I struggled to swallow. "Because I'm hyper."
Ragnar released a low chuckle. "I probably wouldn't feel this way if you weren't. But I've met other hypers, and never felt anything like this."
"What were they like?"
"What you'd expect." He flashed a smile. "Fucking freaks."
"Seriously?"
"No. They were a tad too full of themselves, that's all, unlike moi." He shot me a sardonic smile. "God's gift to women, even to the human race. They seemed to have forgotten that it was all random."
I knew more than a few people thought that Ragnar's face should be next to "full of himself" in the dictionary. "Were they all rich? Super-successful?"
"I guess. Not much of an accomplishment. You could sit on your ass 24/7 and still be rich if you're hyper. I would've been more impressed if they'd managed to find one woman and stick with her."
"That's what I want to do," I said. "Someday."
"If anyone could, it would be you."
I thought that might've been the nicest thing anyone had ever said about me.
"Thanks, Ragnar," I said. "But I have no idea how I'm going to accomplish that."
"Well, as a wise philosopher once said, 'Where there's a willie, there's a way'."
NO TRUMPETS blared, no people cheered, and no confetti rained on me as I guided my new BMW into the school parking lot, parking well away from the other cars to avoid dents.
I did attract some stares as I crossed the lot, but they were mostly just puzzled and curious, as if I looked familiar but they couldn't quite place me. I didn't blame them. At five-ten and apparently still growing, I was about three inches taller and probably thirty pounds heavier – most of it muscle, if I could be so bold – so for practical purposes I was a former dull caterpillar that had just burst from its pupa into a shiny butterfly.
I was wearing Andrydox again, but that didn't stop a few flirtatious smiles and double-takes as I entered school. I glimpsed myself in the windows as I passed, and I barely recognized myself. My face was angular and my shoulders broad. I had to say, what I saw fit the paradigm of a high school hunk much more than a science-geek dork.
My first class was Humanities. Gertie, naturally, was there. We hadn't had any contact since the day her parents had almost broken in on us. I hadn't been looking forward to our first meeting, since of course she'd know about my "indiscretions" with other women. I suspected half the school did.
She'd gained maybe twenty pounds – not muscle – and her face had reverted to its usual "chubby cherub" look (as Keith had once affectionately described her). I gave her a smile and a small wave and she stared stonily past me. No surprise, but I felt a jab in my gut regardless.
As class ended, I lingered, interposing myself between Gertie and the door.
"Hey," I said.
"Go screw yourself."
"I don't blame you for being angry. Can we talk later, during lunch?"
"About what? How you used me? How you deceived me into thinking I was the only one?"
"I'm sorry, Gertie."
She stalked past, joining one of her friends, Carrie, who glared back at me. Nice start to my senior year, I thought.
Lunch rolled around, after an interesting class on statistics – well, not so much the class itself, but the subject had always fascinated me – and I went in search of Gertie and Keith in our usual haunts, finding neither. I finally settled with a bitter shrug on the front lawn with my sack lunch.
I spotted the legendary Sonja Wilson heading for the school parking lot with a bunch of her attractive and popular friends. By reputation, Sonja wouldn't be caught dead with a bag lunch or eating in the cafeteria, preferring a fast food restaurant or local bistro. She glanced in my direction, and stopped. After some hesitation, and a brief exchange with her friends, she broke away and headed over to me.
"Hi," she said. "It is Aiden, isn't it?"
"It is."
"I hardly recognized you! You metamorphed or something over the summer."
Metamorphosed. I was surprised she knew such a big word, even if she didn't pronounce it right. I gazed up at her. She was still super-cute, but I was no longer impressed or interested.
"I'm just headed out to lunch," she said. "You want to come? My treat."
"No, I'm good."
She made a valiant effort to hide her disbelief and hold onto her smile. I didn't imagine a lot of guys would turn down Sonja for lunch or anything else.
"I know about you being hyper," she said, playing with a lock of her blond hair. "I know some kids are kind of scared of it, but I think it's super-cool."
"Is that why you want to have lunch with me?" I knew I was being a hard-ass, but I was also curious.
"Well, um, not the only reason. You just seem like an interesting person, you know?"
"What do you think is interesting about me, aside from being hyper?"
"Oh, ha..." She shrugged, looking away at a passing car with loud bass speakers. "I don't know. You're really cute?"
"That's it?" She shrugged again, more awkwardly. "I guess I shouldn't blame you. I'd only want to go out with you because you're pretty, too."
Sonja brightened. "You think I'm pretty?"
"Sure. Who doesn't?"
"But..." She worked up a frown. "I'm more than that. I mean, you know, that's not all that I am, if that's what you're saying."
"I know. Now I get it – that it's not so great being the 'belle of the ball'. Well, 'beau', in my case, but the principle's the same."
"Principle?"
"People being attracted to you because of physical characteristics."
"Oh. Right." She let out an uncertain laugh. "Anywho...I should get going. Don't want to be late getting back for class. So...um, nice talking to you."
"Yeah, it was great."
As she strode off, I released a guilty sigh. I shouldn't have played with her like that, and these days, who was I to judge? It wasn't like I was any less superficial. Maybe I was bummed out because my real friends – people who liked me for me – were giving me the cold shoulder. Since Keith had seemed mellow in our last meeting, I had a feeling that Gertie had given him an ultimatum: it's me or him. Keith might be (or have been) my best friend, but he'd also always had a thing for Gertie, and I imagined he might be nursing some bad feelings about our secret romance. Ah, well. I had a feeling it would all work out sooner or later.
As I bit into my deluxe "PB and J" sandwich, I noticed with a start the tall familiar figure leaning against the building a few classrooms away, smiling at me and shaking his head.
When our eyes met, he pushed off the wall and walked over.
"That was cold, man," he said. "Making the school hottie beg, and sending her away like that."
"Jim!" I cried, jumping to my feet. "Dude, what are you doing here?"
He made a move toward me as if we might hug, but offered a hand instead. I shook it with vigor.
"They decided I wasn't being punished enough, so they had me sent here." His deadpan face broke into a grin. "No, my mom had this bright idea of getting away from the criminal element in Woodvale, so she moved us here to this paradise of political correctness."
I laughed. "When you put it that way, it does kind of sound like a punishment. But man, this is great. I wondered when I might see you again."
"You probably stayed up nights worrying about it."
"How did you know?"
"As long they weren't X-rated, I don't have a problem with it." His face grew serious as he eyed me. "So, Mr. Hyper, you were holding out on me."
I gulped. "I was meaning to tell you about that, but jail didn't seem the right place. How did you find out?"
"Your buddy, Ragnar. He showed up for a surprise visit a few days ago, and he explained your special connection."
"Oh. So he just stopped by to talk?"
"I guess." He gave a puzzled shrug. "He asked me a lot of questions about my goals, and then smiled and said 'cool' and left. But it turns out he called Principal Sch
ussler and convinced him to let me play sports this year, which was pretty fucking amazing."
He was grinning. We exchanged a high-five.
"That sounds like something he'd do," I said. "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm starting to believe Ragnar might be a better person than he is a basketball player."
"That's saying a lot. Playing with him the other day..." Jim shook his head, a faraway look in his eyes. "Man, it was like playing with Superman. I thought Abrim was past him twice – and then he was just there. I don't understand how."
"I've decided it's not just how fast he can move or how high he can jump – it's how fast he can see things."
"You said that right." Jim studied me for a moment. "And speaking of game, are you trying out for basketball?"
"I hadn't planned to."
"You got those hyper genes, man. You're fast, springy, and I noticed you don't get tired."
"But those things are no substitute for skill. I can barely dribble right now."
"We got time to change that. We just need to get together after school and on the weekends and work it out one on one. And we should get in some pickup games."
I felt myself warming to the idea. "Why don't we do that, and see how it goes?"
"You got it, brother." We slapped hands. "You know, I wasn't too happy about changing schools, but it's good to have at least one friend here."
"Yeah." I glanced down at my lunch bag sitting forlornly on the grass.
"Do you usually, uh, eat alone?" asked Jim.
"I didn't used to. I think my friends might be avoiding me. This hyper thing can be kind of hard to handle."
"I hear what you're saying. You must've been in hell in juvie. 'Course, if you'd told people you were hyper, you would've had every guy in heat lining up for you."
"I guess I really missed out."
Jim gave me a droll grin. "Anyway, now that you're out here, you could have any chick you want, right?"
"Not every one," I said.
"Still, you know what I mean. Ragnar said you're working for CellEvolve now. You must be rakin' it in. And that's only the beginning. Everyone knows hypers make about ten times the national average."
Yet somehow I didn't feel like dancing or pumping my fists in the air.
"I don't know, Jim," I said. "Maybe I'm just too young to take it all in, but I kind of liked my life the way it was."
"Are you kidding? You'd really rather be just another poor slob like the rest of us? If you could go back to being what you were before your change, you would?"
He seemed more curious and disbelieving than offended.
"I wouldn't say that. I'm just saying that there are pluses and minuses to both cases."
"Maybe." Jim didn't appear convinced. "Anyway, we got a half-hour before class starts. I got a ball in my car. Want to shoot around a little?"
"Sure."
Later, I drove to the UCJ campus for Calculus 2. It was a bit intimidating trying to find a parking space – the campus was insanely busy, and all the buildings seemed so far away – but I managed to find a spot and get to class on time. Next time I'd just run or ride my bike.
I expected the kids to all be clearly older and larger, but when I entered the class the difference between me and the other students seemed minimal. No one paid any particular attention to me. Under my layers of Andrydox, I was just another guy.
I was happy to learn that today's topic was convergent series. Convergent series had always fascinated me. I sensed implications about the core nature of reality in them – something fundamentally strange that certain ratio series, such as pi, would run forever (in theory) without converging, while others pointed to an ultimate end even if it might take forever to get there.
The teacher was a thirty-something dude who obviously loved his job. He practically gushed with enthusiasm as he scrawled figures on the chalkboard. The high school calculus teacher, Mr. Rhineman, could've learned something from him about how to give a lecture. I was so caught up by his words that maybe half the class whizzed by before I noticed the dark-haired girl a few seats to my left. I didn't know if she was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen – though she was probably close – but she surely had the most haunting face: fine eyebrows, clear, penetrating eyes that might've been blue or grey or some combination, a long, gracefully arching nose, and tousles of dark brown hair flung back behind pointy elfin ears. The smile on her full lips entranced me – a sensuous, knowing smile that seemed to reflect the beautiful equations on the board.
Toward the end of class, she noticed me staring at her. I glimpsed an expression of cool curiosity in her eyes before I averted mine. The young teacher dismissed us with some required reading, and we all shuffled out of the class – I more slowly than the others, as the dark-haired girl took her time in stuffing the thick textbook into her backpack. I walked with her out of the class – close but not (I hoped) too close – trailing the rest of the students.
As we reached the steps outside, she moved toward a bike rack, and I followed. When she reached her bike, she finally turned to acknowledge my stalker presence.
"Um, hi," I gulped.
"Hello."
If anything, her full face was even more haunting than her profile. The funny thing was, I wasn't sure other guys would see her as beautiful. She didn't have a Sonja Wilson "in your face" kind of beauty; her features were more like a puzzle that once assembled by an intelligent mind became striking. Or so I hoped. I didn't want the competition – a novel thought for me these days, given my obvious advantages over most dudes.
"Was there something you wanted?" she asked.
"Well, I uh, was wondering if you, would, um, want to do something..." I swallowed. "I mean, with me."
"That's a bit vague."
My smile was shaky. "Well, what would you like to do?"
"How old are you?"
I conducted a fierce debate about the merits of lying, but decided I wanted to be honest this time. "Uh, sixteen."
She nodded and smiled to herself, and turned to unlock her bike.
"You either skipped a grade or two, or you're an advanced student from Jefferson High, right?"
"Both, actually." I coughed in one hand, damning my nervousness – and the Andrydox. If I wasn't wearing it, she'd be sweating and swooning by now, I was sure of it. "How old are you?"
"Too old for you."
She unsnapped her lock and wrapped the steel-fiber cord around her bike seat.
"I'll see you in class?" I called after her as she rode away. She did glance back with a brief smile before turning a corner out of sight.
I returned to my BMW with a prolonged sigh and a growing irritation. I would show up in class with "no protection," and then we'd see how cool she'd be. Yet as I drove back to my house for dinner, to be followed by my return to CellEvolve for the evening shift (per my new insanely busy schedule), I decided to scrub that idea. It was time to see if I could hold my own in the real world without "artificial sweeteners."
Dinner with Mom and Melanie was a somber affair. Melanie either stared down at her plate or sullenly into the distance. Mom was tightlipped. Maybe they'd been fighting?
"How was your first day in school?" Mom asked.
"Not too bad," I said. "Gertie and Keith seem to be avoiding me, but on the plus side, my friend from juvenile hall is going to school here now."
"Cool," said Melanie. "Jefferson High has been missing a criminal element."
"If smoking dope makes you a criminal, then half the student body, and probably half of the teachers, are criminals."
"I remember you mentioning him," said my mom without enthusiasm. "Jim, wasn't it? The roommate?"
"Yeah. We played a lot of basketball together. In fact, he's trying out for the team, and wants me to try out, too."
"Really?" My mom's brow rose. "You'd be interested in doing that?"
I shrugged. I slurped down a spoonful of stew, drawing a disapproving look from my mom.
"I'm thinking about it
. I'm not sure how it would fit into my schedule. Anyway, we're going to practice together, see what happens."
"If someone had told me my super-nerd brother would become a jock," said Melanie, "I would've told them they were insane. But look at you now. You could be on the cover of Men's Fitness, right next to your boyfriend, Ragnar."
"I'm not the one in this family he wants to be a boyfriend with," I mumbled.
My mom's spoon stopped at her lips. "What did you say?"
"Uh, nothing." I wasn't sure if Ragnar wanted her to know. I had been pretty sure that I didn't want her to know. The subconscious works in strange ways, I guessed. Especially with a clutz like me.
"I think he just said that Ragnar has the hots for you," my sister kindly supplied the interpretation.
I noted the slight reddening in my mom's ears – one of her excitement or embarrassment "tells." She slipped the spoonful of stew between her pursed lips and chewed with apparent reflection.
"He asked if I was okay with him seeing you," I said, figuring what the heck.
"I never realized he was so old-fashioned." Melanie sounded impressed despite herself.
"We've already talked about this," my mom said in a tired voice. "It would be a bad idea."
"What – and miss a chance to join his harem?" Melanie smiled sweetly under Mom's acerbic stare, and turned to me. "What did you tell him?"
"I said he's only a few years older than me, and that seemed, well, not a good thing."
"He reminds me of you," said my mom. "You could be his younger brother."
"And that's not creepy at all," Melanie snickered.
"He's a good guy," I said. "He even called Principal Schussler to convince him to let Jim play sports this year, which they weren't going to do because of his arrest."
"I think he's a nice young man, with surprisingly good values," said my mom. "Emphasis on young."
"Most women would kill to have him interested in them," Melanie opined.
"I'm not most women."
"Anything new on the break – " I stopped myself as Mom glared at me. I'd forgotten that we'd agreed not to reveal "the breakthrough" to anyone – even Mel. (I knew Mom would be furious with me for spilling the beans to Ragnar.)
"Break what?" Melanie asked.
Hyper Page 17
