Riding the Universe (6 page)

Rock pulls back, and his eyes search my face. “You're not into this. You don't think I'm the one for you, do you?”

I take a good look at him. I see a wonderful guy, misguided though he may be—one who's always been there for me. But I've lost count of how many girls—women—he's been with. And I just cannot be with a player like him.

“I never said that.” I turn my eyes back to Arcturus and the Milky Way, now becoming visible after settling on the horizon all winter long. “I just don't think it's that simple. Real love—soul mates—are very rare. Some people meet theirs when they're already old, and some people aren't lucky enough to meet theirs at all.”

We're quiet for a minute while he thinks about this.
Maybe he's amused that I could be so skeptical. Or maybe I've shocked him into seeing the inevitable truth—that Rock is my best friend—no more, no less.

“Chloé Rodriguez.” He sighs softly, closing his eyes. “You are one cynical little girl with your ‘don't think' and your theories.”

Somewhere in the darkness, a frog agrees with him. “Yeah? Well, at least I won't be going around my whole life living in total disillusionment, wondering why I haven't met my soul mate yet. At least I'll be realistically happy, not searching for anything out of this world.”

His soft laugh vibrates next to me—a sad, sympathetic laugh. He can laugh all he wants, but on some deeper level, he knows I'm right.

Rock rolls onto his back and stretches his arms behind his head. He shuts his eyes against the flickering of a billion suns, as if Earth holds all the secrets he'll ever need. “With the way you come out here every night, baby doll,” he says, sighing, “you could've fooled me.”

O
ver the weekend, it rains nonstop. Again. This would be a great time to try to finish working on Lolita's leak in the garage, but once again, Rock's not answering my texts or calls. What is up with that boy? I sulk in my room, watching reruns of old shows and thinking about Friday night at the Murphys' dock. I can't believe he's ignoring me. Like he's such a relationships expert! Maybe he finally realized it takes more than sex to have a connection with someone and can't stand that it won't be me.

He should've quit while he was ahead, brought me the flan, and just talked about pistons. But
noo
, he just had to ruin it. Bad Rock. Bad, bad Rock. Ah, but that kiss! How could I call that ruining it?
Shake it off, Chloé.

And what about Gordon? He'd better have a good reason for not calling, after I invited him somewhere on a
weekend
. That's what I get for giving two hoots about him.

I decide to forget about men altogether by logging a few hours at my computer. After the usual site hangouts, I stare at the empty search box and try to think of something besides sky patterns to research. Before I even know what I'm doing, I slowly type
adoption agencies Florida
, and my heart starts to beat a little faster. So many choices appear, but I can't seem to click on any of them.

Why do I care? What do I expect to find?

Well, for one, what if I have a brother or sister? Someone besides the babies, even though I love them, but God forgive me for saying this—someone who is blood related. Wouldn't I want to know that?

The rain hits my window almost horizontally, as if someone were sloshing it with big buckets of water. I'm mesmerized by the fluid swirls it creates as it glides down the glass.

What if I end up with an illness like Seth years from now? What if I need a blood transfusion from someone whose DNA is similar to mine? Aren't these good-enough reasons to search for my birth parents, or am I just rationalizing the simple fact that I want to know because I simply want to know?

My brain hurts. And the guilt I feel for thinking that I'm betraying Mom and Papi hits me so hard, I totally erase the search from my browser history, turn off the computer, and go see if any laundry needs doing.

 

Monday morning.

Rock is not asleep on my front porch. He is not there at all, and we're already late for school. Is he mad? Because he has no right to be. I didn't do anything to him.
Did I?
I guess today's street ballet will be a solo act. Again.

 

At school, I pull out Lolita's kickstand and feel her weight as I lean her over. Scattered thunderstorms are predicted again for later this afternoon. Maybe that tarp wasn't such a bad idea. Up ahead, Vincent strolls onto campus, cigarette over his left ear as usual. He reaches the covered walkway when a girl jumps out from behind a column and attacks him with a huge kiss on the lips. I walk faster, trying to beat the bell, but then I notice who the girl is and slow down.

Blond hair, black ends. Amber.

Shitsters. Rock was right.

Freakin' Vincent. King Doof.

I'm surprised and yet…I'm not. If anyone likes to sample the variety here at Everglades High, it's Amber. And Vince is probably just happy to have Amber paying him any attention. Still, why do I feel like going over there and yanking her hair? Why doesn't she just leave Rock
and
Vince alone?

Vincent sees me and waves. Now I have to act nice. “Hey, Chlo. Heard you're getting tutored by that Russian dude.”

“Who told you that?” Not that getting tutored is a big deal to Vincent, but still, I didn't go around broadcasting it.

“His ex—what's her name, Sabine?” he asks Amber.

“Yeah. She was talking to her friend in the office when
I was getting a late pass,” Amber says, as if I asked her. “Apparently, she thinks you guys have a little more than
chemistry
tutoring going on, if you know what I mean.” She laughs like such a lecherous fool, I want to slap her.

“Why would she think that?” I ask, remembering the way Sabine had looked over at Gordon and me last week. It's not like I have
FREE SEX
stamped on my forehead. Geez, talk about hypersensitive.

“I don't know, but you could've asked
me
for tutoring, Chloé. I would've schooled you.” Vince joins the lecher-speak, and now I want to slap them both.

“Ha, ha. Funny. I'll see you guys later.” I try escaping before
awkwardity
immobilizes me.

But Vince goes on. “Listen, we're having a party Saturday night at Amber's place.”

They're having a party together already? God, that's so cute! Not. I register the momentary look of worry on Amber's face. You know, maybe I should go to this party just to piss her off. “Really? What time?” I pretend to be totally interested.

Amber cuts Vincent off before he can do any more damage. “Anytime after nine. But if you can't make it, we'll totally understand.”

“Oh, no,” I say. “I'm pretty sure I can make it. I can bring friends, right?” Wouldn't she just love me and Rock at her party? I wait, eyebrows raised.

“Whoever, dude,” Vincent answers on her behalf, ringing her shoulders with his arm. “Bring your tutor.” He laughs out loud. I can't imagine Gordon would ever want to go to a party with me. He'd probably feel like he'd been
teleported onto another planet.

I smile. I wonder how people do it. How Amber can move on to Vincent when he's one of our buddies and obviously knows about her and Rock's jagged past, and how Vince can go for it. I know it'd make
me
crazy, if the guy I was seeing had been with another girl not long before and that girl talked about it like it was nothing. “Thanks, guys. I'll see you later.”

Vince gives me a peace sign. He seems happy, but I don't know. I wave at them and veer off toward first period. Should I call Rock and tell him what just happened? Would he even care, now that he thinks I'm his soul mate?

I decide to call anyway. He doesn't answer. As usual. “Call me,” I say when his voice mail picks up. “I have things to say.”

“Chlo-ou-éee?” I hear an impatient voice calling.
Crap.

“
Oui, Madame Jordan
?” I reply, turning toward her classroom.

“Don't
Oui, Madame Jordan
me. Why are you late again?”

I reach her and stamp a kiss on her cheek. “Because mornings like today's are few and far between, so we must stop to smell the palm trees?” I say in French.

“Don't sass me, little girl.”

I take off running. “
Je t'aime, Marraine
.” Godmothers are godmothers for a reason. They can't get angry at you. It would be totally against Jesus's wishes.

“
Oui
, you'd better be raising that grade with
Monsieur
Rooney, insolent child.” Then she's mumbling something in French again as she withdraws into her classroom.

I run up the stairs, hurrying now because luck can't possibly be on my side
every
day of my life, and I am not mentally disposed to reciting any gases today, much less the noble ones. I take the stairs two at a time, feeling the awesome burn in my quads, when all of a sudden…he's there.

Say hello, keep it cool
…

I slow down. From the look of it, Gordon is wearing new sneaks today. “Mr. Spudanka! Are you delivering another package to Henley's class?” I smile sarcastically.

“Spu
din
ka,” he corrects me, smiling the same way he did all last week in the hall. There's something about seeing a usually serious person smile. Their whole face lights up. My eyes are drawn to him, even though I will
so
be asking for it when I walk through Rooney's door.

“Right, that's what I meant.” I also see he's achieving a “chic-geek” look today. Still nerdy but somehow more aware of himself. What is this
je ne sais quoi
quality? Is his hair tousled differently? Or is it simply that Gordon is quite handsome upon closer inspection, in a young Ryan Reynolds sort of way?

“Sorry I didn't call you this weekend.” He gives me a sheepish grin.

“What…the…oh, you mean…Hey, don't worry about it. I actually had tons of stuff to do.” And by tons of stuff, I mean napping.

“Yeah, me too. I got caught up studying for a calculus test.”

I stand there half smirking, half smiling…
smirkling
. He stands there
smirkling
too. We
smirkle
quite a bit. “Well, I
gotta…” I say, pointing to Rooney's door. “You know…”

“Yeah, reciting the elements, I know.” He smiles, and the Spu-dimples return to render me unconscious.
Mon dieu!

I watch him rush off down the stairs. Even though he is still
malevoly
for having completely disregarded my attempt at connection this weekend, I think what just happened might actually be considered a breakthrough.

 

“Helium. Neon. Argon…” I pause to glare at some of my classmates who are snickering beyond reasonable control. From this angle, they have taken on a different look, like a crowd at a public hanging. “Kryptonite…” I can't think of which element comes next. All I hear is louder laughter all around.

Mr. Rooney squints as though I have suddenly become a misty cloud before his very eyes. “Kryptonite,” he says, adjusting his bifocals, “is not on the periodic chart of elements, last time I checked, Miss Rodriguez.”

I smile nervously. “I meant krypton.” For some weird reason, standing there, providing the class with school-time entertainment, I could only think of two things: one, that this painful moment would be emblazoned in my mind for all eternity; and two, that I was glad Gordon wasn't there to see it.

R
ock finally comes out of hiding, gracing me with his presence right after lunch. It's a mystery to me how administration has not caught on to his network of girls who not only do most of his classwork for him but forge notes and call in as his mother as well. If only I had
people
like he does, I could afford to skip school half the year too.

He catches up to me and presses his lips against my cheek, as if Friday night's awkwardness never happened. Sometimes I wish I was a guy so I could just pretend important emotional exchanges between people never took place.

I stare straight ahead. “You didn't have to ignore my calls.”

“I didn't ignore you. I was busy.”

“I don't want to hear it.” I block his words with my hand.

He laughs like a dirty old man. “Trust me, you don't.”

And there you have it. “You're sick.”

I act like his attitude doesn't bother me, but obviously it does. How am I supposed to believe anything he tells me when he goes right back to old behaviors like that? Doesn't he care that he might be picking up germy diseases from his extracurricular activities, or that he might get someone he barely knows pregnant?

“I meant everything I said the other night, by the way,” he says, taking my backpack and carrying it for me. Girls huddle like groupies as Rock walks by. Pretty girls. Girls who, for all intents and purposes, could get any guy they wanted. But Rock ignores them, his eyes focused on me.

“I'm sure you did,” I say, scanning the halls.

“But it's not enough, right?” He smiles, his lips just barely parted.

I shrug. I don't know what to think anymore.

Am I crazy to keep my best friend at bay like this? Maybe. But the idea of us together is more than a little terrifying. What if it didn't work? We could never hang the same way again. There would always be weirdness in the air. Or the worst case…we may go separate ways and never talk again.

No likey.

Speaking of weirdness, Amber suddenly comes careening down the hall and catapults herself like an Olympic long jumper right onto Vince's back. I watch Rock's face
carefully. Anyone who knows him the way I do would see his soul imploding right inside his glass skin. Amber is such a bitch—she even looks back at him for a second to make sure he notices.

But he turns away right as she does and locks his eyes on mine. “I knew it.”

“I tried calling to tell you, but as usual, you didn't pick up. Don't let it get to you.” I lean forward to kiss him somewhere between the cheek and the lips and let it linger.
Take that, Amber.

He laughs and puts his arms around me. And then I'm lifted inches off the ground in one of those crushing Rock-hugs. “And that is why you rock,” he whispers into my ear. I have to punch him so he'll put me down.

“Later.”

“Later.”

 

Did you hear the one about the girl who rides a motorcycle to school, and everyone thinks she must be a lesbian because she not only refuses hot guys who fawn over her but also has no real girlfriends?

Me neither.

As I sit here nervously waiting for Gordon to arrive, Sabine seems immune to the lesbian rumors. She glances at me anxiously, and I have to use all my willpower not to say,
“What?”
every time she looks over. She bounces in her seat, checking and rechecking the auditorium door. I tap my pencil against the desk.
Tap-tap-tap. Tappity-tap.
I hope it's not raining. I hope Mystery Tarp Putter doesn't get any more clever ideas while I'm here either.

Ms. Rath settles everybody down, but Gordon is not here yet. To pass the time, I close my eyes. Sven appears in a halo of snow and ice. Not only is Sven my fantasy ski instructor, but he is a distant cousin of Julio, the dream lagoon tutor. Sven's sparkling blue eyes work well to eradicate all thoughts of dimpled, invitation-refusing, MIT-bound chemistry tutors from my mind. I lay my head down and imagine Sven carefully guiding my hands over the ski poles, gripping them firmly, demonstrating how he wants me to hold them. We communicate through body language and a series of soft cries. Sven is great because he doesn't get the least bit cold when he pulls off his parka and T-shirt. He is a Norwegian snow god.
Je t'adore, Sven.

But then Gordon arrives, plopping into the seat next to me, dissolving any plot advancements my Norwegian daydream might have made. “Sorry I'm late,” he says.

Au revoir, Sven, cheri.
I lift my head and peer up at him through tired eyes. “This is a recurring theme with you, isn't it?”

Out comes the organizer, the pen, an extra pad of sticky notes. “Let's go, Chloé. I have to get home to study, and you have to pass chemistry.”

“What's the rush? Why must you get home?” I ask, scanning over some new equations and bonus question he's handed me.

He moves around his sticky notes as if prioritizing them. Suddenly, after a few seconds, he looks at me and says this: “What are you, my girlfriend now?”

Ouchies.

My super-keen senses tell me he is upset. The friendly
Gordon of this morning—
gone
—just like that. He reminds me of an old Rolodex thing my mom is storing in the garage for the day we might need one, except with moods instead of contact cards: pissed, bored, friendly, pissed…and
I'm
the one with multiple personalities?

“Well, I
do
come to you with issues on a regular basis, and you
do
smile at me in the hallways, so technically, we
are
seeing each other.”

He cracks a teensy, tense smile, but that's it.

“What happened?” I ask. “Last I saw you, you were in a good mood. Did
someone
get an A-minus on a test or something?”

I start on the problems while he just stares blankly down at his organizer without really looking at it. “You know, you can mock me all you want, Chloé, but you'll never fully grasp how important it is that I succeed in this life. For you, failing might be an option. But for me, it's not.”

My mouth wants to drop open. I shoot little laser beams at his hair with my eyes. It does not catch fire. I am disappointed. What is his problem? Why does he treat me like he likes me one second, then like I'm his worst enemy the next? And worse, why am I finding that incredibly sexy?

“I understand that, Gordon, which is why I want you to relax, or else you're going to kill yourself worrying about your classes and your grades and everything. Or does this have nothing to do with school?” I wiggle my eyebrows to suggest girl problems—Sabine problems, to be more exact.

He sighs. “It's my SAT coming up. I have to do better than last time if I want to make a good impression. Or else my choice of worthwhile colleges is limited. Plus, MIT has
an early-entrance exam, which, if I pass, means I can get in before the start of the fall semester. Forget it, I don't even know why I'm bothering to explain this to you.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You know, you keep doing that…that…
thing
…where you just assume I'm too stupid to understand what it means to succeed in life. But I do, okay? I just believe that there should also be some room for good things…fun things…because sometimes we die too early.” I pause to collect myself.
Calm down, Chloé.
“Forget it, I don't know why I'm bothering to explain this to
you
,” I mumble, making sure he knows I won't take that crap from him.

“Look, I'm just stressed, Chloé.”

“Which is my point, Gordon. You have to wind down sometimes, or else you fall out of touch with yourself. I tried to help, however,
somebody
never called me.”

“I'll wind down when I'm dead, and I already apologized to you about not calling.”

“Augh,” I scoff. “That is so Leo of you.”

How the hell should
I
know? What do I care, and what makes Gordon the sort of person who can actually teach this to someone? I breathe deeply to release some of the tension in my shoulders.

We're quiet for twenty minutes, and strangely enough, it's not weird anymore. Gordon can snap at me, I can snap at him, but then we just settle into a comfort zone, and all is
okay. I'm totally getting used to this relationship.

“Fine,” he blurts into the silence between us, his head still down. He looks at his watch. “You win. Let's get out of here.”

“Huh?”

“When I say go, pick up your stuff and head for the door.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just do it. Ready?” He seems a little overanxious for someone about to walk out of class. It's not like he's going to rob a bank. Then again, this is Gordon. For him, it's a big deal. I feel my heart quickening at the spontaneity of his decision.

I wait for the signal. Whatever he has up his sleeve, I'm game. Besides, what can happen to us for leaving peer tutoring? It's voluntary!

“In three…two…” He pauses, glancing at Ms. Rath, who walks into the wings onstage. “One. Go.”

I gather up my notebook, throw it into my backpack. A couple of kids in front of us turn around. “Emergency,” I whisper, folding down the seat's writing desk.

They turn back around just as I'm headed up the aisle, through the
EXIT
doors, and into the hot sun. So much for those scattered showers. They must be scattered somewhere else. I smile, feeling my cheeks burn. Gordon rushes out behind me, arranging his backpack on his shoulder.

“What was that all about?” I ask. He looks like he just committed treason against Ms. Rath. “Are you okay? You look a little overwhelmed.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. He has a nice bubbly laugh. He
should use it as often as possible. “I'm fine. I just needed to get out of there.”

“Anything you want to share?” We stop in front of Lolita, and I slip on my riding jacket, start braiding my hair.

“I have two tests tomorrow—calculus and honors physics, and MIT's early-entrance exam is going to mean nothing if I don't get at least a fourteen hundred on my math SAT, so I have to study for that too. I'm not a genius, Chloé. I know you think I am. Everyone thinks that.”

I nod. “Fine, maybe you're not a genius, but you're smarter than average, so don't try to hide it. Still, I get what you're saying about people making assumptions. People make them about me too.”

He kicks the sidewalk. “So there you go. See, I have to work really hard to get the grades I get. Emile's never had to study for a damn thing, you know?” He mutters, lost in thought.

“Who?”

“Emile, my brother,” he clarifies.

“Oh. This is why you made me follow you out here?” I realize it's a leading question, but I like torturing him.

Gordon thumbs the belt loop on his jeans. “I guess I owe you for trying to get me out of the house. I know what you're trying to do, and I appreciate it. Don't misunderstand me, it's just…” He pauses.

“It's just what?”

He squints at me, cocking his head slightly. Then he scans the entire parking lot, his answer getting lost somewhere out there. I don't know what's at the heart of his stress, but it doesn't take a real genius to know that Gordon wanted to be
alone with me. I just want to hear it. “Where's this magical hangout place that you must take me to?”

I smile. Little does he realize what he's about to gain by going to the Murphys' dock. “Not far from here. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes. Why?”

“Do you always ask so many questions? I'll follow you.”

“You sure?”

“Your window of opportunity is going to close if you don't start leading me there now.” He smiles, walking away.

“All right, where are you parked?”

He points to an old tan BMW parked on the street near the office.

“Okay, I'll meet you out there, and you can follow me.”

We're crossing the tutor-student line and heading into unknown territory. But I think that's okay, because Gordon fascinates me. I know he's overworked, way too serious, and even cocky at times, but still…I get the feeling there's this whole other side to him that I can't completely see yet. I may not know what it is, but it's there. And that alone is enough to pull me in.