Quicksilver (15 page)

“Monday night.”

Nearly a week away. I’d hoped it would be sooner. But I still had a lot of parts to order, and they’d take a few days to arrive in any case. In the meantime, I could get started on designing the circuit board and trying to track down a vector network analyzer, which was the one piece of equipment even Sebastian couldn’t afford.

I only wished I knew how much time I had left to do it. But when I’d asked Sebastian, he didn’t seem to know any more than I did.
Too many variables,
he’d written.
Just work as fast as you can.

“Okay,” I said, trying not to let my worry show. “Thanks.”

FDG rummaged underneath his desk and popped up with a duct-tape covered clipboard and a pen that looked as though it had been chewed by a Rottweiler. “We’ll need your names, addresses, and a phone number or e-mail.” He thrust the clipboard at me. “After the meeting, we’ll give you and your boyfriend a call.”

I started to protest that Milo wasn’t my boyfriend, but then I realized that would just complicate the issue. It wasn’t like I could pass him off as my brother or cousin, not without fabricating an adoption story at any rate. And if there wasn’t some obvious reason for him to want to hang around and watch me solder components for hours on end, the board might decide he wasn’t dependable enough to take the responsibility.

So I slid closer to Milo as I scribbled down my contact information and touched his arm lightly when I passed the clipboard on. Not enough to startle him, just to show we were comfortable with each other.

We could work out the details later.

0 1 1 1 0 0

When Milo and I left the makerspace, the sun had dipped below the rooftops. We walked the two blocks to the bus shelter without speaking and stood there watching the traffic for a while. Finally, I cleared my throat and said, “That was … what you said back there … thanks a lot. I wasn’t expecting you to do that.”

Milo squinted out the doorway, shifting his weight from one running shoe to the other. “Yeah, well,” he said, “I wasn’t expecting them to mistake me for your boyfriend either. And I definitely wasn’t expecting you to go along with it. So I guess it’s been a night of surprises all around.”

There were forty-three centimeters between my elbow and Milo’s, and every picometer of it was charged with Awkward. I steeled myself and plunged in. “Sorry if I embarrassed you. I didn’t know what to say, and—”

“You think I was embarrassed?” He gave me an incredulous look. “Why would I be? I scored about a billion Dude Points just walking in the door with you. Believe me, you don’t have to apologize.”

I didn’t blush often, let alone for long. But right now I felt like I’d stuck my face in an oven. “Milo…”

“I know. I’m just a friend, and you want to make sure I’m okay with that, because you’re a nice person. I get it, Niki. It’s fine.”

Somewhere along the line I’d got out of the habit of reading Milo—stopped running my usual diagnostic on his expression, stance, and tone of voice. In other words, I’d started trusting him.

But now I saw the tremor in his jaw, and I knew he was lying. It wasn’t fine at all.

“That’s not what I mean,” I said, fighting to keep the anger out of my voice. Because it wasn’t Milo I was angry at, it was the whole stupid world. A world where relationships like the one I’d had with Brendan were normal, and the one I had with Milo was not. “There’s no such thing as
just
a friend, Milo. Friendship is one of the most important things there is.”

Milo stuffed his hands into his pockets and glanced up the road, as though hoping the bus would come and rescue him. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

“I’m serious,” I insisted, stepping in front of him so he’d have to look me in the eye. “I hate it when people talk like friendship is less than other kinds of—as though it’s some sort of runner-up prize for people who can’t have sex. I had a boyfriend once, but I never liked being with him the way I like being with you.” I held his gaze, refusing to falter or look away. “You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had, Milo. And that is
everything
to me.”

Milo was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “You mean that, don’t you. You’re not just trying to make me feel better.”

“I’m not,” I said. “I’m really, really not.”

His eyes lowered, and his expression turned pensive. Then he looked up again and said, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I mean, that’s good by me.” He gave a slight, tentative smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I let my breath out in relief. Finding out Milo legitimately cared about me and wanted to be around me, even if there was no chance of the two of us hooking up, was enormous. I wanted to show him how glad I was for his friendship, how warm and bubbly it made me feel to have him by my side. I wanted to take his hand, lean my head on his shoulder, maybe even hug him.

Only knowing he liked me as something other than a friend—not
more than,
I’d never say that—held me back. I didn’t want to be unfair to Milo. But I didn’t want him to think I was repulsed by him, either. I wanted to give him something personal and precious, so he’d know how much his friendship meant to me.

“Milo,” I said, “I’m going to tell you something I’ve only ever told one other person. And when I do, I … I hope you’ll understand.” Passionately hoped, in fact. Because if he said any of the things Lara had said to me when I told her, it would be hard to forgive him for it.

“I know,” he said. “You’re gay, right?”

“No,” I said. “I’m not sexually attracted to anyone. At all. Ever.”

Silence. I could see Milo blinking behind his glasses, his brain struggling to process this new information, and I prepared myself for the inevitable barrage of questions.
Have you seen a doctor? A psychiatrist? Were you abused? Are you scared? What if you haven’t just met the right person yet?

But when Milo spoke it was cautiously, his brow furrowed in thought. “What do you mean by that, exactly? You said you had a boyfriend once…”

Brendan Stewart, long gone and unlamented. Great hair. Great body. Great kisser, according to other girls he’d dated. But if so, his talents had been wasted on me. “I went out with Brendan because it was what he wanted,” I said. “I thought if I tried to act like a real girlfriend, maybe I’d start to feel like one. That I’d want him to kiss me and put his hands on me, instead of counting the seconds until it was over. But … I never did.”

“Oh,” said Milo.

“I mean, it didn’t help that he was a selfish pig who wouldn’t take no for an answer. I would have broken up with him anyway, even if I’d liked the physical stuff. But going out with him made me realize that I wasn’t shy or uptight about sex. I simply wasn’t interested.”

What I didn’t say was that by that time, I’d also found out I wasn’t alone. I’d discovered a forum on the Internet that was full of people—many of them young, healthy, social, even attractive—who felt the same way. They weren’t against sex or trying to keep other people from having it. They just didn’t feel the need. And once I’d seen that, it had given me the courage to stop trying to change myself.

“So you’re never going out with anyone again?” Milo asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe, if I met somebody who accepted me the way I am and didn’t feel cheated that I didn’t want to make out all the time. But how likely is that? Most people our age are crazy about sex. And don’t tell me you’re different, because I won’t believe you.”

Milo made a face. “I’m not. I wish I was sometimes, because my mom doesn’t want me seeing anybody until I’m done with university. But I’d be lying if I said I don’t think about it. A lot.”

“How do you get anything
done?”
I asked, and Milo laughed. Only a short laugh, but the smile that went with it was real, and it dissolved all the tension between us.

“Cold showers,” he said. “And lots of running. My thighs are steel. My abs are bronze. My biceps—”

“They are excellent biceps,” I said. “I’ve noticed.”

That got me a double take. “You have?”

“I’m in your bus shelter, messing with your worldview,” I said, elbowing him. “Yes, I’ve noticed. I’m asexual, not blind.”

Milo scratched the back of his neck, clearly at a loss. “So … what exactly are you noticing, again?”

I wanted to laugh. “Stop fishing for compliments,” I said. “Yes, I like the way you look. I’d even say you’re attractive. Just because I don’t have the urge to tackle you and rip your clothes off—”

“Please
don’t say things like that,” Milo moaned, and now I did laugh.

“Sorry. What I mean is, there’s nothing wrong with you as far as I’m concerned. I wish…” No, I wasn’t going to finish that sentence. I’d been honest enough for one night. “Anyway, if you don’t mind the people at the makerspace thinking you’re my boyfriend, I’m not going to argue with them. In fact—” My gaze turned inward, a new thought sparking alight. “It might help if one or two other people made the same mistake.”

“Oh, no,” said Milo. “I know that look. That’s your I-havean-idea look, and it means bad things.”

“Not necessarily,” I told him. “But if my parents thought I had a boyfriend, a mature, responsible,
strong
boyfriend…”

“Then you’d have the perfect excuse to go out every night and work on the transceiver. I get it. But remember what I told you about
my
mother? If she thought I was seeing anybody, she would flay me alive. With her teeth.”

“You’re already lying to her about the phys ed thing,” I pointed out. “This wouldn’t even be a lie. We
aren’t
going out. We’re just going to let a few people think we are.”

“What about everybody at work?” asked Milo. “What do we tell them?”

“Nothing,” I said. “It’s none of their business.”

The bus squeaked to a stop outside the shelter, blue and white paint glowing in the fading light. I climbed on, flashed my pass at the driver, and swung myself into a seat.

“So let me get this straight,” Milo said as he joined me. “To the people at the makerspace and to your parents, we’re going out. To my mother and between ourselves we’re not. Everybody else gets to make up their own minds, because we aren’t saying one way or the other. We’re like the Schrodinger’s Cat of relationships.”

“Exactly.”

“And if somebody asks if we’re together? Like Jon, for instance.”

“It’s complicated,” I said. “We have to play it cool because our parents don’t approve. Like Romeo and Juliet.”

“Who ended up dead, if you remember,” said Milo.

“Only because they were stupid. You and I are not stupid.”

“Thank you,” said Milo dryly. “But there’s another problem. You never asked me to pretend-go out with you.”

“Should I pretend to get down on one knee?” I asked.

“I’m not sure I’m ready,” he said. “It’s a big commitment.”

For three seconds I couldn’t tell whether or not he was serious. I was beginning to worry that I’d assumed too much when he went on in the same grave tone, “Maybe we should pretend see other people for a while.”

I punched him in the arm. “Stop messing with me. Are you okay with this or not? Because if you’re not, we need to come up with a better idea fast. My mom’s seen us together a couple of times, and I’m pretty sure she thinks we’re going out already.”

“This has been the second weirdest evening of my life,” said Milo, resigned. “But why not? Let’s pretend-do it.”

I was tempted to make that into a joke—
On the first date? What kind of pretend girlfriend do you think I am?—
but it would only embarrass him, and I was getting tired of bantering anyway. “Thanks,” I said softly.

We rode a while in silence. The bus paused to let off a young woman in a hijab, then stopped again to pick up an old man, who tottered down the aisle and collapsed into the seat across from us, wheezing and mopping his nose. Two more blocks, and it would be my turn.

“So,” said Milo. “We get off the bus together. Right?”

“Right,” I said, reaching up to signal for our stop.

“And then what?”

“You walk me home.” I got up, stumbling a little before I caught my balance, and headed for the exit. “We say good night. I go inside and start working on the transceiver.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I wouldn’t have thought it was possible for anyone to sound relieved and disappointed at the same time, especially in three syllables. “What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

Liar, I thought. But I didn’t call him on it, not until we’d got off the bus and crossed the four lanes of traffic to my street. Then I turned to him, held out my hand, and said, “Showtime.”

“Really?” he asked. “You’re okay with that?”

“I am totally okay with that,” I said firmly and laced my fingers into his.

0 1 1 1 0 1

“How was the movie?” Dad asked when I came in. He was kneeling on the kitchen tile with a pile of newspapers under him and a paint can in one hand, touching up the baseboards.

“Pretty stupid, actually,” I replied. “I’d skip that one if I were you. Where’s Mom?”

“Having a bath, probably,” he said. “She’s been painting all evening, so I told her to go relax.”

“Oh,” I said. I’d hoped at least one of my parents had seen Milo and I standing close together on the sidewalk, still holding hands, as I gazed dreamily up at him and told him that I was going to ship all the bigger transceiver parts to his house. He’d told me okay, but not to overdo it and could I please get that dopey look off my face before he threw up? So it had been a very special moment, and I was sorry to think it had been wasted on just the two of us.

“So who’d you go with?” Dad asked, painting a slow line across the top of the trim and dipping his brush again.

“A friend,” I said.

He sat back on his haunches and gave me a quizzical look. “Just a friend?”

The next time I heard somebody use that phrase, I was going to hit them. “A good friend,” I said shortly and turned to leave.

“Because,” Dad continued, “your mother thought it might be a date.”