Meg & Linus

by Hanna Nowinski

  He makes a thoughtful face and taps the end of the pen against his pursed lips. “Uh—random at first? Because strictly chronological is difficult anyway with the Deep Space Nine and Next Generation overlap.”

  “True.” I nod. “In that case, Next Generation: ‘Inner Light.’ Season five.”

  He wrinkles his nose at me. “Really?”

  I reach out and tap the paper impatiently with my index finger. “Yes. Random brainstorming. Write it down. I like that episode.”

  “Okay, fine.” He sighs, but he does write it down. His handwriting is neat, small letters, slanted just a little to the right. “This means I’ll make you sit through that Voyager episode where the Doc daydreams about being a hero.”

  I groan. “I knew it. But yeah, okay. I guess that’s fair.”

  I drink my coffee while Linus gets out his phone to look up the title of that episode—not even nerds like us know all of the titles by heart. I’m still sad, but I’m really glad Linus just lets me be distracted. Unlike my mom, who wants to “talk” about it all the time. Sometimes I really just want to remember that I still do have things worth getting up for in the morning. Like hanging out with my best friend.

  Chapter 10

  Linus

  WE TAKE TURNS ADDING EPISODES to the list, and I think it’s really coming along nicely. It’ll take us quite a while to watch everything on the list, especially since our time during the school year is limited, what with homework and all that. But it’s nice, having something constant to look forward to whenever we have some downtime.

  The longer we’re sitting here discussing episodes, the more Meg’s smile starts looking real. It makes me happy to see her smile. And it helps me forget about the message from Sophia I got earlier. I know I have to respond to that eventually—it would be rude not to—but I don’t even want to think about it right now.

  “You know, you claim you like the social commentary and yet here you are adding every cracky episode ever made to the list. Maybe you should rethink what kind of a fan you really want to be,” Meg says, rolling her eyes at me.

  “What? They’re funny!” I huff out a breath. “Don’t tell me you don’t like the funny ones; you know I’ve heard you laugh at some of this stuff before.”

  She leans back in her chair, grin challenging. “So your thesis is that entertainment has a higher value than things that make you think and possibly encourage you to learn new things?”

  I laugh out loud at that. We’ve had this argument many times. Well. It’s not really an argument; we pretty much agree. But it’s still fun. “No,” I answer. “I’m saying that they can be the same thing. And that entertainment has value separate from any possible thought-provoking content, because making people laugh or offering them an escape from reality can be as valuable as making them smarter or more informed.”

  “Yes, but can’t intellectual stimulation also be an escape?” She smirks at me.

  “Sure it can, but that doesn’t mean funny stuff can’t.”

  Meg thinks for a second. “Art is just as important as medical research and politics? That’s what it comes down to, isn’t it?”

  “I’d say it does.” I tilt my coffee cup to check if it’s really empty. “In the … big picture. Whatever that is. Hey, do you want another—?” I wave my cup at her.

  She nods, grabs her own cup to follow me into the kitchen. “Always.”

  “I think we have cookies somewhere,” I tell her, sliding the back door open. “Unless Dad ate all of them for breakfast again.”

  “Chocolate chip?” Meg asks.

  I give her a stern look over my shoulder. “Do you even need to ask?”

  “Hey, a few weeks ago you suddenly had Oreos. I’m still confused about that.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know what that was about,” I admit. “I think Dad got confused when he went shopping. Mom specifically put ‘chocolate chip cookies’ on the next shopping list and underlined it five times for good measure.”

  “I don’t understand your mom’s strange aversion to Oreos.” Meg sighs. “But at least I can count on the contents of your cookie cupboard to provide some stability in my life. Well, most of the time anyway.”

  I grin and shake my head at her and lead the way into the kitchen to get our refills. “Oh, do we include the movies in the rewatch?” I ask.

  She considers it for a moment. “We could. If we watch them on the weekends.”

  “Well, it’s not like I have other plans on a Saturday,” I tell her, and she laughs and pats my shoulder.

  “That’s okay. I don’t, either. Well, not anymore. At least we have our friends from Starfleet, right?”

  I bite my lip, mentally kicking myself for bringing up weekend plans. I didn’t want to remind her of Sophia. But we’ll go right back to our list-making once we have our coffee. I can’t fix this for her, but I can make sure to offer distraction and copious amounts of caffeine until she’s ready to finally talk about what happened.

  Chapter 11

  Meg

  I GET HOME JUST AROUND dinnertime after hanging out with Linus all afternoon. I’m feeling mostly okay. Spending some time being distracted really helped.

  Since I have the entire evening to myself now that my girlfriend is not only living several hours away but is also, you know, no longer my girlfriend, I decide that the best way to spend my time is to watch movies.

  I like movies. And also, I know that this year at school is going to take a turn for the busy and exhausting very, very soon, what with all the homework and clubs and extra studying I have to find time for. I am a firm believer in taking your breaks when they present themselves, before things get crazy all on their own again.

  Besides, if I actually want to help Linus approach that guy he likes, I should probably educate myself on all the ways of setting people up romantically. And what’s better than a good and completely unrealistic movie plot to give me ideas?

  I start with The Parent Trap because that movie is delightful and it’s also on Netflix and I also feel that it might have the best material for helping me to come up with a plan to throw two people together.

  So Linus and Danny Singh, Mystery Guy, are not my parents. And I definitely don’t want my parents back together—we’re all better off with them divorced. But I think the basic concept of setting two people up to spend time together can be applied to different levels and degrees of relation and acquaintances.

  Which reminds me, halfway into the movie, that I don’t really know anything about him. If I want to set him up with my best friend, I should probably find out a few things about him first. I’m almost one hundred percent sure he’s a transfer student because I’ve never seen him around before today, but just in case I decide to check.

  I pause the movie and go get last year’s yearbook from my room—if he was at our school last year I’m guessing he’s a senior like Linus and me or maybe a junior, but no younger than that. He shouldn’t be too hard to find.

  I unpause the movie once I’m back in the living room, drop into my spot on the couch, and prop my feet up on the coffee table (Mom’s still at work so she can’t yell at me for it) before I open the yearbook, its spine resting between my knees.

  I start flipping through the pages, hoping to spot something that could help me, but after about twenty seconds I land on page twenty-three, which has a really huge group photo of last year’s drama club, and in the middle of that picture is Sophia. I snap the book shut and drop it to the floor in a sudden burst of anger. Does everything always have to remind me of her? Why won’t she leave me alone? Isn’t it enough that she already called twice this week? I haven’t even been able to make myself pick up the phone.

  Maybe it’s because it’s only been two weeks, but I really don’t want to be reminded of her right now. Which kind of makes me think that signing up for drama club with Linus might not be the best idea. Sophia lived for drama club. It’s not going to be easy, having to pretend like it doesn’t get to me at all.


  The front door opens and closes and I drop my feet from the coffee table in a smooth, practiced reflex.

  “Meg?” my mom calls, and I pause the movie again, frowning at the digital clock on the DVD player as she enters the living room, still in her summer blazer and with her heavy purse hanging over her shoulder.

  “Mom? You’re late. Like, crazy late!”

  “I know. Crazy day. I’m not even finished yet, but people were insisting on eating canned tuna in the office so I decided to take the rest of my work home for the day. It’s just mostly reading anyway.”

  “I want to be able to do that at school.” I let out a dreamy sigh. “If I could just take my work home with me whenever people decide that French class is the perfect place to start spitball attacks on each other—”

  “Doesn’t that ever go out of style?” Mom slips her blazer off, throws it over the back of a nearby chair. For some reason, our living room is full of random chairs. Some are used for sitting, but even more seem to be Mom’s idea of interior design. Some are used as stands for our various potted plants. Some are even functioning as makeshift bookshelves.

  “Guess not.” I shrug. “It’s gross.”

  Mom walks over and sits down next to me on the couch. “It’s spit-soaked paper, yeah, it’s gross! What are we watching?”

  “We?” I shove her a little, grinning. “Mom, you have to work! You can’t get fired—you need to support me in the lifestyle I am accustomed to!”

  She squints at the screen. “Is that The Parent Trap?”

  “Excellent eye.”

  “Also, they’re not firing me, they need me.”

  “Of course they do,” I agree, and pick up the remote to unpause the movie.

  My mother works at the Museum of Archaeology, which is awesome because on more than one occasion she’s brought me along to work and I could visit the exhibition without paying, and usually I can even bring a friend. Linus loves the museum. Sophia used to love it, too.

  But then, Sophia also used to love me.

  I stare through the movie on the screen and suddenly feel miserable again.

  Mom looks at the yearbook on the floor, then back up at me. “Meg?” she asks.

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you okay?”

  I swallow heavily and nod. Second time I’ve been asked that today. I don’t like that people have to ask me this. “Yeah.”

  “You don’t have to be okay, you know? Not right now.”

  I nod again. “Thank you. I know.”

  She’s quiet for a little while and we just watch the movie. I know that she’s, in all likelihood, not done asking me if I’m okay and she’s not done trying to get me to “talk,” whatever good that is supposed to do. But I appreciate the fact that, for now at least, we can just sit here and be silent.

  “If you want to, we can have pancakes for dinner,” she suggests.

  And I wipe my nose on my sleeve and laugh even though I don’t want to. “I’d like that. Thanks, Mom.”

  She hugs me from the side and kisses my hair and it’s nice to know that at least I’m not alone. “Anytime, Meggie.”

  If I get pancakes for dinner, I’ll even let her use the hated nickname.

  Chapter 12

  Linus

  WHAT IS THE PROTOCOL FOR chatting with your best friend’s ex-girlfriend, specifically if you still, through no fault of your own, don’t have any real details about their breakup?

  I want to be there for Meg. She’s my friend. But here’s where it gets complicated: So is Sophia.

  So, Sophia is not my best friend the way Meg is. But I do feel loyalty toward her, too, and I still really don’t know what the hell happened between them and I am really very well aware of the fact that it is none of my business and that I should respectfully keep out of it.

  Which I had every intention of doing earlier this afternoon when I decided that I wouldn’t pry and just take care of my friend instead.

  Now Meg has gone home and I’m sitting here with my laptop, trying to decide what to do about Sophia’s message. Because I have to do something, but I simply have no idea what.

  My hands are a little sweaty and my stomach feels weird; I don’t want to do the wrong thing and make matters worse. But here I am staring at my laptop screen and there is Sophia’s message, still just there, still just staring back at me, prompting me to respond in some way. I don’t want to be rude!

  The question is: Which is ruder? Ignoring Sophia’s message or talking to her when Meg doesn’t even talk about her?

  I bite my lip and think, and it’s not like Meg told me I have to hate Sophia now or that I can’t talk to her. I don’t think even Meg hates Sophia. She’s just upset. And Meg knows that I’m friends with Sophia, too.

  And how can I ignore a message like that?

  How is she?

  Is this what it feels like when your parents get divorced and you feel like you have to pick a side? But no, that seems overly dramatic and inappropriate as a comparison.

  I make up my mind and type out my reply, hoping to everything I don’t particularly believe in that I’m not doing anything wrong.

  Sorry for the late response. She’s okay.

  Sophia, apparently still online even though it took me hours to write back, responds within seconds.

  No problem. Are you sure? You don’t have to spare my feelings. I know she probably hates me.

  I think about it, and decide to go with the truth.

  She didn’t say much about what happened between you guys. And I don’t know how much I should tell you, because I don’t want to upset her.

  It takes a while before Sophia replies this time, and I’m just hoping I wasn’t too rude.

  I get that, she writes. I don’t want you to betray her trust. It’s enough that I hurt her by dumping her.

  I hesitate for only a moment, but I need to ask this. I’m sorry. I’m only human. I’m weak.

  What did you do?

  Again, there’s a few seconds’ pause before her reply comes through.

  It’s complicated. I was worried she was making rash decisions about college. For me. Also I didn’t want us to have to live through a year’s separation feeling like we were tied down by someone who was never there.

  Oh. I shake my head, and the thing is, I get it. Kind of. I don’t understand it fully, but I don’t have to.

  That makes sense, I write back.

  No it doesn’t, she writes immediately. I made a mistake, I know that now.

  Well. I slump back in my seat and don’t really know what to say to that.

  I’m sorry, I type.

  It’s my own stupid fault, comes her reply.

  I can’t pretend to be an expert on whose fault anything is. But all the same, this makes my heart hurt. I don’t want them to be unhappy. Either of them.

  Have you tried talking to her? I ask.

  She won’t take my calls.

  Is there anything I can do?

  For a while, nothing happens. Then she writes:

  I know you’re already there for her. And it’s really not my place to ask you for anything else.

  You can still always ask, I promise her. I’ll listen!

  Thank you, she writes. I have to go right now. But actually … if you’re sure you don’t mind, can I ask you for one little favor first?

  Just told you that you could!

  Can you give her a hug from me? Don’t tell her it’s from me, though.

  I swallow, and maybe this is a bit like watching your parents get divorced. In a very quiet, very quick divorce, with both of them clearly still in love with each other.

  She loves hugs, I write back.

  Yeah. I know.

  Not a problem, I promise. Consider it done.

  She responds with a simple >3 and I close my laptop and then close my eyes for a moment.

  What a mess. And I have no idea how to really help either of them.

  Chapter 13

  Meg

  AFTER I G
OT ABSOLUTELY NOWHERE with my Danny Singh, Mystery Guy, research last evening, I am already thinking of different ways to find out more about him today so that I can determine whether or not he’s right for Linus. And then, when I walk into my second-period math class, there he is right there in the second row, chewing his bottom lip and looking a bit nervous.

  I really am quite certain that he is a new transfer—the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that I have never seen him around before.

  I get confirmation for this when our teacher walks into the room and Danny immediately hurries up to the front to hand her a slip of paper and explain with a lot of hand-waving and smiling how sorry he is for missing class yesterday. Apparently he had a doctor’s appointment.

  Ms. Gilbert sends him back to his seat with an answering smile and a pat on the back, and he sits down, looking significantly less nervous.

  I keep sneaking glances at him all during class to figure out how good of an idea it is to simply approach him after class and introduce myself. It seems the easiest way to get him and Linus closer together. I can befriend him and introduce them. He would look adorable next to Linus. They can fall madly in love and get their picture-perfect happy ending and thank me in their self-written wedding vows for getting them together in the first place.

  So as soon as class ends I make sure to keep a close eye on him, ready to hurry out or hang back depending on what he is going to do.

  What he does is get out of his seat and walk back up to the front to approach the teacher.

  I pack away my things slowly, drop a few papers on the floor deliberately so I can pick them back up while looking not at all as if I’m eavesdropping on the conversation at the front of the classroom.

  “Danny,” Ms. Gilbert is saying, “how may I help you?”

  Danny shrugs. “It’s, uh. I don’t mean to cause any trouble, but—some of the stuff you mentioned today … I don’t think we covered that in my last school. I’m afraid I’m not quite—I mean—”