The First Kiss Hypothesis

by Mandelski, Christina

I am happy. Really happy. Like I want to sound a barbaric yawp happy. But I don’t want to call Koviak or any of the other guys, or even Coach. My first instinct, always, good news or bad, is to tell Nora. My best friend. Used to be my best friend. Might have been more if I hadn’t been such a stupid jackass.

  Mom lays her hand on my cheek. “Just what? What is it, Eli?”

  I just want Nora.

  Too bad I’ve ruined that. Ruined us.

  Shit.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Nora

  Not surprisingly, after its disastrous beginning, spring break, so far, is turning out to be total crap. I haven’t seen Eli at all since that awful day. Mom told me the surgery went well. I acted interested, even though I wasn’t. She asked me what she should bring him. I almost told her pie from the Mermaid, then I caved and told her I’d get him something. I drove to the Tick Tock and bought the pie, but made her deliver it.

  When I was there, I glanced at our booth. Not our booth. The booth we happened to sit in together.

  I’m just saying, Nora. Have you ever wondered, if you tried again, now, to kiss me, if it would be different?

  That’s what he said to me that night. I should have seen right through him, should have seen that he was trying to charm me with pie and those glasses and his blue eyes and that dimple.

  He might think that the pie Mom dropped off was a sign that I forgive him, but I don’t.

  Why should I? He doesn’t care about me at all. I was going to give him a second chance and he humiliated me.

  Then there was that visit with Gigi—her words have echoed through my brain all week long, and not just because they totally smashed my hypothesis into tiny bits. It was the don’t let it pass you by. Meaning love. As far as me and Eli, it’s too late. It has to be after the things he said to me, and the things he did. He “made” me fall for him? So he could teach me a lesson?

  No. Just. No.

  It’s Wednesday, and so far all I’ve really done is spend part of each day watching Netflix, and the rest of it in prep for the Science Olympiad state competition, which happens in a few weeks. I qualified for the Disease Detective team and also Ecology sections, which is a big deal. Abby’s going, too, if I can keep her from falling off the senior year deep end—which she seems determined to do.

  When we study, all she talks about is prom and senior picnic and senior awards night, and she’s still pressing me to go to the senior bonfire at the beach tomorrow night, mostly because she told her parents she’d be with me. At least if we go together, she won’t be telling a complete lie. That’s her reasoning.

  I try to explain why I don’t want to go. Without going into the details, I tell her that Eli and I had a terrible fight. That we’re not friends anymore and I don’t want to see him.

  She wasn’t having it. “Only you would break up with someone before you actually date him!” she said. “He’s not even going to be there, probably, so what do you care? There will be plenty of other hot guys—get you some nice rebound action.”

  My mother, in a move copied by no reasonable mother anywhere, also encourages me to go to the bonfire.

  At breakfast, she lifts her cup of coffee and grins when I tell her about it and how I don’t want to go. I’ve never seen a smile that big on her face. “Oh, you’re going.”

  She’s been so pushy lately.

  “Mom. No. I really don’t want to, and I have to study.” I take a bite of the scrambled eggs she made me on the hot plate. The kitchen is more of a mess since she decided to make good on her promise to start fixing things. A handyman has been here all week. The oven is finally gone, as is the drywall that was scorched behind it.

  “Nora. No way. You’ve been studying all week. What are you, a hermit, or an eighteen-year-old woman?” She takes another swig of coffee. “Come on, Nora. YOLO!”

  I spurt out a laugh. “YOLO? Oh God, Mom.”

  “What? Is YOLO not cool anymore?”

  My stomach twists, remembering when Eli used it to talk me into the beach. “Only if you’re being ironic, and you’re under twenty.”

  She gets up for more coffee. “Oh, so sorry. Didn’t realize I was so off-trend—and old. You are going to that bonfire, though. I insist on it.”

  I sip my own coffee. “You know, most mothers wouldn’t send their children to a party where there will likely be illegal substances and probably clandestine sexual activity.”

  She walks to me and kisses the top of my head. “And most mothers don’t have children who know the meaning of the word clandestine. I think I’ll take my chances. It’s not like I’ll be around to tell you what to do when you go to Emory.”

  “If I go to Emory.”

  “You will go to Emory.”

  She leaves to study, and I sit in the kitchen, alone, in the quiet and construction dust. I’m going to college. That’s something I try not to think about often, mostly because I don’t know what’s going to happen yet. It’s exciting, yeah, maybe a little terrifying, too? Not much has changed since Mom and I showed up to live with Gigi all those years ago. But this year, with her moving to the center, has been hard. No matter what she says, I worry about Mom. Like me, she’s not a big fan of change. I worry about myself, too.

  Like what am I going to do with no more Eli? He’s been a constant in my life for the last decade. I can’t imagine my life without him. How will I adapt?

  Adaptation means survival. If animals can’t keep up with changes in their environment, they become endangered. If nothing changes, eventually they become extinct. Take the Florida fairy shrimp. The species lived in a pond south of Gainesville. Some developer bought the land, filled in the pond, and boom. Those shrimp haven’t been found anywhere since.

  I could be the next Florida fairy shrimp. If I fear change, if I don’t try new things, if I stubbornly stick with my hypothesis and refuse to change, I could end up alone, homeless, looking for my pond, eventually dead.

  Marie zooms into the kitchen, skids to a stop on the wood floor, looks up at me, and meows loudly like she’s trying to send me a message. At least I’ll have my cat.

  Holy cow, I’m going to be a cat lady.

  I push away my plate and pick her up. “There are worse things to be.”

  Later that night, lounging in bed with the cat sound asleep next to me, I pause the bad Netflix movie I’m watching and check my email.

  When I open my inbox, I sit up so fast that Marie rockets across the room and out the door.

  The whole world comes to a screeching halt. There’s a message from Emory.

  Re: Scholarship

  Oh God. My stomach rumbles. My heart races. My palms erupt in sweat. I wipe them off as my finger hovers over the touchpad.

  I can’t.

  I’m scared.

  I get out of bed and pace around the room. Mom’s on a girls’ night out with her teeth-scraping classmates. If she were here, I’d make her read it for me.

  Only she’s not here, and it’s there—the answer I’ve been waiting for-slash-dreading. Whether I read it or not, my future is literally in front of me, in my inbox. Like a present, waiting to be opened.

  It could be a lot of money. It could be a big pile of nothing.

  I don’t know what to do. I march back and forth some more and stare out the back window. It’s dark over there. If only there was someone else to read it for me. If only I could still ask my best friend. Nope. No. There’s no one else.

  Air. I need it. In through my nose, out through my mouth. I do it again. Then I sit down on my bed and click open the email.

  Okay.

  It starts with CONGRATULATIONS!

  Which is better than SORRY.

  I scan the letter so fast that I’m sure I’m skipping over important things. There’s a dollar amount, in bold.

  That’s what they are giving me? For four years? As long as I keep a blah, blah, GPA, blah, blah.

  I do the math in my head and disappointment falls on me like an avalanche. It’s not e
nough. Almost enough, but Emory is private and expensive and…I’m APPROVED FOR WORK STUDY.

  Work study should make up for the rest of the cost of tuition, and room and board.

  I’m shaking, not believing what I’m reading. Holy cow. I can go to Emory.

  I flop backward onto the mattress. I am dead.

  Marie zips back into room, hops onto my bed to check that I am in fact, not dead. I cradle her in my hands and think of the weird randomness of life. I almost killed her in the road because I wanted to learn how to drive, but really because I needed to get over Eli so I could move on with my hypothesis, unhindered by the weight of my massive crush on him.

  Which, let’s face it, was more than a crush. I know this because of the gaping hole that he’s left behind. It wasn’t just the glasses or his body or his blue eyes or the dimple. It was the whole Eli.

  Even if he did turn out to be a liar, a jerk, and a Neanderthal, I was in love with him, I know that now. I think I have been for a long time, and now it’s time to let go. Emory will help with that.

  I kiss the top of Marie’s head. “It’s going to happen, girl,” I say into the quiet of my room. “I’m going to be a scientist.”

  I hear a rumble out on the driveway that makes me sit up straight. I try to fight it—and fail. I have to know what’s happening. I jump out of bed and run to the bathroom, up onto my toes, to peek out the window.

  I am hopeless.

  It’s him, it’s Eli, getting out of an old car. Not Michael Jordan. His dad gets out of the passenger side and comes around to help him with his crutches.

  I watch them make their way to the back door together, while his mom and Ari come outside, too, walking to the car, circling it.

  He got a new car. Michael Jordan is gone?

  More changes that I’m not a part of—that I can’t be a part of anymore—just like I can’t text him about Emory. Even if it goes against every instinct I have. I go back into my room where Marie Curie is cleaning herself.

  Yep, it’s just me and my cat.

  Abby sends a text.

  We’re on for tomorrow, yeah?

  I fall back into bed, a part of me so happy, the other part missing him so bad. At least if I go to the stupid bonfire, I won’t be sitting around here thinking about Emory, or mourning my friendship, or whatever it was, with Eli. Unless he’s there, too. Abby seems to think he won’t be, and he did just have surgery, so it’s probably safe.

  Still. I can’t hide from him forever. I am the girl next door.

  Be here at 6, I text Abby.

  Ooooh yes, she answers, along with a smiling emoji, a wink emoji, and two beer glasses, clinking together.

  God, what am I getting myself into? I bite my bottom lip and reread the Emory email. Be happy, I tell myself. Just be happy. I let myself imagine something as amazing as work study, where I get to make money maybe conducting experiments. That’s cool.

  Didn’t think you’d go for it, Abby texts again. Glad you changed ur mind

  YOLO, I text her along with a rolling eyes emoji, and I remind myself that change can be good, and change can be terrifying, and I have zero control over anything, even if I’d like to believe otherwise. The only thing I know for sure is that change is going to happen, no matter what I do.

  It’s called chaos theory. Look it up.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Eli

  It’s Wednesday night, and so far, spring break has been a steady mix of good and bad. Even the good stings, though, because I can’t share it with her.

  The bad: first, rehab hurts like a sonofabitch. Second, Nora and I have totally fallen off each other’s radars. I didn’t prove shit about her theory. I only proved that I’m an idiot, and now she hates me. These last few days, I’ve been wondering if there’s anything I can do to salvage this wreck, and if there is, do I even have the balls to do it?

  But the good? After I got the news about North Florida (go Ospreys!) Dad was suddenly feeling very generous. We went down to his mechanic, and the guy gave us a thousand bucks for Michael Jordan. It was a sad good-bye. I took off a strip of his duct tape and tucked it into my pocket so I’d remember him forever.

  Then we went to another friend of Dad’s who said he’d sell us his mother-in-law’s old Civic for three thousand bucks, which my cheap-ass father actually paid him. The car’s only fifteen years old, with only a hundred thousand miles. It’s this dull-beige color and smells like old lady. It’s got some personality in it, somewhere, though, and I’ll bring it out eventually.

  Good and bad, like I said.

  I’m lying on the sofa downstairs, my face in a slice of pie, this time lemon meringue. Yeah, I made it. It’s not like it’s hard, although the bottom crust on this one got a little soggy. Didn’t blind bake it long enough. If you don’t know what blind baking is, don’t bother ever making a pie.

  Ari and I are watching SpongeBob again. Little yellow dude is starting to show up in my dreams, which is probably better than my neighbor popping up in them.

  All of a sudden, a bunch of headlights shine on our living room wall. I hear car doors opening and closing and music playing in the distance.

  There’s banging on the front door, Mom runs in to answer. Ari jumps up, puts his hands on his ears. “What in the name of all that is good—” she shouts and there’s Koviak, fresh from the game. Somewhere behind him I hear the unmistakable sound of “You Can Call Me Al.”

  I’m not in the mood for visitors, sitting like I am in my boxers with my slice of half-eaten pie, but what can I say? It’s my team.

  Koviak, one of the only people who knows about UNF, comes in and drops a sheet cake on the coffee table in front of me. It says, in totally not professional frosting letters: WTF is an Osprey?

  That’s pretty funny. The guys are loud, though, and I’m worried about Ari.

  “I’ll get some plates,” Mom says, and takes Ari with her into the kitchen.

  The guys take turns congratulating me, and there’s Tex, in my living room, saying good luck at UNF. I want to hate the dude, but I can’t seem to make myself do it, even if he does end up with her. It’s not his fault. Actually, if they end up together, it’s probably mine. Mom serves up the cake and passes around plastic forks. We won the game, the guys tell me. This is the third win in a row, and it’s about damn time. They’re in a good mood and celebrating, and they obviously heard about my spot on the UNF team. They don’t know that it’s not a done deal, and that I gotta somehow pull up my grades. I plan on trying hard. Hope that will be enough.

  When they’ve all had their fill, they start filtering out, all of them except for Koviak. Mom and Ari go out to walk the dog. Dad’s at work.

  Koviak reaches into his letter jacket pockets and pulls out two cans of beer.

  I can only stare blankly. He’s a madman. “Seriously?”

  He flips them open and glances toward the kitchen door. “Better drink ’em fast before the chief gets home.”

  “Or my mom comes back.”

  “I didn’t bring her one.” He smirks and lifts the can. “Cheers, brah.”

  I snort and take the beer. “You’re such a dumbass,” I say, and since I’m off the painkillers and I did just have my knee cut open, I chug the whole thing in about ten seconds. He does the same. Burps come out of us that remind me of Mr. Chaffee’s barbarous yawps. I don’t share that with Koviak. This isn’t Walt Whitman World, this is Neanderthal time.

  He takes the empty cans and sticks them back into the pockets they came from.

  I lay my head back on the sofa cushion. “You’re nuts.”

  Cue his wicked grin. “Had to do it. It’s a party, dude.” He sits back and puts his feet on the coffee table. “So, how’s it going KNEE-li?”

  If that’s my new nickname I’m quitting school. “That’s hilarious, asshole.” I lift my leg up to the sofa cushion again, like I was doing before we were invaded.

  “Yeah. I am. Hey, I heard you got into some sort of fight with your girl next
door.”

  This town is too damn small. I glare at him. “Jesus, give me a break. Where’d you hear that?”

  He throws his arms along the back of the love seat. Cocky asshole. “I have my sources.”

  The last thing I want is to talk about Nora. “Sources?”

  “Yeah.”

  I sneer. “What, like Veronica?”

  He shakes his head. “Come on. This is someone reliable. Someone on the inside.”

  I don’t know if it’s the chugged beer or what, but I feel nauseated. I snatch up the remote, about to press play again. “What do you care, anyway?” He can leave anytime. I’m more than ready to sink back into the stress-free world of Bikini Bottom. “You and your source should mind your own business.”

  Kov laughs. “Oh, what? Now that you’re going to a real college, you think you’re above the rest of us? I see how it’s gonna play out.”

  I press play and turn up the volume. “Dude, shut up, you’re going to Tampa.” Tampa is like the number one Division II team in the country.

  “True. But you know, Highlanders lax, first, always. My boyz.” He beats his chest twice.

  I chuckle. He’s such a dick. “Whatever you say, Kov.”

  “Look,” he says. “I know you think you got this ‘love’ thing figured out.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees and touches his fingertips together, like a shrink.

  “You’re wrong,” he continues. “You and her, dude, I mean, come on. That’s something that should happen. Everyone knows it.”

  I wish I could tell him what I did to her. Maybe then he’d stop trying to get us together. “Everyone, who? Nothing’s going to happen. Less than zero chance. Not ever.”

  “Because of this alleged fight?”

  I don’t know why he’s not letting this go, but I’m getting annoyed. “No. Because she hates me.” I turn up the volume some more and adjust my leg, trying to get comfortable, which I don’t think is gonna happen if we keep talking about Nora.

  Koviak sits up. “Dude, what if I told you she doesn’t hate you?”

  “I’d say you’re full of shit.”