“Eli. It doesn’t work that way.”
“Right.” He picks up his fork.
He’s making my brain hurt, and I’m losing control. I need to change the subject—now—and I can’t think of a thing to say. Finally, he swallows a mouthful of food and speaks. “It’s okay, though. No worries. You have your theories.” He takes a sip of his Coke. “I have mine.”
“You do?”
His jaw drops in mock outrage. “What, you think I can’t come up with a hypothesis?”
My palms are sweaty. Something about this is making me very uneasy, but I have to act normal. “No, of course you can. Care to share?”
“I don’t know.” He takes another bite of stew. “I’m not sure you can handle it.”
“All right. I’ll take that dare. Try me.”
“Okay.” He waves his fork in the air. “My theory is that your theory is totally bogus, which of course, you already know. What you don’t know is why it’s bogus…”
He pauses like he’s going for some sort of dramatic effect. “Chaos theory.”
I choke on my food, take a sip of water, and try not to laugh. “Chaos theory?”
His dimple digs deeper. “Yes. Exactly. Do you even know what it is?”
Clearly he’s been waiting to use this. I narrow my eyes. “Yes, a little.”
“Good, so I won’t bore you with the basics. See, you”—he points his fork at me—“think love is predictable. Like gravity and electricity or chemical equations. All that shit. While I”—he points the fork at himself—“I believe it’s unpredictable. Like the weather and the stock market.”
“The stock market?”
He shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, why not?”
I smile, just a little, at the thought of proving him wrong. “Except the stock market can be predicted, somewhat, and so can the weather. There are signs, benchmarks that scientists and analysts know to look for.”
He smiles, too. “Okay, but say a weather dude predicts that there’s going to be a hurricane, and that it’s gonna hit Edinburgh.”
“You mean a meteorologist?”
“Yeah, sure, whatever.” He waves that fork around like a wild man. “So he predicts it’s gonna hit us head on, and then this weird little storm pops up off the coast of Africa.” He stops. “You still following?”
I cross my arms. “Yes, Eli.”
“Good. So this storm pops up and makes ripple effects that change the course of our hurricane and it ends up turning north in the Atlantic and not hitting a damn thing.” He finally puts his fork down. “That’s called the butterfly effect.”
I press my lips together. “Eli?”
“Nora?”
“Have you been reading Wikipedia again?”
He chuckles and takes another bite. “Doesn’t matter where I read it. It makes sense to me.”
He’s tried to make me doubt my theory before, but I’m not so easily convinced. “Look, I respect your theory, but I think you’re wrong. You forget I have proof. Gigi and Harold knew it when it happened because they paid attention to the signs, followed through, and had a beautiful life together.”
The fork starts to wave again. “Yeah, maybe, but it wasn’t perfect. Didn’t he die pretty young? Not perfect. And now Gigi almost burns their house down and has to live in an old folks home? Not perfect at all.”
I stab a piece of beef. “I’m not saying their life was perfect. I’m saying the life they had together, the love they shared—was.”
He twists up his mouth. “You know that?”
I tell myself to stay calm. You’re a scientist. Act like one. Scientists are challenged all the time. You can’t take it personally. “She told me the story my whole life.”
“Yeah,” he says. “She told me, too. It’s a good story, but it’s not the whole story.”
He’s starting to piss me off. “What’s your point, Eli?”
He sits up taller. “What if she’d met Harold earlier? What if she kissed him when he was thirteen, and had a mouth full of braces, and had just drank half a Coke and had to burp real bad? If there had been nothing to that first kiss, and she’d moved on, you wouldn’t be here.” Another point of the fork and a know-it-all grin. “The butterfly effect.”
“But it didn’t happen that way. They found each other, and that’s how it’s going to happen for me. And would you stop pointing that fork at me?”
I push away my bowl. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.
He’s still smiling, like he knows he’s gotten under my skin and he’s enjoying it. He points his fork at me again, then at my bowl. “You gonna eat that?”
I cross my arms. “No.”
He pulls my stew to his side of the booth and I wonder why it’s not easier to stop liking him. He obviously enjoys messing with me and knows absolutely nothing about scientific method. A kiss with chemistry is different from a kiss without chemistry. Period. Butterfly effect, my ass.
Chapter Twelve
Eli
I’m getting to her. I can tell. Either that or I’m just pissing her off. It’s a fine line. “Look, I’m just trying to explain how I feel. I know you have your ideas, and that’s fine, but I have mine, too. Capisce?”
She inhales deep and purses those kissable lips. “Capisce.”
Luckily, Fran shows up just in time to break the tension. Tension that I created. I was trying to make a point, even though I only spent like ten minutes reading about chaos theory on Wikipedia, just long enough to form a bullshit hypothesis of my own. The weird thing is, I think I made sense. Of course, she won’t acknowledge that. She just sits there, looking angry.
“All right you two. Time for pie?” Fran asks.
“Can’t wait,” I say.
She walks away and Nora stays silent.
“Come on,” I say. “Don’t be mad. I want you to be happy, Nora. I want you to fall in love and be happy forever.” I take a sip of Coke. Push, Costas, push. “I do sometimes get tired of watching you kiss all these losers, and being the biggest loser on your list.”
Her angry face crumbles. Bull’s-eye. “You’re not a loser, Eli. God.”
Fran brings the pie, gives each of us our slice, and everything else gets forgotten.
Nora digs in first. It’s hard not to watch her—like with most things she’s got a method. She sticks her fork in the pie, swoops it up in an arc toward her mouth. She studies it closely. This must be a scientist thing because I would have eaten the whole slice by now. The fork slips into her mouth, her lips close around it, her eyes close, and she smiles.
“This is literally the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” she says about her triple berry lemon. She swallows, takes a sip of water, then reaches over and takes a forkful of mine. She doesn’t ask. She doesn’t have to.
“Oh, that’s not right,” she says of my pie. “That’s unbelievable.”
“I better try some before you eat it all.” I do try it and holy shit, it’s good. “What is in this?”
“I have no idea.” She dives in for another forkful. “Screw my hypothesis, I’m in love with this pie.”
Hmm. I guess that’s better than Tex.
We eat all of it, practically licking the plates, and our conversation magically turns back to normal things. Friend things.
As I listen to her talking about how the cat attacked her foot the other night while she slept, I think maybe she’s starting to crack. It’s just a hairline fracture, but I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. The important thing is, I’ve made some progress.
At least I think I have until her phone lights up on the table, and I can’t help but see the screen. It’s a text. From Caleb.
I pretend not to notice because it’s none of my business, but something’s happening to me. My pulse pumps faster, and my face feels hot. All I know is this—I don’t want her to kiss him. Not now, not ever. She just…can’t. But short of putting that motherfucker in a box and shipping him back to Texas, I have no other choice.
It’s t
ime to double down.
...
By the end of the week I know for a fact that nothing’s happened between them. There’s been no time. Nora’s been staying late for the state Science Olympiad practice and she’s getting rides home with Abby or her mom. I’ve been taking her to school in the morning, but we don’t talk much at 6:50 a.m. We never have, it’s just too damn early.
Evening practice has been running long and Coach has been working us hard. The good thing is, Tex is always there. It makes me feel a little better, being able to keep my eye on him. I just wish we had time for more lessons.
I don’t have time to waste. I watch him watching her in the cafeteria, in the halls. He stops her whenever she walks by, and says something that makes her laugh. Makes me crazy. I wish he wasn’t turning out to be such a good player so I could actually hate him.
Friday night practice is always a killer, but this one will be brutal. We’ve only won two of our first four games and we are not losing on Tuesday. My future coach from Citrus State will be there, and possibly scouts from other schools. All the guys are on edge. Not Tex. Maybe it’s because this is his first year playing. Maybe hockey players don’t think like we do. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to play in college, if he’s even going.
Before we head out to the field, I pass him in the locker room. He’s goofing off with a few of the rookies who’ve been playing like shit.
“Hey.” I push his shoulder, hard enough for him to feel it under his pads.
“Yeah?” He’s got these dumbass cow eyes. “What’s up, Cap?”
Cap? This guy can’t be serious, and he’s not that smart if he hasn’t picked up on the fact I don’t like him.
“Yeah, just so you know, ’cause I don’t know if anyone has told you, but Tuesday’s a big game. Now’s not the time to be screwing around.” I glare at the rest of them. “Any of you. You might not give a shit about looking good to colleges, but I do. A lot of us do. If you’re not gonna take it serious, you can all go back down to JV, or back to your clubs. I don’t really care. I don’t want you on the team if you’re not giving us everything.”
Wow. I sound like an intimidating prick, and Tex and the rookies are appropriately respectful, which they better be.
“Now go. Get out there.”
They run ahead, out of the locker room to the field, but Tex lags behind and waits for me. “Hey, Eli,” he says with that annoying as hell twang, “I want you to know I’m dead serious about this team, and about the game Tuesday. It’s looking more and more like I’m gonna play in college, so I do want to impress the coaches. Me and the guys, we were just blowing off steam back there.”
I’ve never been so tempted to stick my shaft out and trip someone. I’d save a body check for him if Coach wouldn’t make me pay for it. That’ll only happen if it looks like I did it on purpose, though, and I’m not bad at making my hits look like accidents when the situation calls for it.
“Yeah, good,” I say through gritted teeth.
“All right. See you out there.” He runs ahead.
Yeah, you will.
We warm up, do some drills, and then Coach has us run some plays. I pull off my pinnie, flip it inside out, and put it back on. I’m on the same team as Koviak and a few of the other seniors. Unfortunately we’ve also got a few of the more squirrelly rookies, and just my luck, we’re stuck with Tex. There goes the bruise I’d planned for him.
I get the ball in the face-off, easily scooping it away from Justin Tidwell, who I’ve been playing with forever. He’s way too easy to read. We’re running a Duke so I set up a pick to Koviak who is behind the cage. The idea is he’ll dodge off to his right and the midfielder, who in this play is Tex, will get the pick from Koviak in the crease and he’ll be able to score.
Sam is goalie, though, and Ed and Mike Ponti are d-poles with a mission to kill. They’re playing with everything they’ve got. It’s good to see, until Tex is denied, which pisses me off.
As for me, I’m playing my ass off, but my knee still feels stiff, and I know I’m favoring my good leg. Which means I don’t move as fast, or as smooth as usual.
“Costas!” Coach calls, waving me over. “Your knee okay?”
“Coach, I’m good.” Nothing is wrong with my knee. It’s better than it was. My surgery was two years ago. It’s totally healed, and strong. I’ve been doing my stretches and extra leg curls to ensure that. The joints can get stiff for lots of different reasons, and most of them wouldn’t require me stepping out of the game. I just have to stop babying it and play.
“Well then play like you’re good.”
“Yeah, yeah, I will. Sorry, Coach.”
“Get back out there and run that again. This time let Gray take the face-off. See if that hockey did him any good.”
Coach waves me away, and I head back out to the field, my gut burning with anger. Gray is Caleb Gray.
“Gray!” I shout to Tex. “Coach wants you on face-off.” Saying the words just pisses me off more, and when he gets the ball, I’m ready, in position. When I see one of the rookies dicking around when he’s supposed to be in the crease, I break the play and run where he should be.
“Gray!” I yell, to get his attention. I’ve got a d-pole riding me, but if he can get me the ball, I’m gonna score. The ball goes airborne, and I set up to get the pick. It lands like a bird in my net. Then I pivot to line up the shot, and when I do…
POP.
I drop like a sack of potatoes. Fuuuuucccck. It’s my knee, and not my bad knee, it’s the other one. I roll on the ground, pain searing through my whole body. I know exactly what’s happened. I’m rolling on my back. Coach and Mack, our trainer, run over. I’m aware of the team around me, I just can’t make sense of what they’re saying. The sky above me is filled with flashing lights. I close my eyes and the lights go out—on my senior season, and maybe even a college career. My whole damn life goes dark.
I passed out, but not for long. Coach and Mack stand over me and I tell them exactly what I felt. I know what happened. We all know what happened.
They get me to the locker room. The guys hover. I know they’re worried, I get it. I just want them all to go away, though, to leave me alone in this locker room. I haven’t cried in maybe ten years. Right now, it’s all I can do to keep myself from totally wailing like a baby.
“Let’s get you in the office,” Mack says. There’s a couch in there and my knee goes up. He brings ice packs while Coach makes the call home. He hangs up, leans against the desk, and crosses his arms.
“I know what you’re thinking, Costas,” he says.
My whole body is on fire right now, between the pain in my knee and the pain of knowing I’m done. I can’t even look at him.
“This isn’t the end, kid. You had four good games, and a great season last year. Plus, no matter what, we still need you this season. You’re the captain. These guys look up to you. As soon as you do what you gotta do to fix that knee, I expect you back on the sidelines, you hear me?”
I nod once, pissed that there’s actually a tear dripping down my cheek.
“Your folks are on the way, kid. I’m gonna give you a few minutes.” He grips my shoulder as he passes by and closes the door behind him.
I grit my teeth and wipe my face. No way am I gonna break down. I can’t. Even if this whole year has gone to shit. Nora and Emory University. No idea what I’m gonna do with my life. Now this.
I’m cursed.
The door opens, and Koviak sticks his head inside. “Hey, dickweed.”
“Fuck off.”
He closes the door behind him and sits on the edge of the desk.
My chest muscles constrict. I gotta keep myself together. I’m not gonna cry, even though Kov looks like he might. He knows how bad this is. Coach can try to keep my spirits up all he wants, but this might be the end. We both know it.
“Dude,” he says and runs a hand through his hair. “Just get that goddamn knee fixed so you can kick ass at State next year.”
I huff. “Yeah like that’s still gonna happen.”
“What are you talkin’ about? You came back before. You’ll come back from this. If they cut you, someone better will get you. Fuck ’em.” He stands up, sticks out his fist for me to bump like a lame ass. “You know what else, Costas? It’s just a game. Get your knee fixed. Graduate. Make your move with Reid.”
I sneer. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about. Tex is driving, man. Time to play some D.”
I suck in air, swallow down the throbbing pain in my leg. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know you got some free time now. Keep your eye on the prize. Get the girl.”
I shift on the couch and flinch. My knee fucking hurts. “You better go,” I say. “They need someone out there who knows how to play. And thanks, man.”
Koviak takes off and I stare at the ceiling and imagine Nora here, now. She’d sit, maybe hold my hand, probably lecture me on how lacrosse puts joints under too much stress. Maybe she’d lean over me, watch me with those eyes. Maybe she’d kiss me.
Or, more likely, like me staying healthy, or me getting into a decent college, or me having skills in anything worth anything—it’s never gonna happen.
Maybe I should just face reality. I’m going nowhere.
Chapter Thirteen
Nora
It’s Friday night and everything is wrong. Mr. and Mrs. Costas are with Eli at the ER, and Ari is with me. Mom’s still not home from class, and I invited Abby over to hang out, in an attempt to expand my social life.
She’s grounded, but her parents let her come anyway.
“Thanks for getting me out of the house.” She pushes through the kitchen, arms laden with Chinese takeout, into the dining room. “Five months until I leave for Miami. I might not survive.”
She’s majoring in biochemistry and molecular biology at the University of Miami. I’m not sure if she got any scholarships, but her dad is a dentist and her mom was a child TV star, so I don’t think money is really an issue.
“Why’d they let you out?” I ask.
The First Kiss Hypothesis Page 8
