Shutting the door to the balcony, I was surprised to see that Abe had followed me into my room. His gaze moved over the interior of the space, seemingly taking in or cataloguing the objects within. His unexpected inspection made me look around as well. I attempted to view my sanctuary from his perspective. What must it look like to a stranger?
The walls were white. I liked rooms painted white, especially if I spent any period of time within the room. Books. Lots of books on four giant shelves lining the wall closest to the door. Two floor-to-ceiling windows on either side of the French door dominated the far side and flooded the space with light. The bed was twin-sized with a night-sky print comforter and one white pillow. I preferred the small footprint of a twin over surrendering valuable floor space to a larger bed. A drafting table that served as my desk sat against the fourth wall. Books and papers were stacked beneath.
“’Heisenberg may have slept here,’” Abe read the sign over my bed, his tone thoughtful. “What does that mean?”
Since I didn’t have my prunes, I didn’t pause to think before asking, “You’re uncertain who Heisenberg is?” and then immediately grimaced, because no physics jokes.
Abe’s gaze moved to mine. “The name sounds familiar.”
“Have you ever taken chemistry? Or physics?”
“Yeah. In high school.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to explain who Heisenberg was, and that the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle related to the fact that everything in the universe behaves like both a particle and a wave at the same time, which meant no one can ever simultaneously know the exact position and the exact speed of an object at any given time. Furthermore, just the act of measuring anything—or attempting to measure—changes the object being measured.
But then I remembered I was Lisa. I was Lisa, not Mona. And Lisa had never understood or cared why the sign over my bed was funny.
Taking a breath, I swallowed and shrugged. “It probably has to do with something like that. Mona likes, uh, physics. A lot.”
“Leo said she went to some big deal, Ivy League school.”
I cleared my throat and nodded once. “Correct.”
“When she was fourteen?” Abe’s gaze moved back to the sign.
“Fifteen.” The fine hairs on the back of my neck prickled, probably because I was still standing around wearing nothing but a towel and undies. But maybe also because I was discussing myself like I wasn’t me.
He made a dismissive, scoffing sound and moved to leave. “That would suck.”
I scowled at the back of his head, following him into the hall and catching myself before saying Pardon?
Instead I said, “What?”
He glanced at me, his expression one of clear aversion to the direction of his thoughts. “Going to college at fifteen? Never getting to experience high school? That would have sucked.”
My throat felt oddly tight and a bizarre restlessness stirred in my chest. “Some people say that high school sucks.” I didn’t know why I was arguing with him about this. I should have been avoiding him. And getting dressed.
“High school does suck.” Abe nodded, tilting his head to the side, his eyes growing fuzzy as though he was recalling a specific memory. “But fifteen-year-olds are still kids. High school is your last chance to make mistakes without huge adult consequences. Missing out on that chance would suck. That’s like losing four years of your childhood.”
His gaze returned to mine and seemed to be guileless, as though we were just two random people having a random conversation about a random topic where neither of us had an emotional investment. It was the first time since I’d arrived an hour ago that he’d looked at me without being irritated, or confused, or—as he’d done just moments ago upon finding me with my shower helmet—freaked out with a hint of good humor.
Meanwhile, I was still scowling.
Abe blinked, apparently what he saw on my face confused him. But then his expression cleared, as though he’d just realized something significant.
“You dropped out of high school.” He said this with no malice, but rather as though this fact—Lisa dropping out of high school—explained my persistent scowl.
“Yes,” I said stiffly. And just for good measure, I added, “Whatever.” So . . . it has come to this.
His gaze moved over me, assessing and yet surprisingly free of judgment. These amber eyes of his were making me tremendously self-conscious as I sensed something new behind his inspection. Something like interest, but not quite. Whatever the something was, it also made me acutely cognizant that I was wearing just a towel and underwear.
I gathered a deep breath, about to walk around him to Lisa’s room, when he said quietly, “So did I.”
“What?”
“I dropped out of high school.”
I flinched, astonished. “You-you did?”
He nodded, biting his lower lip, a faint smile in his eyes. “That surprises you?”
“Why would you do that?” I asked this as myself, as Mona, because dropping out of school made no sense to me. To have access to knowledge and to reject it made no logical sense.
Abe’s left dimple appeared, his pretty eyes—yes, they were pretty, but alluring might have been a more fitting word—seemed to glow.
Instead of answering, he countered, “Why did you drop out?”
“My parents couldn’t find a high school that would take-take me. I was kicked out of ten schools by my junior year.” I thought everyone knew this story. It had been in all the papers.
He made a low whistling sound. “Ten?”
I nodded, remembering the phone call I’d had with Lisa after number ten. She’d seemed proud, like it had been an accomplishment. I didn’t understand her.
“So, technically, I didn’t drop out,” I said, repeating what she’d said to me at the time.
“Right.” He looked less than impressed, which echoed how I’d felt about Lisa’s statement.
Before I could catch the impulse, I rolled my eyes, a small smile tugging at my lips, forgetting for a moment that we weren’t commiserating over Lisa’s recklessness because, you know, I was Lisa.
Abe looked at me like I’d again surprised him.
Oh. Oh no. He thinks I’m being self-deprecating. Yikes.
“Yeah. Well. I’m the funniest person I know, and then the wolves came.” I forced a light laugh, knowing I’d messed up. Lisa was many things, but I’d never known her to be self-deprecating. If there was one thing my sister took too seriously in this world, it was herself.
“Wolves?” His gaze traveled over my face, a smile lingering even though his eyebrows had pulled together. The dichotomy of his expression had me wondering whether he was enjoying our conversation, or if perhaps he was confused about the fact that he was enjoying our conversation.
“Anyway.” I took a step to the side, and then another. I needed to extract myself. I needed the prunes to chew on before I could be trusted to speak. “I’m cold. I need clothes. Goodbye.”
With that, I crossed to Lisa’s room, stepped inside, and shut the door behind me. I counted the seven seconds until I heard footsteps on the stairway leading up. Shaking my head at how incompetent I was at lying, I moved to Lisa’s dresser.
As I searched for something to wear, I admitted to myself that I failed at pretending to be someone else. Everything that had just happened—except for me saying whatever and flicking my wrist at him—had been completely out of character for my sister.
Avoiding Abe was the only way to salvage this week and allow Lisa to slip back into the house without raising suspicion.
Avoidance. I would avoid him.
Complete avoidance.
Yep.
4
Vectors, Scalars, and Coordinate Systems
When someone asks where I’m from, I say Chicago. I’d spent less than one sixty-fourth of my life here and yet, of all my parents’ houses all over the world, the Chicago house was the one I considered home. Perhaps because my parents were both born on the outskirts of Chicago, or maybe because it was also the only house without permanent live-in caretakers. As a kid, I’d thought the other houses belonged to the caretakers and we were merely their guests.