Dear Isaac Newton, You're Ruining My Life

by Rachel Hruza

  “Believe me, there are options,” my mother said, eying me from the driver’s seat. She smiled. “But not too many.”

  “You know, you’re really pushing this friendship with Oliver, Mom. Are you trying to arrange a marriage or something?”

  “Don’t be silly. You’re too young to even think about that.” My mother rolled her eyes.

  “So you’re saying it’s our age you don’t like, and not the fact he can’t keep his hands off my turtley body?”

  “Truth Trendon!” My mom parked the car in front of Oliver’s house and turned to face me.

  “I’m kidding!” I said.

  “I hope you don’t talk like that in front of your friends.”

  I widened my eyes and shrugged, dramatically feigning innocence.

  My mother narrowed her eyes but got out of the car. “I give up,” she said, wrapping her arms around my shoulders as she guided me out of the car and up to the door. “I’ll tell your father we’re done with you. You’re as good as you’re going to get.”

  “You really are the lucky ones,” I said.

  She kissed the top of my head and rang the doorbell.

  Oliver answered. Again, just as it had been at my house, it was strange to see him outside of school. I didn’t expect him to be out of his chair or anything, but I felt almost as if I’d been zapped to another dimension.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hi,” I said, imitating his nonchalance.

  “Oliver!” My mom stepped into the house like she owned the place and hugged him. “Truth has just been saying the nicest things about you!”

  I thought about what I’d said in the car and I burst out laughing.

  “What?” Oliver asked, his gaze flitting between my mother and me.

  “I’ll tell you in a minute,” I said.

  My mother squeezed my arm and muttered under her breath, “You better not.”

  I stifled my laughter and followed Oliver down the hallway. He turned left into a room that would have been brightly lit, had it not been for the navy curtains covering the windows. My eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim lighting compared to the sunlit entryway we’d just left.

  “So,” I said, feeling suddenly aware I was alone with a boy in his bedroom. Besides Harold’s bedroom, I’d never been in a boy’s room before. I felt as if I’d leveled up or crossed some threshold nearer to teenagedom than ever before. “Am I the first girl to see the man cave?” I winced as soon as the words left my mouth. I wasn’t off to a stellar afternoon of self-confidence and poise.

  “No,” Oliver said, raising his eyebrows at me as if he were talking to a child who’d just said the grass was blue. “I do have friends outside of the ones forced to come visit me.”

  “Of course you do,” I said, suddenly blushing. “I—I n-never meant—”

  “Truth, calm down. Have a seat before you hyperventilate.”

  I took a deep breath and sat on the edge of his bed, which was really the only place to sit. Oliver had moved to his desk, where he started typing on his keyboard while a group of computer-generated characters fought on the screen of his laptop.

  “I’ll be done in a second.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, taking the opportunity to look around the room. I was surprised to see several toys, mostly building-block sets portraying various spaceships and scenes from different fantasy and science-fiction movies, sitting on the bookshelves on either side of his bed. There were a few framed posters, one of a band I recognized from his t-shirt, and another of a warrior hero from some movie I wasn’t deemed mature enough to see yet. There was a stuffed animal sitting near his pillow.

  I grinned and grabbed it. It was a stuffed moose with a plaid scarf around its neck. “This guy got a name?”

  Oliver looked up, and to my surprise, he blushed. With surprising swiftness, he closed his laptop, wheeled over, grabbed the stuffed animal, and shoved it in his closet.

  “Moose,” he said.

  “Don’t you think it’s a bit rude to shove Moose away like that? Maybe he’s afraid of the dark.”

  “Shut up,” Oliver said, but he grinned at me. “So, what have you been telling your mom about me? I’m just too much of a man that you can’t keep your hands off me?”

  I laughed so hard I nearly fell over onto the bed. I told him what I’d said and he laughed too.

  We calmed down, and I wiped my eyes. “Sorry if you’re bummed I’m here,” I said after a beat. “I know we’re being forced to spend a lot of time together lately.”

  “You know, you’re not actually that bad. Some people might call you downright tolerable.”

  “Yeah? What a compliment. You know just how to warm a girl’s heart.”

  “Naw. I just know you.”

  I’d been teasing, but Oliver’s voice sounded serious. I tried to lighten the mood. “What’s the deal with all these toys? You afraid to grow up or something?”

  “Yeah, Peter Pan visits me at night and I fly away. These floppy legs are actually great wings.”

  I stared at the floor. I never knew what to say about his physical disabilities.

  “You don’t have to be afraid of offending me, you know,” Oliver said, after a few moments of silence.

  “I don’t like to upset people,” I said.

  “Well, I’m not ‘people.’ Your popularity isn’t going to be affected on account of me.”

  “I …” I hesitated. When I was with Oliver, I honestly didn’t think about my social status. Whenever I told him a story of nearly being caught with my brace or tripping up the stairs, I just cared about his reaction.

  “Fine, but I don’t want to upset people I care about,” I said, my voice sounding less chipper and more serious than I’d intended.

  To my surprise, Oliver didn’t tease me. Instead, he nodded. “That’s an admirable quality.” He narrowed his eyes. “I guess.”

  I laughed and shoved his shoulder.

  He grabbed it and winced.

  “Oh my gosh!” I said, standing up and covering my mouth. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to hurt you—”

  His loud laughter sent my fear reeling into annoyance.

  “That’s not funny!” I said, hitting him again.

  He finished laughing and then sighed with satisfaction. “I was just seeing if I was someone you care about,” he said, teasing me.

  “Not anymore,” I said.

  “Yeah, right,” he said. He left the room and I followed him to the living room. He climbed from his wheelchair and lifted himself onto the couch, where he reclined and extended his legs out onto the footrest. His feet moved once in a while, and I realized he was moving them on his own. Interesting. He turned to look at me once he’d gotten comfortable.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “For what?” I asked, baffled.

  “For not looking at me with pity, like nearly everyone else I know does. Even my parents do once in a while. But you just observe. It’s refreshing.”

  I sat down on the other end of the couch, leaving a seat between us.

  “You’re welcome?” I said. “I wasn’t aware of my refreshingness.”

  He laughed. “Good. If you have to think about it, it’s not as refreshing.”

  We sat together on the couch watching a rerun of an old sitcom, sometimes in silence, sometimes disagreeing about the quality of it (he thought it was predictable and bland; I found it hopeful and encouraging). I realized how comfortable I felt—not once did I worry about what Oliver thought about something before I gave my opinion. I felt more like Before-Brace Truth. Confident and happy and content to be me. To be honest, it was a very “refreshing” feeling.

  The next morning, though, Newton’s plans for my demise were already back in full swing. Brendan stopped by my house—he’d won a local scholarship for football camp that summer. His mom and older sister had gone shopping, but he wanted to share the news with someone, so he’d come over to tell me. I was flattered and honored.

  “That’
s awesome!” I said, excited that he was excited. I invited him in to join me at the kitchen table, where I was drawing a picture for Megan of her cat, Mr. Winston.

  “I brought the letter,” Brendan said.

  “Cool,” I said as I started working on my sketch again. “Read it aloud to me.”

  “No, I’ll feel weird. Like I’m being cocky or something. And you’ll read it faster than I can, anyway.” He tried to hand it to me.

  “Come on, Brendan,” I said, “I’m almost done with this. Just read it. I won’t think you’re bragging or anything.”

  I looked back at my sketch of the cat. He needed more fat rolls.

  “I don’t want to read it,” Brendan said.

  “Fine, then don’t.”

  He was silent, and out of the corner of my eye, I realized he was staring at the floor.

  I looked up from my sketch, curious. Brendan had never acted like this before.

  “I can’t,” he said quietly. He had turned bright red. He looked at me with such embarrassment in his eyes, I thought maybe my belt shoelace had come untied and my pants had fallen down. But I was sitting down. That wasn’t possible.

  “What do you mean, you can’t?” I asked him.

  “Can I tell you something? You have to promise not to tell anyone.”

  I immediately thought of my reveal nearly a month before, when Brendan was so easy-going and accepting of my brace. I thought about how nervous I’d felt before I opened the bathroom door and faced him.

  I sat up straighter and looked him in the eye. “I promise,” I said.

  “I can’t read,” Brendan said.

  If he had said he was a zombie or that he had a tiny fairy that lived in his ear who gave him his athletic ability, I would have been less shocked. I realized my open jaw might appear cruel, so I quickly shut it.

  He started talking so fast I could barely understand him “I know it sounds impossible,” he said, “but when I was little, none of the letters made sense, so I just pretended to understand. And my parents were too busy fighting to notice.”

  “What?” I asked, a bit too loudly. But I was actually thinking: That’s your superpower? Illiteracy?

  “And don’t pull the ‘dumb jock’ stereotype on me. I’m a rock star with numbers.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said, shaking my head. “You’ve gotten through seventh grade, and you can’t read? Nothing? Not even Goodnight Moon or Calvin and Hobbes?”

  “Don’t mock me, Truth. I’m not proud of it. I’ve just found ways around it.”

  “But there are tests and book reports! I mean, restaurant menus! Texting! The internet! Technology!” I covered my mouth to keep myself from shouting more random words.

  Brendan hesitated. As cute as he was, this little—or, rather, big fact—could ruin him. “Look, I know some things, and with the rest, I make do. My sister has old copies of her book reports. I just type them up and hand them in. If I need a specific book, I match the title to free essays online and hope it fits the assignment well enough.”

  “But—”

  “As for tests, there are neighbors who forget to cover their answers. And when you’re nice enough to people, they sometimes just give you the answers you need to pass.”

  “But you’ll get caught!” I said.

  Brendan shrugged. “Haven’t yet.”

  “Oh my.” I sighed.

  I didn’t know how a living, breathing—don’t forget stunning—intelligent person could actually function in a world where he couldn’t read. I knew Brendan was smart, because he was good at math. It made me feel like I’d been going through my life assuming many things about people that weren’t even true. Maybe Hairy was actually a female guinea pig, or my father was from Russia and was now an agent for the CIA. My world was upside down. Pretty much everything important I’d ever learned was from a book. That wealth of knowledge was missing from Brendan’s life. He may have been more popular than me, but no way would I want to trade places with him.

  Finally, he sat next to me at the kitchen table. He stared at the letter on the table—what must have been almost gibberish to him. “Tru, you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

  If only I hadn’t made him promise about my back brace. My instinct was to run to my parents so they could tell Brendan’s mother, but I knew that would catapult me off the popular ladder like a rock from a slingshot. I’d shot a slingshot before; the rock popped out the back of it and hit me in the eye. Being the “girl who destroyed Brendan Matthews” would only backfire on me, even if I had good intentions.

  “If I could do something to change my back, I would do anything,” I told Brendan. “You can change this; you can make it better.”

  He continued to just stare at the letter.

  “I promise I won’t tell anyone,” I said. “But you have to learn to read. I can help you.”

  And then we can run away together, because you’ll realize even more how awesome I am because I know things, like books.

  Brendan’s silence was starting to make me feel stupid, even though he was the one who couldn’t use the alphabet.

  Finally, he looked at me and smiled. “You’re bearable enough, Trendon. You’ve got a deal.”

  “Right-o,” I said. To distract my swirling brain, I looked away and drew another fat roll onto Mr. Winston. His plumpness was just about perfect.

  “Uh, Tru?”

  “Yeah?” I looked up again.

  “Can you read me the letter?”

  I slid my chair closer to Brendan’s, abandoning my drawing, and I put the letter flat on the table. I made him repeat each sentence after me. He did know more words than I thought, and (disappointingly) his breath was worse than I thought. I wondered what my breath was like as I leaned away. Then my mom walked through the back door.

  “Hey, Tru! Hello, Brendan!” She had been doing yard work, which always put her in a cheerful mood. I leaned further away from the attractive boy in our kitchen.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said. “Did you conquer the leaves in the backyard?”

  “They shall live to see another day. My rake will not. Never bet on a plastic rake head when you drop it against cement,” she said sadly. She shook her head and drank a glass of water. I smiled sympathetically and looked back down at the letter.

  “Whatcha working on?” she asked. “It looks like you’re decoding a cryptogram.”

  I felt Brendan’s entire body stiffen.

  “Oh, it’s about football,” I said, wrinkling my face to show my detestation. “Brendan’s explaining it to me.”

  “Ah, I understand,” my mom said, winking at him. “You must have a lot of patience, Brendan.”

  “I try,” said Brendan. “And that’s probably enough for today,” he continued. “I don’t want Truth’s brain to be overwhelmed.”

  Even though I knew he was joking, something about the way he said it made me want to crumple up his letter and force him to eat it. But then he looked at me, smiled gratefully, and brushed his hand against mine as he folded up the letter. He smiled at me once more at the door and then left after he said goodbye to my mom.

  “That smile,” I sighed, when the door shut behind him.

  “What?” my mom asked.

  “I, uh—umm,” my mind was awash with words from his dazzling incisors and canines. “I got nothing. That boy is hot,” I said.

  My mom burst out laughing.

  “I thought you’d be mad,” I said.

  “Mad? Of course not! It’s normal for you to have feelings like that,” my mom said.

  “Whoa! Back up ‘The Talk’ train, Mom. I don’t need that today.”

  “Chug-a-chug-a-chug-a.” My mom moved her arms in rolling motions as she walked toward me.

  I leapt out of my chair, laughing and running away from her.

  “I swear I’ll scream,” I said.

  “Oh, quit it. But it’s normal for you to be interested in someone you find attractive.”

  “Who would have thought h
e’d be interested in me?”

  My mom immediately lowered her wheel-arms and furrowed her brows at me. “What? How dare you say that! We Trendons are the most interesting people in the world!”

  She forced me back into my chair and sat next to me.

  “You aren’t even technically a Trendon,” I said. “You’re genetically a Smith.”

  “And no one lets me forget it. Boring ol’ Sue Smith.”

  I frowned. “You’re calling yourself boring? You just did a train impression for a full two minutes despite a negative response! How can I believe you when you say I’m not boring?”

  “My name! My name was so boring!” Mom dropped her head in her hands, then popped back up. “But that’s beside the point.” She grabbed my hands. “You are one of the most caring, intelligent, and lovely young ladies in the world. How could someone not be interested in you?”

  I patted my rib-hump. “Uh, the fact that upon seeing me, most people probably think I’m related to Frankenstein?”

  “Scoliosis does not make Truth Trendon,” my mom said. “The Truth I know would make scoliosis whatever she wanted it to be. If that meant she joked about it and let everyone know it didn’t control her life, or accepted it was a tiny pimple in the wonderful life she’s going to have, that’s what she’d do.”

  I sighed. It was hard to convince the woman who carried you for nine months and then pushed you out after ten hours of labor that you weren’t worth a dime. “Thanks, Mom,” I said.

  I lugged myself out of my chair and walked up to my room, where I lay on my back and pulled out Great Expectations. After a few moments, I’d forgotten about my brace as I became lost in the world of Pip as he met the very past-obsessed Miss Havisham.

  When my dad yelled at me to come down to dinner, I put the book aside, returning to the real world in a bit of a haze, briefly disappointed to have to come back from the faraway world of the book. A sad thought struck me—Brendan didn’t know that feeling. He had never experienced reading a good book.

  Maybe everyone had something that held them back, whether they were willing to admit it or not.

  CHAPTER 9

  A Brief Lesson

  Brendan and I decided to meet inconspicuously at the public library after school three days a week after junior high football and volleyball ended in mid-October. After volleyball was no longer an option, it was nice to have time with Brendan to look forward to. Even if it meant wearing my brace.