategies for approaching the math. Channy and I went over various strategies for approaching the voices. It was kind of ironic. Channy had probably studied more math than the rest of us combined. We should have been looking for tips from her. But Channy was the only one who could help me with my personal problem. So Jenny handled the math and Channy handled the voices. Turning more to my left, to hide my words from Zeta, I typed my response.
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**Rick Smith
@LittleTwerp
Okay. I’m going to start by picturing just your mouth, like a reverse Cheshire Cat.
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=================================
**Channing
@MyFakeWife
That would sound more romantic
if you substituted “smile" for “mouth.”
=================================
I hadn't been going for romantic, but she was still right. It was the smile that would pull me up from the deepest depths. I would start by letting that smug, serene smile, fill my universe, then slowly pan backwards. As I did, that cute little nose, and those eyes, huge behind her glasses, would come into view. And then the dark, rich hair, falling to her shoulders. And then I’d see all of her. But at this point, I’d picture her looking at her watch, reminding me to get back to work.
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**Channing
@MyFakeWife
I don’t wear a watch. You know that.
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How would I know that? Given how much of the future Channy had seen, she handled the arrow of time pretty well. But she was still prone to forgetting which conversations were historical and which were only dreamed. I was trying to learn to accept those mistakes. Earlier in our relationship I would point them out. This only irritated her. It didn't make her stop. Instead I had learned to simply ask questions.
It turned out that she used to wear a watch, back in high school. But when she hit college, she became obsessed with time. Now that she controlled her schedule, she worried about being late and missing classes. Worse, she worried about missing places her dreams told her to be. She started to look at her watch several times a minute. Giving up the watch helped. She still knew the time, since she carried her phone everywhere. But her obsession with time diminished.
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**Rick Smith
@LittleTwerp
Yeah, well, that’s the image I’m going with.
I need something to get me back to the test.
=================================
As her DM buzzed back to me, Shao walked over to us. I tucked away the phone and turned to him.
“Hey,” said Shao.
“Hey,” Zeta and I said in unison. Gers was just behind us.
“Did you know that we were the top scorers in the league?” Shao asked.
“We?” I looked around, not really sure what he meant.
“You know, like, at 52 points, you and me have the top scores,” Shao explained.
“Wow! That’s really amazing!” said Zeta, rubbing the back of my mackinaw.
I flinched a little at her touch and she left off. But worse was the drop in my stomach. I realized that, while it was accurate to say that Shao and I were in the lead, it was more accurate to say that I had fallen into a tie. Before the last match, I and I alone had been the top scorer. And lost it. Because of Channy. The feeling of the unread DM in my pocket became uglier, more caustic. Belatedly, I remembered that despite my angst, Shao and Zeta were in a happy place. I knew that I ought to say something positive.
“That’s, like, really kind of yeah,” I mumbled. Gers agreed.
Further conversation was prevented as the bus pulled and opened its doors. Jenny got on first and I boarded after her. I grabbed a bench behind Jenny and slid across to the window, leaving room for Gers. I was surprised when I suddenly felt his body pressing up against mine on the bench. I looked over to find, not Gers, but Zeta. She gave me a smile that conveyed equal parts of triumph and mischief. Behind her, Gers and Dro stood, stunned. Their expressions read equal parts sympathy and confusion as they grabbed the bench behind us.
The doors closed and we pulled off towards Arlington. I had a brief sensation of prison doors slamming shut.
Once we got into traffic, I waited for Jenny to start the charade. I figured that, once we switched seats, alignment could be restored. But Jenny just sat there, staring out the window.
As soon as it was clear that no pep talk was coming, Zeta turned and kneeled on the bench. She started talking to Dro, which suited me fine. I would have preferred if she’d sat next to him and left me with Gers. What I really wanted was to get back to my Twitter app. But given how Zeta seemed to be trying to peek at my notes, I didn’t feel safe responding around her. Instead, I stared blankly at my lock screen and counted the passing seconds. As it turned out, Zeta had other plans. She tapped my knee, causing me to jump.
“My God, can you believe Dro thinks that? How can anyone think that people want to work for minimum wage?” she asked merrily, her tone at odds with her words.
“I don’t…” but it really didn’t matter. She had already resumed her talk with Dro. I couldn’t imagine why she’d brought me into the conversation.
I looked back at my phone and jumped again. Her hand was back on my knee.
“Have you ever even shopped there?” she demanded, full of earnest smiles.
“C’mon man,” pleaded Dro, “we, like, homestead Walmart.”
I’m sure that we did. It didn’t matter what I thought. Zeta turned back before I could open my mouth. I looked past Dro to Gers. He shrugged a refusal to accept blame.
My phone buzzed. By now, Dro and Zeta had ditched politics and were arguing about some science fiction author I would never read. She seemed sufficiently distracted. I snuck the phone out of my pocket. The mere movement brought Zeta’s attention fully back to me. My stomach clenched nervously and I wasn’t sure why. I sheepishly pushed the phone back into my pocket, as if I’d been caught doing something wrong. I felt a strong jealousy for Mr. Giffs and the non-stop love affair he was currently having with his phone.
As we crossed into Arlington, Zeta’s demeanor changed. Tired of her debate with Dro, she’d turned around and was now facing forwards. She offered fewer smiles and a growing number of sighs. But just as many grabs at my knee. I guess she was getting frustrated with my lack of engagement. The truth is, I was way too flustered to talk. In addition to all of the knee pats, Zeta had gotten pretty well pressed against me. With every corner we took, our bodies slid towards the outside of the bus. I was now up against the window and her body was firmly holding me there. I was hyper aware of her thigh against mine. A minute later, our hips were trapped together. When she turned back to say something to me, I felt her hair, loose strands that escaped from the ponytail, brushing against my ear and cheek. I wouldn’t have been able to respond to her if I’d wanted to.
After another sigh, I felt, overburdened by the weight of responsibility on my shoulders. I searched my mental rolodex for any suitable conversation. All I could come up with was her method. I wanted to ask her why she wasn’t getting my scores if we were both using the same method. But I worried that would make her feel bad. I couldn’t talk about the book she’d leant me. I never read it. Did she even like music? Probably. Everyone liked music. I screwed up my courage to ask her about her favorite bands.
“Are-you-still-using-that-math-question-trick, the-one-you-use-for-story-problems? You-know-the-one-with-the-circles-and-strikethroughs?” How did that get said? I was a mess.
For a second, Zeta was just glad that I had volunteered a topic. But as my words sunk in, she got thoughtful.
“There are no strikethroughs,” she said, as if summoning the method from memory. “I circle the numbers and underline the operations. I don’t cross out anything.”
“Huh,” she grunted. I was generally surprised. I was surprised by her forgetting the strikethroughs and surprised by how easy it was to talk about this. I was suddenly feeling much more comfortable.
“I’m sure that you used to do strikethroughs. I learned the method from you. You taught me to cross off everything that doesn’t get circled or underlined. Didn’t you?”
“Oh, God, yeah,” she laughed, remembering. “I used to do that. It takes so much time! Do you still do that?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “It takes like a minute. I only do it for the long problems, so I was going to spend a minute wrestling with them anyway.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re the top scorer,” she said, ruffling my hair. I tried not to lurch. “Maybe I’ll try that today.”
She remained silently thoughtful as we pulled up to Arlington High. Honestly, I was grateful for the respite from the talking. And the touching. We dropped our bags and coats around a bunch of seats. It was tough finding seats together for the eight of us, since we were so late. Shao, Anthony and Jason all wound up in their own little enclaves. Zeta grabbed the seat right in front of me. As they started passing around the exams, she turned around and gave me a wink. For giving her the method back? For being the top scorer? Because she cheated me out of my conversation with Channy on the way over? Zeta was thoroughly mystifying today.
We turned over our sheets when instructed. The rustle of a hundred pieces of paper presaged the rustle of a hundred voices I’d soon be suffering.
No time for that, now.
Math to do.
Had to find the hardest.
1? Never
2? No
3? As if
4? 5? 6? No
7? No
8? Yes
9? Doable
10? That's the one
I looked up at Zeta briefly, willing her to remember to cross words out. I was temporarily stunned to find a near-perfect, straight ponytail in front of me, instead of those unruly curls. I shook my head and went back to my test. I couldn't let myself get distracted by a pretty head.
Mark
Invests
( $1,000 )
At
( 15% )
For
6 months
Erase
( 6 months )
If
( Half )
Zebra
Losing
“reverse polish" No!
How much
$600. Got it
Fifty-six minutes to go
Next up: 8.
Distribute
Re-group
Divide by x
Simplify
Damnit
Distribute
Re-group
“Carry the one”
Damn it!
Distribute
Re-group
Divide by x
Simplify
Reverse signs
Solve for y
Got it!
“Aching knees,”
“simplify"
“fried candy bar”
Forty-eight minutes to go
Eyes on the clock
The clock
The...
What kind of watch would Channy wear? Not an Apple watch, that was for sure. I was surprised “53.5” when I first saw her phone. How could she possibly be an Android user? She couldn't “concentric circles” even explain why. She rooted against Apple like Gers rooted against the Yankees. Did they “nice legs" even make Android watches? They must. I went with that.
Too much buzzing
The voices were early
Time for 1
Simple
Simple
“Cross out”
That was Zeta!
Simple
Simple
Got it
2
Simple
Simple
Damnit
Simple
“Pascal’s triangle"
SIMPLE
53.5
Got it!
3
Reverse signs
Rectangle
“Carry the one”
Perimeter
“Sick puppy"
Circumscribed
“Quadratic equation"
“What did I eat?”
No!
“53.5”
“Indian ocean"
“Tangent"
“Manga heroine"
Too much
Down I sank
Down
Down
Down
.
.
.
Down I sank, as the words piled up, above me. As the nausea rose, I forced an image of lips, smug, serene lips, into the forefront of my mind. When we had been at the cafe on Mem Drive, I’d noticed something. Channy had a funny, nervous habit. I found it odd that a girl who knew the future had any nervous habits. But she had them. She licked her lips. A lot. Dainty little darts, as if trying to ensure that her lips were soft enough. Funny, even as we’d been sitting, I hadn’t really thought about how kissable those lips were. But I imagined them now, lonely, delicate, ready to be kissed. I leaned in to oblige. Our kiss was long but chaste. The sweet, innocent kissing of two kids who wanted to capture a moment forever. I pulled back to savor the rest of the face -- the little nose and the big beautiful eyes behind those glasses.
But there were no glasses.
And the hair was too light.
And the smile wasn’t smug or serene.
It was mischievous.
And triumphant.
And Zeta’s.
My eyes slammed open and a wave of nausea washed over me. Maybe it was from the cacophony of voices running roughshod across my brain. Or maybe it was from the guilty feeling that I’d just cheated on my future wife. Either way I gasped, feeling a cold sweat trickle down, between my shoulder blades. I felt, rather than heard, a presence to my left. I turned and looked up at the faculty monitor. Usually their primary responsibility was to monitor for cheating. She was there to check on me.
“Are you okay?” she asked, not unkindly.
“I’m fine,” I croaked.
“Are you able to continue?”
“Yes,” I nodded more than responded.
She smiled sweetly at me and then resumed her route, looking back over her shoulder to make sure that I hadn’t passed out.
I swallowed and looked up at the clock. Twenty-four minutes to go. Twenty-four. That was a gift. In twenty-four minutes, I could do a lot. The voices were still heavy, but I willed myself to move forward. I took a couple of deep, quiet breaths and forced my attention back to the exam.
4
Doable
Done
5
“53.5”
No!
Pi/1
Done
6
Simple
Carry the one
Not simple
Again
Carry the one
Done
7
Harder than it looks
Skip it
9
Doable
Sum them
Re-order
Re-group
Fewer voices
Simplify
Again
Got it!
Back to 7
7 minutes to go
Have to write something
Writing
Writing
Cramping
Writing
Just answer it
4 minutes to go
Check 1? Good
Check 2? Good
Check 3? Good
4, 5, 6? Good
7? Probably not
8? Good
9? Good
10? I think so...
TIME!
“Someone will come around to collect your answers.”
I was still breathing hard, but now more because of the exhilaration than the nausea. Suddenly it hit me. This test had been all Zeta. I had used her trick on several of the questions and it was Zeta, not Channy, who had dragged me back into the test with twenty-four full minutes left. I looked at the unfamiliar ponytail ahead. Its owner had played such an unexpected role in today’s meet. As they collected our tests she turned back to smile at me. She was momentarily startled by something she saw in my expression. Her smile broadened, and became more natural. I guess that she caught me looking. The story of my life.
After the exams were collected, I pushed myself to a stand and started hobbling towards the closest window. I put a hand on the windowsill to steady myself as I looked out.
“Rick? Are you okay?”
I turned slowly to see the same face that had haunted me just thirty minutes ago. She had lost the triumphant, mischievous smile. But that only made her more disconcerting.
“Yeah, yeah,” I tried to shake her off.
“He’s always like this after the tests. You usually don’t notice because he’s alright by the time you get back from the snack stand,” Gers explained, matter of factly, if a little peevishly.
I was struck by Gers’ explanation. I never really knew how much Gers knew or understood about what I went through. I was a little surprised that he’d performed such a careful analysis. He’d pretty much, got it right. All that he was missing were the voices and the nausea. I was a little concerned that he knew so much about me. But mostly, I was grateful that he was able to be my voice in this moment. When I pulled my head around to see him, though, he looked confused, and maybe a little hurt. I realized, for the first time, that Zeta was inserting herself between Gers, Dro and me. I wasn’t at all comfortable with what was happening. First Channy and now Zeta. Who would be next?
The three of us sat in silence for a moment. I turned my head back to the window. I hoped that Gers understood that I wasn’t the one driving the change. Zeta “...that bitch playing...” had muscled in, uninvited.
Jenny’s voice sounded the same, inside and out, but she thought such horrid things. I startled at the bizarre juxtaposition. Despite what I’d just heard, she was all Sunshine when she opened her mouth.
“How did everyone do? I thought that was a hard one. I only answered seven questions.”
“No ten for you this time, huh?” asked Zeta, strangely catty. I couldn't remember ever hearing Zeta speak to Jenny like that. I watched them smile daggers at each other, utterly mystified.
Gers thought he had gotten an eight. Jason was guessing a seven, but didn't remember what he had put down. Zeta, unable to withhold her own enthusiasm anymore, expected a nine. Between the nausea and the animosity, I couldn’t bring myself to join the conversation. I stared out the window until I heard Dro arrive. As I turned, it was Zeta who greeted him first.
“Oh, wow, cookies! Thanks, Dro.”
Dro’s eyes teared up as she took two cookies from him. His mouth hung open as a cookie was placed in my hand. He mourned that appropriated cookie like it was some privilege she had stolen. He shoved the rest at Gers’ and walked away. Zeta gave me a ‘what’s up with him’ look but when I sought out Gers’ eyes, I knew that he understood. Dro, like Gers, was feeling pushed around by Zeta. I was powerless to stop her.
Shao walked up as Dro walked away.
“I’m pretty sure that I got eight of them right and one wrong. I’m not sure about number seven.” said Shao. “How’d you do, Rick.”
I was going to admit that I didn't know. Before I could open my mouth, Zeta bubbled in.
“He got them all right!” How could she possibly know that?
Shao took my scrap from my limp grip and compared the two sheets.
“That’s awesome. And we agree on seven, so it looks like I got a nine.” He stood thoughtfully.
“Hey, with that ten, you get to keep the top spot. Congratulations.”
Jenny, too shocked to shine, cut in suddenly.
“Top? Like top in the league?” she asked incredulously.
“Yeah,” said Shao “We were tied for it going in.”
“What about Henry Punker, I thought he was the top scorer?” she asked.
“He missed the last meet. He was sick,” Shao explained.
“And Erica? Erica Gallows?”
“She was one point behind going into today. She’d need a ten, just to tie me for second.”
“Wow!” Jenny looked at me with genuine admiration. I thought that she was going to say more, but Arlington’s lead teacher was up on a chair to release the results. He held the paper in his hand with a big beamy smile.
“Arlington took this one with a 29, go Spy Ponders!”
A great cheer rose up as if the team had spread out all over the cafeteria. As he got off the chair he added
“And Newton and Cambridge tied for second with 28.”
So it had been my ten plus nines from Zeta and Shao. I still had no idea how Zeta had figured out what I got. She must have been standing next to me for a while, as I stared out the window. My pocket buzzed and I suddenly remembered my other obligations.
“Uh, I have to pee,” I said. Zeta, unfooled, looked at my pocket.
“Inside or outside?” she asked. I thought she was making fun of me, but when I looked up at her, it was more like she was trying to share a private joke.
“Inside, this time. I think.”
I hustled down the hall so I could be back in time to catch the bus. Once inside the stall, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the DMs. I had missed a few questions from Channy, but I opted to focus on the last one.
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**Channing
@MyFakeWife
How did you do?
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**Rick Smith
@IntegralRick
I got a 10!
#qDaBoyz
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**Kenneth Sherr
@KenTheFinalFrontier
That’s awesome dude!
#qDaBoyz
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**Gers Renowicz
@Gearson
We’re standing right here.
#qDaBoyz
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**Alejandro Rodriguez
@DrDroDoctor
I hope that she’s a 10, cause you’re a loser
#qDaBoyz
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What the hell? I had tweeted on the wrong account.
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**Rick Smith
@LittleTwerp
10! I busted out of my funk early and had plenty of time to check my work.
=================================
It suddenly hit me how much worse it could have been. What if I had mentioned the voices to Da Boyz?
=================================
**Channing
@MyFakeWife
That’s wonderful, Rick! You must be on cloud 9, I mean 10 ;-)
I’m glad that our strategy worked.
=================================
My mouth went dry. I forced myself to resume breathing but regretted it when it came with a wave of nausea. Our strategy, indeed. I had been saved by kissing another girl.
=================================
**Rick Smith
@LittleTwerp
Yeah
=================================
I felt like a heel as I exited the bathroom. My phone, back in my pocket, buzzed twice as I walked back into the cafeteria. I didn’t have the stomach to even look at it. I could lie to Zeta, I could lie to Mom, I could even lie to Dro. But if Channy really was my future wife, how could I lie to her? And I was starting, slowly but surely. Would it be lying about math tests today and running off with the nanny tomorrow? What was I letting myself become?
The team was already largely dressed in their coats, so I scooped up my stuff and followed them out. Without realizing what I was doing, I ended up one of the first on the bus. Big mistake. I was back at Zeta’s mercy.
Once again, she had me pinned me against the wall. Gers and Dro climbed in behind us. They were probably trying to get access to me without having to talk to her. It didn’t work.
The minute the bus pulled back into traffic, Zeta kneeled facing backwards, so she could talk to Dro. Dro was less animated than on the way out. But Zeta more than made up for that. And it got worse. Zeta’s backside started swaying back and forth as she talked, as if trying to get my attention. And when I didn’t give it to her, she became absolutely touchy. She patted my hand, tapped my shoulder and even grabbed my hair once. Eventually I joined the conversation, just to get her off of me.
In my vigor to avoid Zeta’s touches, I had ignored a third buzz. The tug of war between Channy and Zeta would have been comical if it had been happening to anyone else.
When we arrived, the bus lurched to a rattling stop. But nothing could dampen my feeling of relief in escaping. People said their lackluster goodbyes as we exited the bus. Dro and Gers were waiting for me, but so was Zeta. We were the last four standing there, in front of the school entrance. Like da boyz, Zeta was clearly hoping to have gotten me alone. I was not obliging. She gave up and forged ahead.
“Hey, Rick. I was going to go see the Space Frontiers movie after school tomorrow. I know you like that sci-fi stuff. I was thinking, maybe, we could, like, you know, go together. Like a date?”
I hated Science Fiction. And I had a girlfriend. Or something like a girlfriend. But hearing Zeta get all Valley Girl had an unexpected effect on me. She was flustered and it made me flustered. In the heat of the moment, being asked on an actual date by an actual girl, I forgot about everything else. I forgot about Zeta’s bald head, and how we used to think of her. I forgot about how uncomfortable she had made me on the bus. I even forgot about how science fiction put me at risk of being outed as the freak I was. I was forgetting something else, too, but that had completely slipped my mind.
I looked at da boyz for guidance. Dro stood there like a deer in the headlights. Gers shot me a meaningful look. I’m not the best at reading people’s expressions, but I think he was trying to say:
"If there's anyone who trusts your fake wife less than Zeta it’s me, but based on the way you’re always texting her I feel like there's something serious going on. If you want to risk that it's your funeral. Idiot.”
Gers was right of course. I knew the right thing to do. I knew what I had to do. I turned back to Zeta.
“Sure. That sounds great.”
What the hell was wrong with me?
Zeta’s face went through a series of unrecognizable emotions before settling on a triumphant, mischievous smile. She made a sound which could have been “great” or could have just been a random assortment of vowels. Winking, she turned on her heels and strutted in the direction of her apartment.
At long last, I pulled my gaze from where she had been and looked at my friends. Dro’s mouth was still open. Gers looked like he had swallowed more lemons than usual.
“I guess I’ll go home,” I mumbled. They nodded and we headed off in our separate directions.
I ignored another DM on the way home. I wasn't in the right mindset to even read it. It wasn’t until I entered my apartment that I felt the full weight of what I had done. But what had I done? I hadn’t pursued her. And Channy admitted that she had gone on dates, and maybe even done things with them. Was one date with Zeta really any different? And if it was okay, why did I feel so bad about it?
I pushed through my curtain and collapsed on my mattress. The fourth buzz from my phone caused me to cry out.
“Are you okay, sweetie?” Mom called out.
“Yeah,” I lied, my voice cracking.
“You sound it,” she teased back.
With my heart racing, I pulled out my phone. It wasn’t a DM. It was a text from a number I didn’t recognize. I read it.
--------------------------------------------------------
From: 617-555-4311
Something’s up with Zeta. I'm not sure what she's after. Watch yerself, ‘k?
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Weird. It was someone who knew Zeta and what had happened. I was about to respond when a chilling thought struck me. It could be Channy. I had never given her my number, but she'd surely know it in the future. I didn’t know Channy’s number. She had never given it to me, so it would show up as unrecognized. But would she really have a Boston area code? She had gotten her phone, in high school, while still living in Detroit. Maybe she had changed her number when she came to MIT? Maybe she had given up on DMs because I wasn’t responding to them? It would do me no good to ignore her. I had to accept my fate.
With great trepidation, I responded.
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To: 617-555-4311
I'm sorry, do I know you?
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The response came three seconds later.
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From: 617-555-4311
It’s Jenny, dumbass.
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