The Love Hypothesis

by Laura Steven

  Guilt twinges in my gut. I truly hadn’t thought about that. ‘Okay, fine. It was . . . witchcraft.’

  ‘Sure,’ Gabriela says with a laugh. ‘And I’m a sea mermaid.’

  ‘As opposed to a land mermaid?’ I frown.

  Keiko sighs in exasperation. ‘You’re talking out your ass.’

  ‘I’m not! I . . . I found a spell online. On the dark internet.’

  ‘A Pagan spell?’

  Oh, god. Why did I hurl myself down this rabbit hole? ‘I don’t know, exactly. It was supposed to make everyone you meet fall in love with you.’

  Keiko lays down her tea and folds her arms. ‘Show us.’

  ‘The spell?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Right now?’

  ‘Yup.’

  Gabriela looks a bit panicked at this. She chews her chapped bottom lip. ‘But I . . . I don’t think you should cast it again. It seems dangerous, Caro.’

  ‘It is,’ I agree. ‘Highly dangerous.’ Sirius does three sharp barks downstairs, which means Dad is about to feed him. At least he’s still capable of barking after his delirious hump-fest.

  ‘Fine.’ Keiko starts plaiting her periwinkle-blue hair. ‘Just show us a reenactment. Like on those crime shows when they get actors to recreate armed robberies and such.’

  This is going badly. ‘But I don’t have any more used underwear,’ I protest weakly.

  ‘You can have mine.’ Keiko goes to undo her leather pants.

  ‘No,’ I say quickly. ‘I mean . . . from a member of the opposite sex.’

  ‘Homophobe.’

  ‘Where did you get some to begin with?’ Gabriela asks.

  ‘Uhhhhh. Boys’ locker room.’ I’m starting to think maybe this isn’t actually less embarrassing than telling the truth.

  ‘I have so many questions, and they’re all harrowing.’ Keiko wrinkles her nose. ‘Just do it – without the skid-marked Y-fronts.’

  ‘File under: rejected Nike slogans.’

  Keiko and I both cackle at Gabriela’s quip. Being an introvert, Gabriela’s the kind of girl who doesn’t talk all that much, but when she whips out the occasional one-liners, she’s funny as hell.

  I see no other option but to improv this spell fandango. ‘Give me a sec,’ I mumble, taking myself out of the room and downstairs where I can come up with something vaguely resembling an action plan.

  Wandering aimlessly around the garden, I try to remember what kind of ingredients Keiko used during her mage phase. Rosemary? Patchouli? Sage? Unfortunately, Vati has murdered all of the above, so I have to make do with what I have. Alongside a metal pail, I grab a malformed eggplant, a few blades of grass, and a particularly wizardy garden gnome. I haul them back to my bedroom with a box of matches and a half-formed idea of what I’m about to do.

  When I show the girls the ingredients, however, they are skeptical.

  ‘What’s the grass supposed to represent?’ Gabriela asks.

  Without missing a beat, I say, ‘Pubes.’

  Keiko spits iced tea everywhere. ‘Jesus. You think you know a person . . .’

  After I’ve cranked the window open and shut my bedroom door so as not to activate the smoke alarm on the landing, I light a match and drop it into the pail. I feel a bit bad for setting Vati’s favorite gnome on fire, but it looks relatively flame retardant. I’m essentially just barbecuing an eggplant at this point.

  An idea strikes me.

  ‘Shit! I forgot something!’

  I dash back down to the kitchen and grab a handful of sea salt and the pot of squeezy honey. Dad looks at me like I’m plotting an assassination on the President, but give him his due, he just lets me get on with it. I briefly toy with the idea of telling him I’m making margaritas, but it’s really not worth the two-hour lecture on how addiction ruins lives.

  Back in my room, I sprinkle the salt over the flaming eggplant, then drizzle it with honey. ‘The honey represents femininity, and the salt masculinity.’

  Keiko snorts. ‘Again, very regressive of you.’

  There’s a long reverent pause as we watch the eggplant cook.

  Gabriela breaks the silence. ‘It . . . actually smells really good.’

  I beam at her. ‘Then you’re really going to enjoy the next part.’

  Putting out the small fire with a damp cloth, I pull three forks out of my pocket. ‘Dig in.’

  I’m the first to split the roasted eggplant in half, then carve out some of the caramelized insides and take a massive bite. It is actually pretty tasty, despite the vague hint of burnt grass.

  Keiko stares at me. ‘Well. That took a lot of unexpected turns.’

  I can’t fight the grin spreading across my face. ‘Delicious though, right?’

  Keiko and Gabriela both nod their agreement. ‘Delicious.’

  We chew for a while until the entire thing is devoured. I use the wet cloth to clean the soot off the wizard gnome, and he seems relatively unscathed.

  Keiko studies my face. ‘You know I think you’re full of shit.’

  I nod. ‘Fair enough.’

  9

  That evening, I take one more pill. The regular dosage, this time.

  Because as strange and terrifying and hilarious as that ruined football game was, the feeling of power that came with it was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. And I’m not ready to let go of it just yet. I want to see what it can do. I want to see what I can do under its influence.

  It takes an eternity to fall asleep. My mind races, reliving the chaotic night. My veins fizz with potential and possibility. I want it to be morning already. I can’t wait to be in school as this new desirable person. I can’t wait to spend a few days in the shoes of someone like Keiko.

  When I do eventually fall asleep, I’m back there.

  The house is dank. The walls bleed darkness.

  I look around, or try to. The dark shapes around me rarely crystallize, but tonight they do. There’s a broken crib, wooden slats hanging loose, and a boarded-up fireplace. An indecipherable mess in the corner.

  And . . . a balled-up body?

  I squint, but I can’t be sure.

  My body tries to sweat, tries to cry, but there’s nothing left inside.

  Somewhere, a door opens.

  When my alarm slices through the dream, this time I’m not relieved. I’ve never seen the room so clearly before. Not the broken crib, not the boarded-up fireplace, not the tangled mess of debris and something more human.

  I press my eyes shut, try to coax myself back to sleep, but it’s no use. I’ve always been a morning person, and once I’m awake, I’m awake. I’ll never be able to drift off again. Not with my pulse jackhammering this fast.

  Entering the school building is like something out of a nineties teen movie. You know, after the girl has undergone a dramatic makeover to conform to society’s narrow definition of female beauty. That is my new reality. Except my look hasn’t changed a bit. Apart from that, the literal plot of a nineties teen movie.

  Heads turn, whispers echo, guys wolf-whistle. Girls look at them like they’ve gone insane, but then they too turn to stare, and something shifts in their gaze. Gabriela stands to my left, mouth agape, while Keiko looks borderline pissed off to my right. She’s wearing a leopard-print duster skirt with a crisp white tee and a pink leather jacket. She looks fierce as hell and yet I’m the one getting all the attention. In my denim overalls and beat-up Chucks.

  ‘That was one powerful eggplant,’ Gabriela mutters.

  ‘The urge to “that’s what she said” you right now is overwhelming,’ Keiko says. ‘And damn, Jessica Cooper is staring at you hard. I’ve been sowing that seed for weeks, man, don’t you dare take her from me.’

  I haven’t even made it to my locker when the first proposition lands in my lap.

  Oakland Forrest, son of our town’s only two hippies, comes up to me and clears his throat. His messy blond hair is tied up in a bun, and his shorts look like they need to be doused in disinfectant and/or
quarantined on some sort of nuclear test site.

  My eyes narrow. Oakland and I haven’t spoken since grade school, when he used to bully me relentlessly for having two dads.

  ‘Hey Caro.’ His southern California drawl is grating, considering he was born and raised in Charleston.

  ‘Oakland.’ I rummage through my locker for my water bottle, barely looking at him. Gabriela and Keiko stand beside me staring at their phones, pretending not to listen.

  ‘How are you today?’ Oakland asks in an overly polite tone.

  ‘I’m fine. Thanks.’

  ‘That’s good. I’m really glad.’ He shuffles his feet, and his flip-flops smack against the linoleum. ‘Listen, I was wondering . . . do you wanna go to prom with me?’

  I shoot him a withering look. Or, at the very least, what I consider to be a withering look. ‘It’s September.’

  He laughs nervously. ‘No, I know. It’s just . . . I figure you’re going to get a whole bunch of invites. I wanted to get in early.’

  I slam my locker shut, a little surprised by the cresting wave of anger that rises inside me. ‘And you think that despite what you did to me in grade school, I’d still want to dress up all pretty and go to prom on your arm?’

  Oakland pulls an over-the-top My Bad face. ‘Uh, sorry about that. I was just a kid, and being a jerk.’

  ‘Well, I was just a kid and went home crying every night, so.’ My words are tight and taut like a coil, as though the tears are still lodged in my throat nearly a decade later.

  He shrugs, trying to get back to his casual comfort zone. ‘Maybe I was just being mean to you because I liked you.’

  Ah yes, the not-at-all toxic notion that abusive behavior is a sign of deep-rooted affection. Love it. Huge fan.

  ‘I don’t want to go to prom with you, Oakland.’

  As he walks away dejectedly, the word ‘sorry’ tries to force its way up my throat. It flashes in neon lights in my brain, blasts in a thousand decibels through my eardrums. My every instinct urges me to apologize to him. But I hold firm. For once.

  ‘That. Was. Awesome.’ Gabriela’s eyes are shiny with excitement, and maybe something a little pride-shaped. I feel a surge of warmth for my sweet, kind friend. I would hug her, but physical affection makes us both deeply uncomfortable, so I settle for a grin.

  ‘Hard agree.’ Keiko grins. ‘I’m a big fan of Bad Bitch Caro.’

  The rest of the morning is an avalanche of attention. I come out of Calc to find sixty new Instagram followers and two more prom invites stuffed in my locker. The single-pill dosage seems to be the sweet spot – if any of them have boners, they do a good job of disguising them.

  It feels like sunshine on bare skin after a long winter. I know that sounds tragic, but when you’ve spent your entire adolescence starved of romantic affection, the sudden influx is a rush like no other. It’s like a good dream I never want to wake up from.

  So far, I’m having a little trouble figuring out the rules. In the beetles, the pheromones only worked on the male of the species, but it seems a lot more complicated in humans.

  From what I can tell, in humans the pheromones can boost attraction for every sex, but that attraction has to have been viable to start with – i.e. only for groups who are normally into women. So like, straight girls and gay guys are still interested in me, but not in a sexual way. Just like, I’ve never noticed her existence before, but now I’m looking up as she walks past.

  I don’t know. It’s complicated.

  Far from getting bored, I really come into my own by lunchtime. There’s already a higher tilt in my chin, a bouncier spring in my step. I enjoy the sensation of meeting a guy’s eyes just to watch his quivering reaction, and the moment when a small altercation seems to break out at the water fountain as two freshmen argue over who has a better shot with me. This feeling is pure power.

  As we’re eating our chili fries, I struggle to focus on the whole food-to-mouth thing.

  ‘Oh my god, Aziz is staring at me,’ I say, making no effort to wipe away the chili dribbling down my chin. ‘And Aaron is getting pissed because Aziz is staring at me. This is wild.’

  ‘I mean, it’s only because of the spell, right?’ Keiko says. She picks at her fries like a small bird. ‘It’ll stop once the eggplant wears off.’

  I raise an eyebrow in a friendly way. ‘I thought you said I was full of shit.’

  Keiko shrugs, not meeting my eye. ‘Well, it’s gotta be something.’

  ‘Maybe it’s the overalls,’ Gabriela says earnestly, god bless her heart.

  Someone clears their throat behind us, and I swivel on the bench. Marnie Flanders.  Smiling. At me.

  ‘Hey, girl,’ Marnie says, tucking a lock of auburn hair behind her cuff earring. ‘Do you wanna come sit with us? Gabby, you come too!’

  I would probably enjoy this moment if Keiko didn’t look like she’d been slapped.

  To be honest, though, general popularity was never exactly my goal with the pills. It was to entice Haruki into being my boyfriend; to find myself in a loving relationship with someone who adores me. Not to suddenly be seen by the Populars. So while I’m not exactly tempted by Marnie’s offer, it’s still nice to be asked.

  ‘Oh, I’m good here thanks,’ I say, matching her warmth. ‘But that’s really sweet of you.’

  ‘Actually, I may go sit with the squad, if that’s okay?’ Gabriela asks, shooting a sideways look at Keiko as though worried she’s about to be snarked at.

  ‘Whatever.’ Keiko shrugs.

  ‘Go for it,’ I add, although I have to admit, I’m a little put out too.

  After lunch, it’s the class I’ve been looking forward to all day: Physics. The moment I’ll see Haruki for the first time since taking the pills. My heart pounds with anticipation. Is he finally about to notice me for real? No pranks, no annoyance over my special treatment. Just . . . noticing me as a person who might be worth talking to?

  I’m the first student to arrive, because obviously, and I take my usual seat at the back. Torres is prepping for the lesson at the front, and we chat a little about MIT and my letter of recommendation. So when Haruki strolls in, I look like even more of a teacher’s pet than usual.

  But that doesn’t stop him visibly recoiling when he sees me. Not, like, in a grossed-out way. More like a . . .  whoa, I think I’m seeing you for the first time kind of way. My heart fizzes like an Alka-Seltzer tablet in my chest. His perfectly smooth cheek dimples as he smiles, and his deep brown eyes twinkle in a way that makes me melt.

  Yes, yes, yessssss. We’re on. It’s on.

  He is, at the very least, noticing me. He might not act on it, and I might completely fuck it up if he does, but this is a good start.

  He pulls up the chair next to me, but I don’t address him. Not yet. I want this to be on his terms. I want him to feel the desire to look at me, talk to me, be near me, and I want him to have to act on it.

  Everyone else arrives and class starts, and I’m doing a pretty good job of ignoring him until . . .

  ‘Pssst.’ Those twinkly eyes pierce mine.

  I resist the urge to grin like a lunatic. Casually as I can muster, I say, ‘Hey.’ Ground-breaking, I know.

  He gestures to the college paper we’re both doing and whispers, ‘Do you actually, literally understand this?’

  ‘I actually, literally understand it.’ I shrug, like it’s no big deal, when in reality my Alka-Seltzer heart is about to leap out of my chest and slam into the back of Maria Lopez’s head.

  ‘Damn.’ His voice is kinda croaky and deep. ‘How’d you get so smart?’

  Smirking, I say, ‘I listened when Torres talked.’

  Ah, there she is. Hermione Granger, queen of flirty banter.

  ‘Fair enough.’ He looks down at the paper, then back up at me, then starts twiddling the end of his mechanical pencil. ‘Hey . . . maybe you could explain it to me over milkshakes sometime?’

  THIS IS IT. IT IS HAPPENING. HOLYYYYYYY –

&n
bsp; I cannot believe it. I cannot believe it. If I’m dreaming, please don’t wake me up.

  The first step of Operation Schrödinger’s Cat is underway: bonding over particularly tricky problems, sharing theories over milkshakes at Martha’s Diner. Next up: he applies to MIT too, and we become the power couple of the Theoretical Physics Society. Volta and Galilei, we’re coming for you.

  Somehow, I keep it nonchalant, which I have never before been capable of where Haruki is concerned. I remember what Keiko said, about light-hearted questions. ‘That depends. What’s your milkshake of choice? There’s only one correct answer.’

  ‘Yikes, no pressure.’ His forehead crinkles as he considers this. ‘Uh . . . chocolate.’

  ‘Oooooh, he strikes out.’

  ‘Wait! No!’ He’s struggling to keep his voice a whisper now. ‘What’s the right answer?’

  ‘Vanilla,’ I say simply, jotting down an equation on my paper.

  ‘You have to be kidding me.’

  As I write, I defend one of my more passionate religious beliefs. ‘Look, vanilla gets a bad rep. It’s used as an insult, an allegory for plainness, but it’s perfectly sweet and creamy, with a hint of umami, and just generally all-round awesome, okay?’

  ‘Wow. You really feel strongly about milkshakes.’

  ‘Anyone who doesn’t is an idiot.’

  Haruki smiles his goddamn perfect smile and says, ‘So is that a yes?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Will you go out for milkshakes with me?’

  I allow a long enough pause for him to sweat, then bite my lip to stop the disbelieving laughter falling out. ‘When?’

  He shrugs and lays down his pencils. ‘I’m free right now.’

  ‘We’re in Physics,’ I hiss. Ms Granger, the doctor will see you now.

  He makes a pfft noise. ‘No shit, Gracie Hart.’

  I gape at him. ‘Gracie Hart?’

  ‘From Miss Congeniality.’

  ‘No, I know who she is. But isn’t the phrase “No shit, Sherlock”?’