Waves and Light: Opposites Attract Series

by Elizabeth J. Merrill

  Of course, they seized Dad’s assets to pay fines. And because Texas is a community property state, they could have seized Mom’s assets as well, but Dad had done something odd to protect them. Of course, we still had to use all the money from the sale of the house, the emergency fund, and our educational trusts to pay fines and attorney fees, so ultimately all his careful planning didn’t matter much. The government and the attorneys still took everything, but the house. I was so grateful that we managed to keep the house; I love that house.

  In the end we still owed the attorneys $36K, but they agreed to forgive some of it and let Mom pay the rest out at $1000 per month in exchange for Dad crunching some numbers for them. They only gave him credit for a fraction of his normal billable rate because, they explained, as a convicted felon, they had to scrub the data so he could work on it without liability. It’s an expensive process, apparently, but more importantly it feels like being convicted a second time. It’s like even his math skills are guilty. Regardless, Mom is really feeling the pinch. In our old life $1000 per month was nothing; it was a few dinners out and a couple of outfits. Now it’s the difference between okay and hungry. After Mom pays the attorneys, property taxes, insurance, and utility bills, she has a little over $200 a week for food, gas, medicine, health care, and any incidentals that come up. She teared up last month when the water heater started leaking, and we needed a new one. She sold a brooch that Dad gave her for her birthday to cover it. It was an ugly brooch, and it netted enough to cover the water heater and then some. In the end the water heater incident worked out but money’s still tight. If the bill to exempt feminine hygiene products from sales tax passes, it would definitely improve our quality of life.

  Nevertheless, we’re better off than most of the executives from the company; we avoided bankruptcy. The Watleys sold everything and still had to declare bankruptcy. Last I heard, Jennifer and her mother were living with her grandparents in South Carolina. Her mother is divorcing her father. At one point, Dad suggested that Mom divorce him, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She kept saying that she vowed to take him for better or worse, richer or poorer. It was sweet, if not the most astute move financially.

  My parents are committed to each other and to us. By the time Dad was working out his plea agreement, I was attending my senior year at Austin High. I didn’t mind at all. I never really got along with all those rich kids at Regents. Dad helped me fill out college applications and study for the SATs. I got a perfect score even on the essay and got into every school I applied to. Unfortunately my financial aid package was based on Dad’s previous year income in which he was quite gainfully employed. Even the year when everything went down wouldn’t net me any financial aid, because he still got a substantial salary for the four months he was employed, and we liquidated all those assets. We had to count that money towards our net wealth even though we had to pay it in fines. Maybe we should have declared bankruptcy after all.

  In the end, I managed to squeak in my application to UT just before the deadline. And since I was at Austin High with all the pot heads, I ended up being valedictorian and getting my first year of tuition free. I got a job waiting tables in Houston over the summer and another one in Austin when school started. I also got a lot of little local scholarships from the Soroptimists, the Women’s Club, NASA wives, the JCs, the Chamber of Commerce, and the greater Houston development fund. None of them were more than a $1000, but they really added up. A few of them funded me my sophomore year too. Now that I’m a Fineman Scholar, I should be good. The Fineman is better than being a valedictorian because it pays for books and supplies too. Plus I managed to save money from my summer waitress gig and would have been fine waiting tables this year too, but when Dr. Hrezecovic asked me to apply for her lab assistant position, I couldn’t say no to a chance to change the world. Really—Dr. Hrezecovic is creating the future now—in her lab—next to me. Her work with AI and wave technology is cutting edge, and I get the chance to sharpen it up. Unfortunately, the position didn’t pay enough to cover room and board. I could go back to waitressing, but they grumbled when I could only work 25 hours a week. Between that job and the lab assistant job, I would have some extra money to throw at Mom and Veronica, but I also wouldn’t have any time to sleep. Working almost forty hours a week while taking the fifteen hours and maintaining the 3.5 GPA I needed to keep the Fineman wouldn’t leave much time for sleeping. If I can get this tutoring gig though, everything should work out.

  I won’t have extra money to give to Mom and Veronica, but I’m going to try to convince Mom to sell more of her jewelry. Dad used to give Mom beautiful, tasteful jewelry, but in the last two years, he had started giving her ugly, gaudy jewelry. She only wore the diamond, chandelier earrings he gave her one time, because she said her ears hurt for a week after only wearing them a few hours at a cocktail party. The emerald necklace is so large it looks like it’s wearing her. And she can barely bend her wrist when she wears the giant sapphire bracelet he gave her. She’ll never wear that stuff. She much prefers the pearls or the dainty diamond studs he gave her in the past. She should sell that gaudy stuff so she’ll have emergency money when she needs it. I’m going to try and track down a reputable dealer for her in the next few weeks.

  Regardless, I hope I get this tutoring job. It will make my life easier and look good on my CV. Since I’ll just be working on campus, I can lend my car to Veronica and avoid the incredibly expensive UT parking sticker. I just can’t get a handle on this David Slade guy. Maybe Wendy knows the scoop on him. I’ll have to ask her at dinner tonight.

  As Wendy and I strolled across the street to the dining hall, I gave her the low down on my interaction with cluelessly hot David. Wendy thought about what I had told her. Then she flung her long blond hair over her shoulder, shrugged, and looked down at me (she’s a giant—pushing 6 feet) with her big blue eyes and summed up the situation. “Who cares if he’s autistic, he’s like….a unicorn--a good-looking nerd. You should definitely do him. “

  “I’m not doing him. I’m not “doing” anyone. I’m focusing on school and then my career. Once I have tenure at a good school, I might consider doing someone. Until then, I’m off the market.”

  Despite viewing college as an incredibly large, diverse dating pool, Wendy was the best roommate ever. We understood each other. She only let men stay over when I was out of town. And she always texted me to tell me who she was spending the night with when it wasn’t in our room. She brought me Gatorade and crackers when I had the flu. She never turned on the light when she came in at 2am. Neither did she complain when I went out for a 6am swim and accidentally slammed the door. I tutored her in calculus—why do dance majors need calculus anyway—and brought her ice when she sprained her ankle. We had a mutually beneficial relationship. And I was sure she’d get the dirt on David Slade. She knew everybody and could find out every thing.

  Chapter Twp

  David

  Today was Hottie’s interview. I guess I needed to stop calling her that but B.D. just seemed wrong. I had tried to track down what B.D. stood for, but so far I’d come up with bupkiss. I started out searching social media and learned the regular stuff. Apparently she’d grown up not that far from me and had even graduated from my Alma Mater, but I hadn’t met her because she had attended Regal…ah…Regent’s Academy. The tuition there rivaled that of an Ivy League School. At Regent’s she’d been a swimmer, but dropped it when she’d transferred to Austin. Regardless, I never found her referred to as anything but B.D. So, I went old school and asked some of my friends from her year. They all remembered her as the valedictorian, but nothing else. Apparently she kept to herself. The few of my friends who had classes with her said even the class rolls listed her as B.D. -- Weird! So then I went local. I asked Sonya. Surely the university knew her real name. Once again, I struck out. The university listed her as B.D. Even her employment records listed her as B.D. I was going to find out what B.D. stood for, but until then I would try to stop thinking of her
as Hottie so at least I wouldn’t call her that to her face.

  I was also going to take this opportunity to look good. I was going to wear the Versace suit Mom had managed to snag for me last year. It was a little dressy even in my official capacity as tutoring center student director, but I had had only one other opportunity to wear it since I got it. If I dressed it down Miami Vice style with a T-shirt and boat shoes, I could get away with it while still looking fabulous.

  After checking myself out in the mirror—I looked awesome--I made sure that I had everything I needed for B.D.’s interview. After all as the STEM expert, I was the point man on this one. Olivia, a history geek, oversaw the humanities side of things and liaised with writing center. I ran the STEM side, so I put together the interview packets: copies of her CV and application, a list of interview questions and a typical first-year homework assignment. We would have her work the problems to make sure she knew her stuff. I wasn’t worried that she did, but it was standard procedure. It would be interesting to see if she got close to my 25 minute record. I was pretty sure we’d hire her; after all she was our only applicant, but I didn’t want to just give it to her just because she was the only other Fineman scholar willing to work in the tutoring center—thank you Steve “Grade Whore” Whitman.

  B.D.

  I had just enough time to change into something professional and head over to my interview after my morning classes. Good thing Mom’s corduroy jacket had a matching skirt. She told me it’s what she was wearing when she met my dad, so I figured it’s lucky. Mom can’t wear it anymore even though she’s in great shape for her age; her waist just isn’t small enough anymore. The suit’s a little retro with wide lapels, but I planned to wear my grandmother’s parrot brooch in the lapel as a distraction. The green stone for the eye sets off the outfit and my eyes. I just put on one of my old, white button-up shirts under it and tied a green grosgrain ribbon in a bow around the collar. It matched the parrot pin. I almost put my pearls on under the shirt just because they reminded me of Dad; he gave them to me for my sixteenth birthday, but I settled for just the matching pearl earrings. I wish I had green pumps to go with the outfit, but I just have the plain black ones. It’s August and normally I would never consider wearing pantyhose, but my mother always acts like wearing a skirt without stockings is something only women of questionable virtue do. Just in case, I decided to wear the pantyhose. The heels of my shoes were a little run down so I got out the polish and tried to clean them up a bit. Then I pulled my hair back in a bun, put on the professional eye-shadow like my aunt, the beautician, showed me, and shoved my CV and recommendation letters in my dad’s old folio. Looking in the mirror, I looked grown-up and no nonsense—just what someone expects from a physics tutor. I was a bit nervous, but Dr. Hrezecovic said they always hire Fineman scholars, so it’s virtually a sure thing. Still….I wanted to make a good impression even if David Slade is too socially inept to notice.

  David

  Olivia and I were sitting at the table in the conference room when Sonya ushered in B.D. a few minutes before noon. Prompt is good thing in a tutor. Sometimes the real brainiacs can’t get here on time to save their lives. B.D. seemed dependable if unfortunately dressed. Apparently, the ugly jacket had an ugly skirt sister. Her make-up and hair looked like they were done by some backwoods beautician sporting a beehive and her shoes belonged in the trash. She was wearing cheap pantyhose too. I didn’t even know they still sold those.

  Olivia and I got up to shake B.D.’s hand, and I introduced her. She gave us a nervous smile. Every one sat around the table, and I got started with physics homework. I handed over the same set of problems I did two years ago and explained that while we’re sure she understood physics well, we wanted to see how she works these lower level problems. Once she finished the problems, we’ll have her explain how she would explain a few of them to a student. Finally, I told her that while she had unlimited time to do the problems, we would be timing her, so she wanted to answer them as quickly as she could without rushing. All along she’s nodded like she understood everything. Then I asked, “Are you ready?”

  “Wait just a second,” she replied.

  She rummaged around in her cheap, red purse and pulled out a pencil. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  “Don’t you have a calculator? Do you want some scratch paper?” I asked

  “Probably not,” she replied—a bit smugly I thought.

  “Well just in case, we’ll get you some scratch paper and a tutoring center calculator.” I nodded to Olivia who retrieved them.

  When she got back and handed them to B.D. she lined them up at right angles—good for her—to the side of her work space. Then I handed over the problems, face down, glanced at my watch, and when it hit straight up 12:05, I said go.

  B.D. calmly turned over the pages and started reading the first problem. She drew a tiny little sketch of the problem with arrows showing force and energy and wrote out the first equation. She labeled the equation and the diagram with letters to correlate with the different parts, then she just stared into space for a minute and wrote the answer to the first problem.

  Sonya and Olivia excused themselves the second I said go, so they’re not witnessing this. Is this some kind of game? Did she get the problems before hand and just memorize the answers? She wrote down the first equation in the second problem, paused, wrote down the answer and plugged that answer into the second equation, a bit more staring into space, and she wrote down the final answer.

  She proceeded to work the entire problem set in this way carefully drawing tiny perfect diagrams and labeling them along with the equations. At just over nineteen minutes, she quietly said, “done!”

  I glanced at the paper. “Are you sure? Do you want to check your work?”

  “No, I’m sure.”

  I pulled out the key I worked the day before, and sure enough, every answer was correct. Not only that, but each problem had a diagram, the relevant formulas, and then the formulas with the appropriate data plugged in. She’d labeled the problem, the diagram, and the equations with the traditional letters used in the formulas. Even the troglodytes we’ve got in here would understand this.

  “Excuse me,” I said and got up to wave Sonya and Olivia back.

  “That was quick,” announced Olivia smugly. She loves it when women excel in the sciences even though she herself has opted not to—excel in the sciences that is.

  “Yes, so B.D. why don’t you show us what you’ve done. I noticed you didn’t use a calculator or scratch paper,” she asked slyly.

  “Yes…”she glanced down in an embarrassed way and blushed. She’s absolutely stunning when she blushes and once again I imagine ripping her hair free and running my fingers through her bountiful tresses, but the ugly jacket ruins it.

  “I can do large calculations in my head with time,” she explained. “It’s a little bit genetic/a little bit learned. My dad’s a mathematician and he can do it, so he started teaching me when I was five or six. It’s pretty easy for me to do them without using a calculator, but I know how to use a calculator. I was in the UIL calculator competition in junior high.”

  “I see. Why don’t you explain the first problem to Sonya and Olivia.” She stepped through the problem explaining her diagram and the corresponding bits of data and how they plugged into the formula.

  “Wow!” chortled Olivia. “Even I understood that, and I’m terrible at physics and I really suck at math. I wasn’t sure how I was going to manage the required nine hours of science, but now I’m thinking I should just take physics and B.D. here can get me through.”

  I frown. “Maybe. Let’s continue on to the interview questions. So what do you think your best quality is, B.D.?”

  By the end of the interview, I could feel the waves of approval coming off of Sonya and Olivia. The estrogen was thick, and I wasn’t sure I could stand it. I could already hear Olivia gloating about knowledge being equally accessible to both genders; society just biased women against math and
science. Still she was our only candidate, and I didn’t have to like her, although I was going to try to do something about her look. After all, I didn’t have to like her, but I did have to look at her.

  With the sigh of inevitability, I asked B.D. to wait outside the conference room. I turned to Sonya and Olivia, “She does seem like a pretty good candidate, but we could wait a few more weeks to see if we get any other applications.”

  “Pretty good!” screamed Olivia. “She’s the bomb. I can’t imagine a better candidate. We have to hire her.”

  Sonya added. “It seems unlikely that we will get a better applicant at this point. We should go on ahead and hire her without delay and get her on the schedule. The first homework set will be due next week.”

  “Okay let’s hire her. We should probably pretend to deliberate a bit more; she needs to sweat a bit more.”

  Olivia bounced in her chair, “Why? Let’s tell her now? I’ll bring her back in.”

  Before I could stop her, Olivia was out of her chair and shouting congratulations. B.D. shook her hand and said thank you. I passed her off to Sonya to complete the paper work and explain the rules. As I started to walk out the door, Sonya said to us both. “Shouldn’t you two exchange e-mails so David can put you on the schedule? B.D. why don’t you e-mail David your schedule so he knows when you’re available for tutoring. ” I pulled out my card and handed it to her. I had designed it myself, so it looked pretty good.