We Are All Made of Molecules

by Susin Nielsen

  Still, it was easily the best conversation Ashley and I had ever had.

  SOMETIMES I WISH MY life was a movie. Not my whole life, but certain moments. Like this morning. When I walked through the front doors of the school, it would have been perfect if it had been filmed in slow motion, with a wind machine blowing my long brown hair back, and a great pop song playing in the background. ’Cause it was that kind of day. The kind of day when I felt like a superstar.

  As I strode down the corridor to my locker, I felt full of confidence and joie de beaver (that’s French for just basically loving life). I was wearing my favorite ensemble: a pair of indigo skinny jeans paired with a loose white top that falls off one shoulder, and a big black belt to cinch it around my tiny waist. Silver ballet flats and a pair of silver hoop earrings brought the whole look together. I am simply stating a fact when I say I looked fantastic.

  I’d timed my arrival perfectly, too, because when I got to my locker, Lauren and Claudia were already at theirs. “Oh, hey,” I said in a voice that was super-casual yet tinged with an air of mystery. I waited for them to pick up on it.

  That was when my movie went a little off-script. Because instead of picking up on my air of mystery, Claudia said, “We were just talking about Ms. Perrault and Mr. Hollinger.” She was referring to our French teacher and our history teacher. “Soon-Yi swears she saw them at the Cactus Club in Burnaby last weekend, holding hands across the table.”

  “Ew,” Lauren replied. “Isn’t Mr. Hollinger married?”

  “Terrible,” I said, but vaguely, as if my mind was elsewhere. Then I laughed quietly to myself and shook my head slightly, like I was remembering something funny.

  “What?” said Lauren.

  “What, what?” I asked, like I had no idea what she was talking about.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Oh, I was just thinking about the cutest thing Jared said when we were chatting on Facebook last night.”

  And just like that, we were back on-script. Claudia’s eyes widened, and so did Lauren’s. I felt a rush of pleasure.

  “You were chatting to Jared on Facebook last night?” Lauren asked.

  “Mmm-hmm,” I said, as if it was no big deal.

  “That’s kind of weird. I was chatting with him, too.”

  Again: off-script. Claudia snorted. “Maybe he was chatting with both of you at the same time,” she said, a little too gleefully, if you ask me.

  I tried very hard to keep a neutral expression. “What did you chat about?”

  “Oh, just homework and stuff.”

  “Who started the chat?”

  Lauren turned beet red, right up to the tips of her ears. “Why is that important?”

  Oh, Lauren. Her nonanswer was my answer; she had obviously started chatting with him when she’d seen he was online. Meanwhile, Claudia’s eyes darted from Lauren, back to me. She was clearly enjoying herself.

  “He seems like a really nice guy, doesn’t he?” I asked Lauren.

  “He does.”

  “Although kind of flirty.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, you know, saying stuff like, ‘How can you not have a boyfriend?’ and ‘You could be a supermodel.’ ”

  Lauren grew super-quiet. Claudia blew a huge bubble with her gum.

  “He didn’t say stuff like that to you?” I asked.

  “No. We just talked homework.”

  “Oh…sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” she said, forcing a smile. “I mean, I didn’t ever think he liked me that way.”

  “Okay, ’cause, you know, I wouldn’t want to step on your toes or anything.”

  “You’re not.”

  “Good. ’Cause he asked if we could hang out at my house after school today. We’re meeting at the front doors at three-fifteen.”

  Lauren pasted on a bright smile. “That’s so great, Ashley! I am super-happy for you!”

  “Thanks, Lauren,” I said, meaning it. Then I let myself get truly excited for a moment. “Oh my God, Jared Mitchell is coming to my house!”

  I grabbed Lauren’s arms and she grabbed mine, and we jumped up and down, squealing in unison. And even though I knew it wasn’t totally genuine on her part, I appreciated the effort.

  Claudia, on the other hand, just sucked her bubble back in and snorted again.

  I made a mental note to freeze her out for a few days.

  —

  WHEN I ARRIVED AT the front doors after school, Jared was already there, waiting for me. He looked adorable in jeans, Vans, and a white button-up shirt with a baby-blue V-neck sweater on top.

  Sometimes my eye for fashion is a curse, because being at Borden Secondary is a daily assault on my eyes. Monday to Friday I walk through a sea of fashion don’ts. The boys are the worst offenders—most of them just don’t seem to care that they look like total slobs.

  But not Jared. His wavy dark hair has that “just got out of bed” look that I happen to know takes a very long time and lots of hair product to perfect. Ditto the way his white button-up shirt is untucked on one side; this is a well-executed move by someone who has looked at his share of fashion magazines. He clearly puts effort into his effortless look, and that says a lot about a person’s character.

  “Hey,” he said when he saw me. Then he grinned. Oh, that smile!

  “Hi.”

  “I like your outfit.”

  “Thanks. I like yours, too.”

  “So, which way do we go?”

  I nodded north, and we started to walk together. The area around the school was full of kids heading home, and again I had that movie-star feeling, knowing that many eyes were upon us. I could even see Claudia and Lauren and Yoko and Amira by one of the side entrances, and I knew they were watching us. I also knew that Jared and I looked very, very good together. Jared is almost six feet tall, and I am five-six, which is, according to my magazines, a perfect height difference.

  I tried to think of something to say, but suddenly I felt super-shy. I kind of hoped he’d ask me questions about myself, but he didn’t, so finally I said, “What school did you go to before Borden?” Even though I already knew.

  “Saint Patrick’s.”

  “Private school?”

  He just nodded.

  “And why did you transfer?”

  “It wasn’t by choice. I was kicked out.”

  I knew this, too. The rumor around school was that he’d hit someone. “How come?”

  He shrugged. “Let’s just say I dealt with someone who needed dealing with. Guy was a colossal turd, and everyone knew it. But I’m the one who paid the price.” His beautiful chocolate-brown eyes clouded over, which made him even more irresistible; broodiness was a very good look on him.

  “That’s not fair,” I said as we turned onto my block.

  “Totally. And now I’m stuck at a crap school.”

  Even though I dissed Borden all the time, I felt kind of insulted. “It’s not all crap.”

  “No.” He grinned. “You go there.”

  !!!!!

  We arrived at my house. I unlocked the front door and we headed inside. All I could think about was that I had the next couple of hours alone with the best-looking boy at school, which made me both excited and butterfly-tummied all at once.

  That’s when I heard “Hey, Ashley. Hey, Jared!”

  I’d forgotten all about Spewart.

  I HUNG OUT WITH Ashley and Jared in the family room. They sat next to each other on the couch, and I sat in my mom’s chair. I think they were feeling really shy because they hardly said a word.

  “First game’s coming up at the end of next week,” I said to Jared, trying to keep the conversation going. “I’ve been working on my routine. Want to see?”

  Jared shrugged, still feeling shy, I guess. So I peeled off my socks and busted some moves for them, including (if I do say so myself) an excellent rendition of “The Worm.”

  When I was done, Ashley had her face hidden in her hands. But Jared w
as smiling. “You’re gonna knock ’em dead, Stewie.”

  “It’s Stewart,” I said, but I was pleased.

  “Don’t you have homework to do?” Ashley said.

  “No, I finished it at lunch.”

  Ashley turned to Jared. “We could go to your house.”

  “No, we can’t. My folks pay our housekeeper extra to watch me like a hawk.”

  Ashley and I had very different responses to this. Mine was “Why do you need to be watched like a hawk?”

  Hers was “Wow. You have a full-time housekeeper?”

  Jared just stood up and wandered over to the mantel. “What’s with all the figurines?”

  “They’re Stewart’s,” Ashley said, like she was trying to distance herself from an unpleasant situation.

  “They were my mom’s,” I told him. “She collected them. Each one has a story behind it. For example, this one”—I picked up a delicate fairy perched on a toadstool—“belonged to my mom’s great-grandmother. And this one,” I continued, picking up a boy with a fishing rod, “is a real Royal Doulton that my grandma, my mom’s mom, gave her on her wedding day. And this one,” I said, picking up Dopey, one of Snow White’s seven dwarves, “is Dopey. I bought it for my mom a couple of years ago.”

  Jared sneezed. “Achoo!”

  “Bless you.”

  “Achoo!”

  “Bless you.”

  “Achoo!”

  “Bless you.”

  “Do you guys have a cat?”

  “He does,” Ashley said.

  “I’m allergic.”

  I got down on my hands and knees and looked under the couch. “Yup. There’s the culprit. Come on out, Schrödinger.”

  “Put him in your room,” Ashley snapped. “And while you’re at it, put yourself in your room, too.”

  “It’s okay,” Jared said. “I should get going anyway. My folks will be home soon.” He looked at Ashley. “Walk me to the door?”

  “Of course.” Then, over her shoulder to me: “You. Stay where you are.”

  So I did. I pulled Schrödinger onto my lap. He flipped onto his back and stretched out all four paws and purred loudly as I rubbed his belly.

  After what felt like a long, long time, Ashley returned. “Oh my God!” she said. “Could you not have left us alone for, like, five minutes?”

  “What? He’s my friend, too.”

  “No. He’s not. He’s your acquaintance. Don’t be so dense, Stewart. I think he likes me, and I like him. If you wreck it for me, I swear I’ll kill you.”

  Two death threats in under a week!

  “And don’t you dare tell my mom that Jared came over.”

  “Why not?”

  “She has this stupid rule that I’m not allowed to have boys over unless an adult’s home. It’s super-harsh and old-fashioned.”

  I thought about this for a moment. “But if he was visiting me, it would be okay.”

  “Yes,” said Ashley, “which is totally unfair—” She stopped as what I was saying dawned on her.

  “So if, in the future, I invited Jared to come over…”

  “That wouldn’t be breaking any rules. Stewart, you’re a genius!”

  “Not really. I’m just using some tools I learned when I was a part of the Model UN. Sometimes we had to bend certain rules to get what we wanted. For example, when I represented Denmark, we had to make a few small financial promises to Greece before they’d get on board with our humanitarian efforts in Bangladesh—”

  “Okay, stop talking now.” She flopped onto the couch and turned on the TV.

  “Of course,” I continued, “you have to promise me something in return.”

  “You’re bribing me?”

  “I prefer to call it negotiating.”

  “What? What do you want?”

  “You have to agree to everything I say at dinner tonight.”

  “Pfft. Fine. Whatever. Now, go.”

  So I went, carrying Schrödinger in my arms. But I was smiling.

  Because I was already hatching a plan.

  —

  SOME PEOPLE WOULD SAY that Ashley’s nonexistent relationship with her dad is none of my business. Some people would say it’s something only they can work out.

  My mom would never, ever have said that.

  Before she had me, Mom was a family counselor. Ms. Janice Beaudry, her maiden name. It took her a long time to go back to work after I was born (I suspect because I took a lot of her time and energy), but when I was eight, she went back part-time. She saw a lot of families from all walks of life, parents and kids who were having problems getting along for a billion different reasons. Mom loved her work, and she was good at it. She had a sign in her office: I DON’T CARE HOW POOR A MAN IS; IF HE HAS FAMILY, HE’S RICH. I thought she’d made it up, but apparently it was written by a couple of TV writers, for an episode of a show called M*A*S*H.

  I’m not an expert like she was. But I felt that at the very least I could try to nudge things along with Ashley and Phil, because (1) when you’ve lost a parent, you don’t have much patience for people who complain about theirs, and (2) selfishly speaking, this wasn’t just her family anymore; it was mine. And I wanted us all to get along.

  Which is why I said the following over our dinner of frittata and salad that night: “Ashley and I think it would be nice to invite Phil to dinner.”

  Ashley started to choke on a piece of frittata. My dad gave her a couple of thumps on the back. She picked up her water glass and drank, glaring at me the whole time. But she didn’t say anything.

  A meaningful look passed between Caroline and my dad. “Well,” Caroline said, “I’m impressed. Surprised, but impressed.”

  “We had a long talk,” I continued as Ashley kept sipping her water, “and I convinced Ashley that we can’t shut Phil out of this new family that we’re trying to build. He needs to be a part of it, too.” I smiled, convinced that Mom would have given me a gold star for that little speech.

  Caroline looked quizzically at Ashley; I think she suspected the idea hadn’t come from her. But all she said was “Well. This is incredibly mature of you, sweetheart.”

  “It really is,” added my dad.

  Ashley’s nostrils flared and I could tell she wanted to rip my head off. But visions of Jared must have been dancing in her head because all she said was, “You don’t need to look so shocked. I’ve always been mature for my age.”

  “I’ll call Phil after dinner and arrange it,” said Caroline. “Unless, Ashley, you’d rather—”

  “No!” Ashley said. “You can talk to him.”

  I helped myself to another big piece of frittata and smiled on the inside.

  Once I’ve graduated from university? The UN should hire me for real. I think I could solve a lot of the world’s problems quite handily.

  IT’S JUST OVER A week since Jared first walked me home, and the rumor mill at school has officially started. Everyone is talking about me and Jared, and the fact that we are possibly, maybe, ohmygodIhopeso becoming “an item.” I am getting tons of envious glances in the corridors, even from girls in tenth grade, which is a wonderful high.

  Even though Jared and I don’t have any classes together, we do have the same lunch break, and he’s joined me in the cafeteria every day! The first time, Lauren was already sitting with me, and she so did not grab a clue; she stayed with us the whole time. But when Jared sat down with us again the next day, I said, “Um, Lauren? Don’t you have something to discuss with Claudia?”

  “No,” she said.

  “I’m pretty sure you do,” I replied, staring at her. “So buh-bye.”

  She finally got the hint and left.

  Jared laughed. “You have her well trained. Does she roll over and play dead, too?”

  “Yes, but she isn’t fully housebroken,” I replied, and we both laughed, and I felt so good because normally I only think of good comebacks two or three days later.

  Still, I felt kind of guilty when I saw Lauren at her locker
later. Her eyes looked red and her skin looked splotchy, like she’d been crying.

  “I didn’t mean to be so harsh earlier,” I said. “I just really wanted some time alone with Jared.”

  “It’s okay. I should have clued in.”

  “Yeah, you should have. But I love you anyway.”

  “I love you, too.”

  We hugged, and all was well again.

  I have to try harder to be kind to Lauren. After all, she’s not as fortunate as I am. And she’s my best friend.

  But back to the important stuff: Jared was out of town for the weekend, but he came over twice after school this week. Then, on Friday after school, I went to the gym to watch the Borden Bulldogs’ first home game. I’m not big into basketball, but I’m big into Jared. I sat between Lauren and Claudia. The guys were warming up on the court, and I was admiring Jared’s muscular calves and shivering, ’cause my jacket was still in my locker and our gym is freezing.

  Then the most amazing thing in the world happened. Jared ran up to me and handed me his warm-up jacket. In front of everyone!! I felt so cozy and happy for the rest of the game I didn’t even care that the Bulldogs lost.

  Or that Spewart totally humiliated himself in front of the entire school.

  HAVING NO PERIPHERAL VISION is very disorienting. I know, because on Friday afternoon I experienced it firsthand.

  I was also drenched in sweat. Beads of moisture dripped into my eyes, making any vision difficult. Only if I looked straight ahead could I see clearly, and what I saw were hundreds of people. All staring at me. All waiting to see what I’d do next.

  I was terrified.

  —

  BUT ALLOW ME TO backtrack. The rest of the week that led up to my moment of terror had been exceptionally good. In fact, if I were to do a bar chart of my time at Borden so far, it would look like this:

  Week four hasn’t happened yet, but I estimated it based on the previous data. Since Jared has taken me under his wing, even phys ed is fine. And Mathletes is just about the best thing that has ever happened to me. I fit in with Phoebe Schmidt, Walter Krasinski, George Hung, Oscar Bautista, Clark Fowler, and Aryama Daliwal. On Wednesday, we had our first actual competition against a high school on the west side called Trafalgar. Even though they had this one kid named Farley who was almost as good at math as I am, we won easily. On the way home on the bus, I sat beside Phoebe, so close I could smell her deodorant. “What did zero say to eight?” I asked her.