by S. T. Bende
“You ladies could always come stay at our place. We’ve got plenty of space,” Henrik offered.
Brynn’s eyes lit up at the same time as Tyr’s smirk disappeared.
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” I blurted, just as Tyr muttered, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Our eyes met in a mutual understanding. Tyr didn’t want to go out with me, and I didn’t want to feel underfoot in his house. Spending the night at his place would be more awkward than being caught in white shoes after Labor Day.
“But you were just saying a week was too long to sleep on the living room floor,” Brynn argued. “And Heather’s going to explode when she hears it’ll last another week.”
“Why are you sleeping on the living room floor?” Henrik asked.
“Uh, well…” I glared at Brynn.
She shrugged. “I think it’s all pretty ridiculous.”
My eyes scanned the sidewalk outside the gym, looking for an excuse to get away. The way Tyr looked at me was unsettling. “Um… well…”
“Mia and the girls are scared.” Brynn reached up to straighten her ponytail.
“Really, prinsessa? The Super G champ is afraid of mice?” Tyr raised an eyebrow.
“They’re rats, they’re over my bedroom, and I like to sleep alone, thank you very much.”
“Mmm.” Tyr stared me down, and I flushed.
Oh.
“You do realize the rats are going to make their way to your kitchen eventually, right? I’m assuming you’re not as uptight as Tyr, and you leave the occasional crumb on the counter. And your living room floor is probably closer to the kitchen than your bedrooms.” Henrik raised an eyebrow.
Oh, crepes. Why hadn’t I thought of that? I whirled on Brynn. “There has to be another exterminator. Someone who can fit us in today.” Note to self: scrub the kitchen top to bottom the minute you walk in the door.
Henrik chuckled. “I might know another guy. His methods aren’t exactly conventional, but he can rid the house of pests pretty quick.”
“We’ll take him,” I blurted.
“I’ll give him a call and see if he can fit you in.” Henrik punched Tyr in the arm. “We’d better get going. I have to turn in grades to Professor Antoise by nine. You guys both passed your quiz, by the way.”
“Are we talking an A or a B?” I pushed. It was never too early in the semester to obsess.
“I think you both got As.” Henrik furrowed his brow. “Or A-minuses—I can’t remember. Oh, and you guys got the internship spots. Congrats.”
“Fabulous!” Brynn trilled.
My grin was so big my cheeks pinched, my irritation with Tyr and rodent-induced paranoia both forgotten. “Really?”
“Really. Mia, you have a really good resume for a freshman. Volunteering at the Space Center must have been a great experience.”
“It was. I mostly just collated data for the scientists, but it was fun getting to read their research papers before they were published.” I beamed. “Wow, I’m really excited.”
“Great. Can you start tomorrow? I’m thinking Tuesday and Thursday afternoons will work, unless you have classes then.” Henrik pushed the thin-framed glasses up his nose.
“I’m free after two,” I offered.
“Me too,” Brynn chimed in.
“Excellent. See you both in the engineering lab.” Henrik offered a wave and turned in the direction of the engineering building. “Tyr! Stop staring at Mia and come with me.”
My eyes darted to Tyr as he finally unclenched his fists. He gave me a look that lingered a second longer than absolutely necessary, and held more than a hint of sadness. What did he have to be sad about? The corners of his eyes turned down and his gaze softened, earning a familiar tug from my traitorous heartstrings. The look in his eyes told me more than the sum of all our previous conversations, making it clear my illogical Tyr infatuation wasn’t entirely one-sided. I knew it! But as quickly as the change came over Tyr, it was gone. In one swift movement he turned on his heel and walked away. “God natt, girls.” He threw the words over his shoulder.
“Ni-ight!” Brynn sang back.
Tyr sauntered away with the confidence of a seasoned athlete, as I once again tried not to stare at his unnaturally glorious backside. It was an absolute thing of beauty.
And it was completely out of my reach.
****
“Mia, you’re the organizational whiz, right?” Henrik stood behind a lab table in a white coat. He had a tray of neatly organized metal parts on his right. The skeleton of the robotic arm stood on a pedestal to his left, and an intricate diagram outlining the design of the machine was taped to the white board.
“Depends on who you ask.” I uncapped my pen.
“Brynn says yes, so I want you helping me test the metal bits for the device. Brynn, I want you to play with the algorithm on the board. Learn it. Love it. Make it your friend. Mia, these are all yours.” Henrik held up a small bolt. Behind his glasses, his eyes were bright—he looked like a kid who’d just discovered he’d been locked in a candy shop overnight.
“Aye aye.” Brynn saluted. She grabbed her notebook and started scribbling.
Meanwhile, I dragged a stool over to Henrik’s table and started examining nuts and bolts. “What do you need, Captain?”
“I like that.” Henrik scratched his chin. “Yep, you ladies can call me that from now on.”
“I think it was a one-time deal.” I picked up a screw and held it between my fingers. My French tips looked dangerously close to fading—better ask Charlotte to touch them up.
“Well, the option’s out there—feel free to call me Captain. Or Cappy. Whichever feels right to you.”
“Did you have a job for me or not?”
“Right. So I’m toying with mobility this week. Which size parts will allow for the highest degree of flexibility and the lowest amount of resistance? Got it?” Henrik picked up a pair of tweezers and turned to the arm.
“You want it flexible and pliant, solid but light—stable, more or less?”
“Yes. And it’s just about mechanics at this phase; the electrodes come next.”
“It’ll be one of the first prostheses that don’t require manual operation—are you working from a pre-existing model or developing new technology?” I asked.
“It’s… new technology,” Henrik paused. “Microelectrodes will allow it to read brainwaves.”
“How is that possible?” I stared.
“Implant them in the left motor cortex, connect them to the arm via a computer, and the computer—”
“The computer runs the algorithm that translates the signal the brain sends to the arm,” I interrupted. “Henrik, that’s brilliant!”
“Thank you. Tell a friend. Now get to work on some configurations based on that diagram.” Henrik pointed to the board. “The parts in the bin are sorted by size and mass, so if you set them up the way Diagram B suggests, I can plug them in for trials.”
“Sounds good.” I examined the diagram closely, then set to work choosing the pieces I’d need to make the smallest configuration.
“Did you come up with a name for it yet?” Brynn looked up from her notebook.
“As a matter of fact, I did.” Henrik lowered his glasses down the bridge of his nose and peered over the top. “Ladies, I’d like you to meet Fred.”
“Aw!” Brynn’s dimple popped. “That’s perfect!”
“You named the arm Fred?” I asked.
“I happen to like that name. You have a problem with it?” A small V formed between Henrik’s brows, and his glasses slipped down a quarter inch.
“Not at all. Very traditional name.” I bit my cheek so I couldn’t laugh.
“Fred was his childhood dog,” Brynn explained. “He was a Malamute, ja?”
“Ja,” Henrik confirmed. “Best friend I ever had.”
“What am I? Chopped lutefisk?” Brynn stuck out her tongue.
“Oh, sötnos. Don’t be jealous.”
&n
bsp; “You guys are going to have to teach me Swedish.” I chuckled. “What’s it like there, anyway?”
“In Sweden?” Henrik stared intently at the arm. “It’s nice. Good hiking, you’d love the skiing, and there are lots of outdoorsy things to do. Tyr and I have a little lake cabin outside Malmö we use for fishing trips.”
“I’ll bet it’s beautiful. Have you been to their cabin, Brynn?” I picked up the pliers and tightened a bolt.
“Boys only, blah, blah, blah.” She glared at Henrik. “You guys let Gunnar go with you but not me?”
“He’s an expert fisherman, can shoot an animal at a hundred yards with a crossbow, and knows how to gut and grill a reindeer. Sorry, sötnos, no chicks allowed.”
“Whatever, Henrik,” Brynn huffed.
“You wouldn’t like it anyway. No cell reception. No Internet in that part of the realm. You know that.”
“Realm?” There was that word again. First Tyr used it, then Henrik. Weird translation? “You mean country?”
“Hmm? Right. Country. It’s too remote for Internet service. No towers. Nothing.” Henrik’s eyes glazed for a second before zeroing in on Brynn. “We don’t even have a TV, Brynnie. How would you watch your Project Runway reruns?”
“No Internet?” Brynn dropped her pen in mock horror. “No television? However do you survive?”
“Every once in a while a man needs to unplug.” Henrik swung the arm around; his Fred now had a solid range of motion.
“Not me,” Brynn muttered.
“Do you and Tyr go to the cabin a lot?” I kept my eyes on my work.
“I go a fair amount. Tyr, not so much.”
“Why not?”
“He’s a pretty busy guy, Mia.” Henrik seemed to choose his words carefully. “He doesn’t get a lot of free time.”
“He’s not doing anything now,” I pointed out. “He’s not enrolled here, and he’s not working.”
“Oh, he’s working. He’s just not doing the kind of job you’re going to see.” Henrik paused.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means that Tyr’s a complicated guy.”
“I figured that much,” I muttered. If Tyr’s stereo silence up until last night hadn’t clued me in to his issues, his general hot-and-cold attitude surely would have.
“Don’t be like that.” Henrik leaned on his forearms. “Tyr’s complicated, yes. But he’s loyal. And honest. And incredibly protective of the people in his life. Once you hit his inner circle, you’re locked in for the rest of your existence. Stick it out, Mia. He’s worth getting to know.”
My neck grew hot, and I ducked behind my hair. What made him think I wanted to get to know Tyr?
“It’s totally obvious you guys like each other,” Brynn offered by way of explanation. “You couldn’t stop staring at each other last night.”
“Yeah. Well, he could have called me if he wanted to.” I sighed. “Guess I wasn’t a great running partner.”
“Trust me, Tyr would love to spend more time with you. He’s just been busy. Freya’s in town, and—ouch!” Henrik rubbed his shoulder and glared at Brynn. “Why’d you throw a bolt at me?”
“Because you are unusually dense, you nitwit.” Brynn glared back.
“Freya? Right. Friend of his?” My fake-casual tone fooled no one. She must have been the strawberry-blonde Charlotte saw out with Tyr.
“Yes, Henrik. Explain Freya.” Brynn shot eyeball-daggers.
“Oh. Uh, Freya’s Tyr’s best friend. She’s from where we live.” Henrik tapped his finger on the tabletop.
“They’re best friends?” The fake-casual tone went up an octave.
“Ja. They’ve been friends forever. Do everything together. Kind of irritating, really. Ouch!” Henrik rubbed his other shoulder and glared at Brynn. “Enough!”
“Freya and Tyr really are just friends, Mia. There’s nothing there.” Brynn probably thought she sounded comforting.
She didn’t.
“Yeah, he mentioned her once.” I nodded, then I blurted out the thought pounding in my head. “Freya’s the redhead, right?”
Brynn launched icy beams at Henrik, but he was oblivious to her stare. “Yeah. Long hair, about six-feet tall, legs for days. Total baben.”
Baben had an obvious enough translation.
“Gods, you are so stupid!” Brynn exploded.
Henrik looked at my flat expression and quickly backtracked. “Not that Tyr’s ever seen her like that. Honest, Mia. She’s like a sister to him.”
“So the total baben has been in town how long?” I squeaked.
“Three weeks.” Henrik shrugged.
Three weeks. She’d shown up, Tyr had run with me one last time, and then he’d all but disappeared.
“Fan-freaking-tastic,” I muttered.
“Don’t write him off, Mia. Freya’s not what she sounds like.” Brynn tried to reassure me.
“I’m sure she isn’t,” I grumbled. The pieces were coming together, and the picture they were forming didn’t look so great for me.
Not that I cared, one way or the other. I had way more important things to think about than some guy.
****
Thursday was my night to cook, so I headed to the grocery store after we’d finished up in the lab, intent on making a dinner so amazing I’d be forced to forget about Tyr and the baben—at least for a couple of hours. Since I hadn’t talked to my brother in almost a week I called Jason on the way, clicking over to speaker when he answered.
“Well, if it isn’t the brains of the family.” Jason’s smile came through the phone.
“Hey, Jase. How’s that big ivory tower?”
“Studying hard. What about Math Club? You guys getting into trouble?” Jason chuckled.
“You know it.”
“What’s going on with that dude you mentioned a while back?” Jason had a memory like a steel trap. Leave it to him to bring up the one thing I didn’t want to talk about.
“Oh, Tyr. Things didn’t work out with him.” I tried to keep the hurt out of my voice.
Jason put off the appropriate amount of indignation. “I’ll come beat the crap out of him if you want me to.”
“Thanks, Jase, but I’m okay. Onward and upward, right?”
“Hey, that’s my line.”
“I get all my best lines from you,” I teased. “Hey, I’m about to run into the store. I just wanted to say hi. Miss you, big brother.”
“I miss you too. Say hi to the trees for me.”
“Will do. Give Mom and Dad hugs when you see them this weekend.” I pulled into a parking space.
“Deal. And Mees?” Jason added.
“Mmm?”
“Don’t stress about the loser. You’re smart and cute and a pretty cool chick. The right guy will come along.”
“Thanks, J.” Sometimes he could be so sweet.
“But say the word and I’ll kick his butt. Later, Mia.” Jason signed off.
I hummed to myself as I walked into the store, my heels clicking on the linoleum. Jason always knew how to make me smile. I grabbed a hand basket and made my way through the vegetable aisle until I found the first item on my shopping list. My hand was halfway to the asparagus when I heard the familiar voice.
“Hei, Mia.”
I turned on one heel and came face-to-chest with Tyr. He wore slender-cut jeans with his black leather jacket, and his characteristic half-smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.
My heart thudded to a standstill.
“You’re everywhere.”
“It’s starting to seem that way.” He didn’t look any happier about it than I felt.
“Sure is. Well, see you.” I threw a cluster of asparagus in my hand basket and walked away.
“Are you mad at me?”
Seriously?
Tyr followed me down the aisle, where I grabbed two packages of capellini, a jar of chicken stock, and marsala cooking wine.
“Nope.” I pasted on my finest fake smile and scooted d
own the next aisle. I threw basil, oregano, and seasoned sea salt into my basket, and held my smile until my jaw twitched as I strode toward the self check-out. Play it cool. You’ll be out of here before you know it.
Tyr furrowed his brow. “You’re acting strange.”
“Just in a rush. It’s my night to cook dinner.”
Tyr stood at the station next to me and scanned his groceries. Three frozen pizzas and a bottle of dishwasher soap… not that I was watching. When he was finished, he pulled a black AmEx out of his wallet and swiped it.
“Is that a—”
He tucked the card back in his wallet before I could finish. “Want me to carry your bag?” he offered.
“What? Uh, no. Thanks.” I hurried out of the store in clipped strides. Tyr followed. Of course, his motorcycle was parked two spots over from my Audi. He really was everywhere.
“Mia, wait,” he called as I threw my bag and my purse into my car.
“Sorry, I’ve got to go. Dinner.” I slammed the door closed with a tight wave and peeled out of the parking lot. This was so uncomfortable. I might have been naïve about boys, but I knew enough to figure out I was barking up the wrong tree when it came to this one.
CHAPTER SEVEN
FROM MY ROADSIDE PRISON, I channeled every ounce of decorum my mother had drilled into me and didn’t scream. But I wanted to. Stupid deer. If it hadn’t jumped in front of my car, I wouldn’t have swerved and hit that pothole. And if I hadn’t hit that pothole, I wouldn’t have blown a tire. Again. Now I was stuck on the dirt shoulder, with a bag of groceries that might not make it home in time to fulfill their destiny as tonight’s mind-blowing supper.
Stupid, stupid deer.
I’d just have to let my roommates know dinner was going to be delayed while I changed my tire. I rifled through my purse until my fingers wrapped around my phone. When I pulled it out, I made the underwhelming discovery that this particular section of wooded road had no cell reception.
Well, wasn’t that just the berries.
I fumbled with the door and stepped out of my car, gearing up to change the flat, but before I even reached the back of the car, I stopped in my tracks. My jack wasn’t in the trunk. It was in the garage, where I’d left it after I’d cleaned it. It was all muddy from my mid-rainstorm-tire-change on the drive to California, so I’d scrubbed it down and forgotten to return it to my car. I climbed back into the Audi and fought the impulse to cry. For somebody with impeccable attention to detail, this kind of slip-up was unacceptable.
