The Love Hypothesis

by Laura Steven

  ‘Please. Sandra Bullock would kick that crusty old English dude’s ass any day of the week.’ He says this with the exact same level of passion I used to defend vanilla milkshakes, and it’s . . . extremely attractive. There’s a weird throbbing in my lower belly.

  Giggling now, I mutter, ‘I can’t cut class.’

  He holds his hands up in defeat. ‘Okay, Little Miss Honor Roll. After school?’

  ‘Sounds great, Little Mister Prom King.’

  Holy shit.

  Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

  I want to marry these miracle pills. I want to bottle this feeling, except I’ll never have to save it for a rainy day because as long as I have these drugs, I’ll be invincible. I’ll get everything I ever wanted, and then some.

  People say you can’t have it all. And up until now, I really believed my trade-off for a giant brain was below-average looks and little to no self esteem. When I pictured my future, I always imagined myself pioneering earth-shattering research – but coming home to an empty house.

  But no more. I can have it all. And I intend to grab it with both hands.

  After class, I bound over to Keiko’s locker like actual Bambi, fighting the urge to shriek and squeal. She and Gabriela are touching up their lipstick, but both stop dead when I leap in front of them and say: ‘Haruki asked me out!’

  ‘No fucking way!’ Keiko grins, smacking her violet lips together. ‘Get it, gurl!’

  ‘That’s amazing, Caro!’ Gabriela says, but she looks a little worried. ‘And please forget all the stuff we said about him before, okay? He seems great, and if he’s into you, that’s all we care about.’

  My lovely sensitive friend. She’s too precious for words. ‘Oh, don’t worry Gabs. I know you were just having my back.’

  Keiko rearranges her bangs in her jewelled pocket mirror. ‘So, what are you going to wear? Do you want Gabriela to do your makeup?’

  ‘Nope,’ I say simply. ‘And I’m wearing this. We’re going straight after school.’

  Keiko laughs. ‘I admire your confidence.’

  ‘Is that a backhanded compliment?’ I frown.

  ‘No!’ she says quickly. ‘Forreal. It’s nice to see you feel comfortable in your own skin for a change. I want more of this Caro.’

  I smile back, warmth spreading through my chest. ‘Long may it last!’

  And it will. It will, it will, it will. Because science has my back. And so do my friends.

  Thank you, Professor Pablo Sousa. Thank you.

  10

  The entire stroll into town smells of barbecues and hot sidewalks. The sun is warm on our faces, even though a few defiant leaves have begun to turn orange.

  As I walk past, a group of sophomores playing softball in the park all stop to stare at me. Haruki puffs his chest out, as though he’s never been more proud to be seen with the physics geek of the East Coast. This is all, surely, an elaborate dream.

  When we arrive, the diner is pretty empty, since basically everyone is outside enjoying the late summer sun. The windows are yawning open to let the pleasant air in, but the diner still smells of pancake batter and crispy bacon.

  ‘So, what’s your deal?’ Haruki asks, once we settle into a window booth and order two vanilla milkshakes. Victory, thy name is Caro.

  I rearrange the straps of my tank top beneath my denim overalls. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Like . . . where’d you grow up, what is your family like, what are your hobbies?’

  An upbeat acoustic song starts playing over the speakers. ‘I grew up over on Laurel with my two dads and my cockapoo, Sirius.’

  Haruki grins, all dimples and white teeth. ‘Nice. From Harry Potter?’

  ‘What’s Harry Potter?’ I ask innocently.

  ‘Just a small, niche franchise. I wouldn’t expect you to have heard of it.’

  I snort. I’m kind of surprised by how not-nervous I am. By removing the fear of failure or rejection, the pills are giving me an extra layer of confidence. ‘Okay, hobbies . . . I’m in chess club, because nerd life, but I’m not really any good at it. Um, I like gardening with my dad. Watching my best friend Keiko sing.’ I’m only just starting to realize how few hobbies I have. At least ones that I do just for me, not because they’re what the other person wants to do – or what I feel like I should be doing. ‘I really want to try running,’ I blurt out. ‘I think I could be really quick.’

  Haruki tilts his head to one side. ‘Oh yeah? I mean. Makes sense. You got those long limbs going on.’

  HE HAS NOTICED THE PROPORTIONS OF MY APPENDAGES. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

  ‘Exactly! I know I always hang at the back,’ I hurriedly explain. ‘But that’s just because my friends hate cross-country.’

  Our milkshakes arrive, and I take a long sip. It’s creamy and sweet, made with real vanilla pods. Even Haruki gives it an approving look, like dayyuuuummm.

  ‘Your friends seem cool, though,’ he says, and I’m weirdly disappointed the conversation moved away from me so fast.

  ‘You know them?’

  ‘Yeah, well, obviously Ryan’s obsessed with Gabriela. They’re joined at the hip. Have been since he saw her at the beach in what was it . . . summer before freshman year?’ An eye-roll that’s not entirely genuine. ‘He’s shallow like that.’

  This kind of makes me cringe. Like, I know Gabriela is a supermodel. There’s no need to bring it up on this . . . date, or whatever.

  Still, I’ll never not defend the honor of my friends. ‘Luckily she’s a pretty great person too.’

  Haruki stirs what’s left of his milkshake with a jumbo paper straw. He’s already devoured, like, eighty-five percent of the delicious nectar of the gods. ‘And my sister’s a big fan of Keiko’s band.’

  I groan. ‘So I’m the only unknown entity.’

  ‘Uh, no.’ He meets my eyes and smiles. ‘You’re Physics Genius Girl.’

  ‘I’ll take it,’ I concede.

  A sparrow flies full-tilt into the window pane. Haruki screams. Like an actual, high-pitched banshee scream. I immediately begin laughing uncontrollably.

  ‘So you and your friends . . . you seem really different.’ He ruffles his hair, which is kinda disheveled thanks to the heat and the unmitigated shock of a rogue sparrow. ‘Like in high school, people mostly hang out with other people with the same interests, you know? Theater nerds, football jocks, whatever. They stick in their genre. Whereas you guys are all so individual.’

  My already damaged ego flinches at this. Is he hinting that I’m not as cool as my friends? Or am I just unbelievably paranoid at this point? Seriously, nobody ever give me weed. I would call the cops on my own shadow.

  ‘Yeah, I mean we’ve been inseparable since middle school,’ I explain. ‘And while we do dabble in other groups, like chess and cheerleading, we just . . . like each other, I guess. Although we do revel in lightly bullying each other.’

  ‘Like how?’ Haruki asks.

  I show him some of the five million messages I’ve received from Keiko in the group chat in the last twenty minutes.

  Delighted to announce that I have now learned Beyoncé’s entire Homecoming set by heart. Shall perform it for y’all this weekend. Please bring racially insensitive headdresses to complete the authentic Coachella experience.

  Caro, you are not allowed to participate in the race jokes on account of how white you are.

  WWII sucked and all, but you’re not actually Jewish and thus have never been oppressed. Vati is fair game.

  ‘That’s hilarious,’ Haruki says, and I can tell his laughter is genuine.

  ‘It’s just easy when we’re together,’ I say. ‘And yeah, we’re all different. Everyone’s individual, you know? We just embrace it more.’

  A weird expression flits across his face. ‘You’re making me jealous.’

  ‘In what way?’

  He pauses to figure out his words. A new song starts, and something clatters back in the kitchen. The croaky voice of an old woman swears flui
dly and excessively.

  ‘Sometimes I feel like my guy friends are all carbon copies of each other,’ he mumbles, suddenly unsure of himself. ‘We all do sports, all play video games, we all drink and watch NFL and hook up with girls on weekends.’ This last part makes me blush, or cringe, or something. ‘And, like, I know they all must have things they’re secretly interested in outside of that stuff. I definitely do. But it’s like nobody will stick their head above the parapet and be like, actually, I’m passionate about this thing.’

  Now it’s my head’s turn to tilt. ‘What’s your secret interest?’

  The conversation is somewhat interrupted when a large plate of waffles arrives in front of me.

  ‘We didn’t order –’

  The pink-haired waitress rolls her eyes and says, ‘From my colleague Stu.’ She gestures at the waffles, which I now notice are adorned with a maple-syrup penis, and whipped cream to represent . . . well. ‘By colleague, I mean immature fuckbucket. Uh, except I’m not supposed to swear at customers anymore. So . . . frickbucket. Anyway. Please don’t dock my tip.’

  Haruki splutters milkshake everywhere as I giggle at the plate, for lack of anything better to do. I snap a pic and send it to the group chat, accompanied by the eggplant emoji. Then I grab a fork and dig in.

  Haruki stares at me in astonishment/horror. ‘You’re not actually going to eat those, are you?’

  ‘It’s not a real dick, Haruki,’ I say earnestly. ‘And you should never turn down free waffles. Anyway, I haven’t forgotten my question. Secret interest, please.’

  Haruki grimaces and stares out on to the street. A lanky girl who can’t be any older than eleven dribbles a soccer ball down the sidewalk, weaving in and out of disgruntled pensioners. ‘You can’t laugh at the dorkiness.’

  ‘Girls don’t really do that,’ I say, through a mouthful of fluffy waffle. ‘Gabriela could tell us she crocheted sweaters for wood pigeons and we’d be like, cool, show us!’

  ‘Okay.’ He begins studying the menu intently, as though it’s some kind of religious text. Maybe it is. I don’t know how strong his beliefs are regarding burgers. ‘I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but . . . I used to love HEMA.’

  I blink. ‘The what?’

  He looks a little bit like he wants to die. ‘Historical European Martial Arts.’

  ‘Oh, like swordplay?’

  ‘Exactly. I . . . did it all the time as a kid, went to tournaments all over the state with my uncle and cousin. And I really miss it.’

  ‘So why’d you stop?’

  ‘I dunno.’ He frowns. ‘I just became fifteen and self-conscious and . . . stopped.’

  I gape at him in disbelief. ‘You, Haruki Ito, are self-conscious?’

  ‘Uh, yeah? Why’d you say it like that?’

  I laugh, and can’t stop the following words from spilling out: ‘Do you have no awareness of how hot you are?’

  Gahhhh. Why, Caro?

  But Haruki barely seems to notice the blatant thirst klaxon. ‘I mean . . . guys don’t really care about that. If you want to impress other dudes, it’s about how you act, not how you look.’

  I nod in fake understanding. ‘Masculinity sounds very tiring.’

  He shrugs, like, what are you gonna do? Then says, ‘Anyway, what’s your deal?’

  I lay down my fork, having absolutely demolished the dick waffles. ‘You already asked me that.’

  Now it’s his turn to look a little nervous. ‘No, like . . . your deal. Are you single?’

  ‘Eternally.’

  Why did I have to say this? What is wrong with me? Just when I’m beginning to forge a reputation as the hottest property in North America, why point out my past as a sexual pariah? Should I just come right out and say I’ve had more intercourse with the showerhead than any actual human beings?

  ‘Okay, so . . . do you want to hang out again sometime?’ He grins. ‘Because I’m very aware we didn’t talk about physics, like, at all.’

  My heart soars. Is this actually happening? Have I just spent a half hour in Haruki Ito’s company, being completely and utterly myself, and now he wants to know more?

  I mean, okay, so the pills lured him here. I know that, and so the win is hardly mine to claim. But I do think our connection was real, beneath all the pheromones.

  When I say, ‘Yes, I would love that,’ I want to drink the moment in like the tallest, creamiest milkshake in the world.

  11

  The next day, I only see Haruki once in school, but he smiles and says ‘Hey’ when we pass each other in the corridor. Instead of mocking him, like they probably usually would, his friends just look impressed and vaguely jealous. My pride feels like a helium balloon about to burst, straining against my ribcage and living me up off the ground.

  The loving attention from the rest of the school population only proves to escalate. And I do mean the rest. Not only do I gain a bona fide posse of fans who follow me down the hallways, I also find myself cringing in my high tops when a couple of male faculty members stare at me in a not entirely teachery way.

  Coupled with the fact that this morning, someone crashed into a stop sign as I walked past, I’m learning very quickly that romantic attention is not actually universally positive. There are definitely creepy aspects to it. Another unexpected one is that the pills seem to work on freshmen, and there’s something a little skin-crawling about having fourteen-year-olds be super into you. I’d imagine if you’re someone like Keiko, who’s used to having fans of all ages, it wouldn’t be a big deal. But I’m entirely new to having people look at me in that way, and it’s taking some getting used to.

  Still, the knowledge that Haruki Ito is into me is more than enough to offset the slightly less pleasant aspects of the pheromones.

  Keiko walks me to chess club after final period, as usual. And, as usual, we talk about her music. She’s busy sharing her eighty-two-point plan for world domination, which begins with sending demo tapes to east coast managers, and ends with performing a duet with Nicki Minaj. I have heard this plan in excess of five hundred times.

  As she talks, all chirpy and fast, irritation pricks at me. While Gabriela demanded all the details of my milkshake date as we walked to study hall this morning, Keiko still hasn’t asked how it went. Maybe she’s just obsessed with passing the Bechdel test, and maybe she just can’t relate because she’s not really the dating type, but it leaves me feeling a little deflated.

  The second there’s a pause for breath in her diatribe, I interject with, ‘Hey, aren’t you going to ask me about my date with Haruki?’

  This catches us both off-guard. I never interrupt Keiko. So this is kind of an out-of-body experience for me. My soul has escaped through my earhole and is hovering above the situation, howling in warning.

  Keiko blinks, her glittery mascara glinting under the strip lighting. ‘I mean, I just assumed it went well when I saw the dick waffles.’

  ‘It did,’ I say, staring at my feet. I’m already regretting the minor confrontation, as is my soul, which is now mimicking an air-raid siren. ‘But don’t you want to know what we talked about? Whether we kissed?’

  Keiko grins in a you-sly-dog sort of manner. ‘Did you?’

  ‘No. But still.’

  ‘Okay.’ A slightly awkward pause. She scuffs her Doc Martens along the linoleum. ‘What did you talk about?’

  I look up at her, inspiration striking for how to get her back on side. ‘You came up, actually. His sister is a fan.’

  She puffs out her chest exaggeratedly. ‘Sounds like I’ll make it to point six on the world domination plan sooner than previously thought. Are you going out again?’

  ‘Yup!’ I grin. ‘To the movies on Saturday.’

  Keiko smiles. She looks like she might be about to squeeze my shoulder, but thinks better of it. ‘I’m really happy for you, dude. I know you’ve crushed on him forever.’

  I smile warmly. This is all I needed from her. ‘Thanks, Kiks.’

  We walk past
Emily and Ethan, the Griffin twins, as they pin a poster to the noticeboard outside the auditorium. This time, Emily still stares at Keiko as she passes, but Ethan gazes at me, transfixed. Keiko frowns at him, and then at me, like something has changed and she doesn’t entirely like it.

  We arrive outside chess club. ‘Go kill some kings, or whatever.’

  Surprise surprise, Mateo is waiting for me inside. He’s already set up the board, claiming white for himself.

  The difference this time is that when I walk in, almost everyone in the room stops and stares at me. And for some reason, this time it makes me feel weird. It’s one thing to trick the jocks and the cheerleaders into thinking you’re attractive, but entirely another to con your own people. Plus, I was kind of ready for a break. Just to play chess and be normal Caro for a bit.

  The classroom is stiflingly hot. I pull back my chair and flop down opposite Mateo, who gazes at me in a way he has never looked at anything before.

  ‘There’s something different about you,’ he murmurs reverently.

  I smirk, still kind of enjoying the feeling of having a little power over him. ‘Nope.’

  ‘There is. Did you cut your hair?’

  ‘That must be it.’

  He barely looks down as we glide through the opening few moves. Muscle memory kicks in, guiding him to castle his king and develop his knights, but there doesn’t seem to be any kind of thought process going on behind his eyes. He’s too busy staring at me, equal parts suspicious and aroused.

  I set up my pieces like I always do – in an almost impenetrable fortress. Mateo is distracted enough to leave his dark-square bishop hanging, so I grab that with my knight. It leaves a small gap to my king, but Mateo doesn’t capitalize on it, and starts maneuvering a set piece I’ve seen him play a thousand times before. Not only do I manage to block it, but I manage to capture a couple pawns and his light-square bishop too.

  Then I have a decision to make. I can either move my pieces back to where they were before, or use the advantage I’ve given myself to do what I never do and go on the attack.