"Because he left his number." She frowned. "If he weren't so famously heterosexual, I might wonder."
"He's not gay, Mom. Don't worry about that." I smiled at the absurdity of that.
My mom slumped in her seat. I heard her breath escape like a leaking bike tire valve.
"Okay." She pulled her cell from her purse. "Let's see where this number goes."
"Mom!" I protested. "Does it really have to be right now? He's probably in the shower or something."
"He's free not to answer."
I shrank into the car seat as my mom punched in the number. She hadn't worked her way into an executive position in a major research corporation by being a wallflower, I thought. Most of the time I appreciated her kick-ass attitude, but right now I wanted to cover my ears and/or hide.
Miraculously – terrifyingly – a familiar baritone voice answered on the fourth ring. My mom placed her phone on speaker.
"Yes," he said.
"Mr. Norquist?"
"Nancy?"
"No. This is Alyssa Stevens. I'm the mother of the young boy whose program you just autographed."
"Oh. I thought you were my accountant. She's the only woman who would call me 'Mr.'"
"While I'm grateful you gave my son your autograph, I am wondering why you included your phone number."
Ragnar issued a soft chuckle. "Because, given his age, I thought maybe he might want to talk to a fellow hyper who's experienced some of what he's experiencing."
"But how did you know that's what he meant when he said he was like you?"
"Just a gut feeling." He laughed. "Maybe I have hyperdar or something. I've only met four of them in my life, and they were all adults."
"So, you just wanted to talk to him?"
"I thought that might be cool. I went through some things when I was his age..." He paused. "It would've been good to have someone older who knew the score to talk to."
My mom's stern face mellowed. "I'm sorry if I seem to be interrogating you, Mr. Norquist. As a mother, I was somewhat concerned about your intentions. Please don't take offense, but I don't know you – except, of course – by reputation."
"Which probably wouldn't endear me to you," the basketball star chuckled.
"Not so much."
"Why don't I take you both to dinner in a safe, public place, and we can talk about it?"
I felt the bottom of my reality slip out from under me. I hadn't even realized my reality had a bottom. My mother stared at her cell phone as if her reality had slipped away, too. Maybe five seconds ticked by before she spoke.
"That's...very nice of you." She cleared her throat. "I'm not sure that would be a good idea. I mean, a public restaurant..."
"I hear you. It could become a madhouse, and my right hand is already cramping from signing autographs. Do you like Chinese? Why don't I have some delivered to your house tonight, and we'll just hang out?"
Ragnar Norquist coming to my house for dinner? What next –Steven Hawking stopping by to help me with physics homework?
"Yes, Mom," I whispered. "Say yes."
Ragnar's laugh sounded over the phone.
"I heard that," he said. "No pressure, Mom."
"Ah. Okay. If that's really how you want to spend your evening, we're both fans of Chinese."
"Cool. All I need is your address."
Chapter 5
I FLOATED IN A daze through the three hours before the famous Ragnar Thorvalt Norquist was due to show up for dinner. I called Keith, who stumbled, flush-faced up to the garage minutes later.
"Let's play basketball," he suggested.
"But you hate basketball."
"Not today. Not with Ragnar Norquist coming!"
We grinned at each other. I tossed him a ball from the open garage, and we took turns shooting.
"So how was the game?" he asked.
"The Kings won by like thirty, so it wasn't that thrilling, but we were close enough to the court that you could almost see the sweat flying off their bodies. It's not how it looks on TV. The speed and coordination of the players is freaking amazing."
"And none more amazing than the Viking, right?"
"Right."
We exchanged high-fives.
Ragnar Norquist drove up in a sports car and parked on the curb. He hopped out, nearly unrecognizable in a blue cap and oversized dark sunglasses. I was vaguely aware of the mouthwatering odors of Chinese emanating from the grocery-sized bag in his hand, but eating was the last thing on my mind. He strode up as if he was a daily visitor, exchanging a quick hand-slap with Keith and me.
"Who's your friend?" he asked.
"Keith Horner."
"Ragnar Norquist. Good to meet you."
Keith shook the star athlete's hand, his mouth flapping open.
"Uh, yeah...um, great to meet you..."
"Why don't you dudes show me what you got?" He nodded to the basketball I was cradling.
"Uh," said Keith, "thanks, but I don't really play basketball. I should be getting home. I know you guys got a lot to discuss."
Keith grabbed his bike and rode off with a wave. Maybe seeing Ragnar in the flesh unnerved him? I didn't blame him. Even with his goofy cap and sunglasses, Ragnar put out a strange and intense energy.
Ragnar motioned for the ball, and I tossed it to him. He launched a hook shot from about twenty feet. The ball bounced around on the rim and was starting to come out when Ragnar was there – I hadn't seen him move, it was as if he'd teleported – just hanging out in the air waiting for the ball to come loose before jamming it back in.
Then real time resumed and he floated back down to earth, grinning as if he took just as much joy in doing that now as he did during a game.
"Let's bring in the food, and then we can shoot around a bit," he said.
"Are you sure? I mean, you just played a game."
Ragnar laughed. "You call that a game? It would take a lot more than that to wear me out. That's one of the benefits of being us – we don't get tired like normal people."
My mom was back in her bedroom, door closed. Melanie was on the couch, pretending to be engrossed in scribbling in her notebook. I knew her nonchalance was an act because she was wearing a dress. Melanie only wore dresses when cute boys were involved.
"Oh, hey," she said, lowering the notebook and pushing out some wrinkles in her dress.
"This is Ragnar," I said. "Ragnar – my sister, Melanie."
They both said "hi." Melanie smoothed back a bang of hair.
"It was nice of you to be willing to help Aiden," she said. "With your busy schedule."
"I don't know if I can help, but I thought it would be cool to know another brother, especially when he lives so close."
Since my mom was still hiding in her room – I imagined her frantically fiddling with her makeup or clothing – I wedged the bag of takeout into the crowded fridge, and we headed back outside.
In the driveway, he tossed me the ball. I unleashed a squirrelly jump shot. I knew it was off from the instant it left my fingers, but as it reached the basket Ragnar levitated – jumping didn't seem adequate to describe the way he lifted into the air – and steered the ball into the basket.
"Nice pass," he laughed.
"I didn't start practicing basketball until a few weeks ago, so I kind of suck."
"You just need more practice. How're your hops? Can you touch this rim – it's only about 9'9", by the way."
"I doubt it."
"Give it a try."
My heart in my throat, I ran up and leaped off one leg. I missed the rim by three or four inches.
"Not bad. You're only five-five or six, right?"
"Five-six." I lowered my head so he wouldn't see my red face of shame.
"Don't sweat it. You just entered 'the change' didn't you?"
"Yes. Just a couple of months ago, though it seems like an eternity."
"I know the feeling. You're – what? – fourteen or fifteen?"
"Fifteen." I felt grateful that he hadn't guessed thirteen. "I
assume you could touch the rim when you were my age."
"I could dunk when I was thirteen and a half." He offered a modest shrug. "But then I was five-ten and had been playing ball since I was three. In my last year of high school, I started seriously lifting weights, especially squats, which added some inches to my vertical. You could do the same."
"Maybe," I said. "Not that I'm planning on playing in the NBA or anything."
"Never a good idea to plan on playing in the NBA at your age. So what is your thing? Science, math?"
"How did you know? Do I look like a nerd?"
"No, it's your eyes. They study shit."
I suddenly felt myself relax. This was no dumb jock.
"Your eyes study shit, too," I said, surprising myself with my boldness.
"Yeah?"
"Kind of like a tiger studying his prey?"
Ragnar laughed. "Dominique Wilkins once described Larry Bird as having the eyes of an assassin. So I have the eyes of a jungle cat?"
"I guess so. Or maybe one of those berserker Vikings."
He laughed. The front door opened, and my mom emerged. My first thought: Wow. She was wearing jeans and a shirt – nothing over-the-top – but the jeans clung like wet cloth to every curve, and the shirt, or blouse, or whatever women called them, was this translucent blue that fit her upper body like a glove. Then there was her hair: studiously tousled, as if the wind just happened to arrange every strand of her hair perfectly askew. I'd almost forgotten how well my mom knew how to put herself "together" when she wanted to.
"Hello, Mr. Norquist," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm Alyssa Stevens."
"Ragnar, please. Nice to meet you. I didn't realize that Aiden had such a gorgeous older sister."
Mom shook his hand, her smile dry. "I hope I wasn't too hard on you on the phone. I was just trying to look out for my son."
"I got that. Mother bear and all."
My mom looked as if she were going to object, but thought better of it.
"Are you ready to eat?" she asked, turning to both of us. "Or if you two want continue playing...?"
"I can eat," said Ragnar. "Aiden?"
"Definitely. That Chinese smelled awesome."
Mom warmed the food in the oven. Both my mom and Melanie seemed to be working overtime to appear casual, but I noticed the slight flush to their faces and the frequent darting of their eyes to our guest. They were like mirrors of each other, moving in stiff synchronicity as they set the table.
Ragnar removed his cap and sunglasses, shaking his head to let his long blond hair fall free. My mom and Melanie both stared at him.
"Ah." My mom cleared her throat. "Um..." She seemed to have forgotten how to speak.
"You wouldn't happen to have a cold beer, would you?" Ragnar asked with a grin.
"Heineken dark?"
"Perfect."
"I'll get it," said Melanie.
My mom and Melanie nearly collided as they both started for the fridge. Mom was not a beer drinker – wine was her thing – but she'd picked up beer on the way back from the game. She knew so little about beer that she actually asked me for suggestions. I thought I'd read somewhere that Heineken was decent.
My mom and sister sat across from us. Ragnar ate and drank his beer, showing no awareness of my mom and Melanie's furtive glances.
"Did you grow up here in California, Ragnar?" my mom asked.
"Yup. Southern California. You?"
"San Jose. We moved around in the Bay Area – some Berkeley, San Francisco, Palo Alto. My father taught at various schools in the area."
"Cool. My parents were academics, too. They were both professors at U.C. San Diego."
"Really."
Ragnar grinned. "It's not every day an English professor and a sociology professor produce a NBA star. Though my mom did run track in college, and my dad did gymnastics in high school."
"That might have had something to do with your athletic gifts."
"Maybe. But the biggest gift was hypersexuality. That gave me the energy to work out for hours every day and then recover. I still might've been a decent athlete, but that pushed me over the top."
"Perhaps, but we have no definitive proof that hypersexuality directly augments either physical or cognitive performance. It strongly correlates with health and intellect, true, but we're not sure if it’s a causal relation."
"You sound like a professor yourself."
"I have a degree in bioengineering, but I don't teach." My mom hesitated. "I work at a biotechnology firm."
"Calgene?"
"CellEvolve."
"My mom was one of the leading researchers in developing Melatin," I said as though reading a press release.
"Oh. Wow. What a weird coincidence."
"Tell me about it," I said.
"Did you take Melatin when you were a kid, Ragnar?" Melanie asked.
"For a couple of weeks, and that was it. I may be just a dumb jock, but even dumb jocks prefer their brains in one piece."
"My son had a similar experience," said my mom.
"No offense, Alyssa, but a baseball bat would be a lot cheaper, and would work just about as well."
Red splotches worked their way up through the subtle makeup on my mom's cheeks. I could almost hear her counting to ten as with slow deliberation she lifted her coffee mug and took two calming sips.
"It's not a perfect drug," she said, lowering the cup. "I'm well-aware of its negative side-effects. But it does offer a choice for those who want relief from the symptoms."
"What are the pills, about $20 each?"
"The government subsidizes the prescription cost for most hypers."
"CellEvolve got a government subsidy to develop the drug," said Ragnar with a smile, "and now it's the drug of choice for hypers, female depression, and even male birth control. Pretty sweet deal for your company."
My mom was turning her best "glacial blue eyes" stare on our guest. I dreaded those stares, but Ragnar just smiled.
"Developing drugs requires a considerable investment of time and money," she said in frosty tones. "Not to mention a considerable risk."
"But in this case the government covered those risks, didn't it?"
"To a degree. But don't you think it's in the public interest to sometimes subsidize valuable medications that might not otherwise exist?"
"Not really," Ragnar replied without batting an eye. "And I'm not sure I see much social value in turning our kids into zombies."
I thought my mom might be pissed, but instead of anger, her face grew reflective. But then coolly reflective was kind of her thing – something that used to drive my dad nuts. He used to say, "If I wanted to be with a stoic, I would've married Aristotle." Funny, since Aristotle wasn't a stoic.
"Would you like another beer?" she asked.
Ragnar grinned. "You read my mind."
She brought him another bottle of Heineken, and removed her and Melanie's plates. Ragnar and I were still working on our second monumental helping of Chinese. He'd brought enough takeout for three families, I thought.
"You've spent some time thinking about this," my mom said to him.
"When I was younger, it seemed important to think about it." Ragnar shrugged. "I was an idealist then. Now I see profit and power is how the world works, and I accept that."
"How did you get through those teenage years?" my mom asked.
"My family was very supportive."
"You weren't on any medication?"
"Nope."
"But how did you deal with that?" I asked. "How could you stand not...um, you know...not doing it all those years?"
He took a slow swig of beer and partly turned to me. "Who said anything about not doing it?"
Silence fell over the table. I was gaping – not good with a mouth full of spring roll. I closed my mouth.
"Your parents were okay with that?"
"It wasn't easy for them, but we worked together to find a solution."
"You're saying your parents supported
you in breaking the law?" my mom asked.
"Yup. So did all my sisters." Ragnar raised his bottle as if in salute to his family – or the idea of breaking the law – and drank. "The laws are complete crap. Luckily, we all agreed on that from the beginning. They're about protecting the fat cats, not the people."
My mom raised her brow. "While I agree the Human Reproductive Safety Act laws are rather problematic, the idea of regulating the kind of social disturbance a hyper can cause is sound."
"How much disturbance can a few hyper kids spread over thousands of schools cause? Make a few girls get heated up in class? Wow, we need a trillion dollar agency to handle those few kids or society would just fall apart!"
Mom's cool-eyed stare had no effect on the basketball superstar. He just grinned at her as if it was all a joke. Melanie surprised me with a snicker – for once, I thought, a well-placed one. The more I thought about it, and about that pompous jerk Dr. Jenkins (who still hadn't deigned to approve Dr. Stephanie Landon as my monitor), it did seem incredibly ridiculous that people like me represented some kind of terrible threat.
"It is a problem when someone has that amount of psychic power over others," my mom said. "Especially young, impressionable others who might be pressured into doing things they wouldn't usually do, to their own detriment."
"How can they learn to make reasonable choices when we take that power away from them? That just teaches kids that they're helpless victims, Alyssa. I say let them make their own judgments and make their own mistakes."
"Would you let your child walk across a busy street because she or he doesn't understand traffic signals?"
I had to smile. My mom was not used to losing debates. She was always the sensible, rational, logical one. Who would've thought that the Sacramento star point guard would be pushing her this hard?
"Having sex isn't the same as being struck by a car," Ragnar chuckled. "In fact, having sex is fun and healthy, if done right. So teach them how to do it right."
"Maybe the schools should hire you as a teacher?" Melanie giggled. "I'll bet you'd have a full class!"
"Melanie." My mom spoke quietly, but the edge in her voice could've cut steel. My sister hunkered down in her chair. "Ragnar, I'm afraid we're just going to have to agree to disagree on this point."
Hyper Page 4
