Unforgettable (19 page)

How Pi Contains the Answer to My Universe

Mr. Feege is one of those math geeks who really loves what he teaches. I don't share his enthusiasm for math, but I have to respect his determination to cram that love down our throats. He stands before the board, on which he's drawn the symbol for pi. “People have been using a value for pi since the Old Testament. Some people believe that pi contains the answer to the universe.” He pauses to let it sink in, as though this enlightenment will somehow change our view of the assignment, over which most students are still whining. “So as we begin our competition today, let's think about how pi is like a never-ending circle, and how no pattern ever appears twice in the number, and it goes on forever. Who wants to go first?”

Everyone has to take a turn, whether they make it through ten digits or a hundred. I sink down in my desk. I have no intention of going first. I haven't even looked at the paper.

Jeb Danner jumps up, cocky and confident. He'll be lucky to make it through ten digits, but I doubt that Jeb cares, anyway.

Mr. Feege takes out a sheet of paper to keep the stats. “Start whenever you're ready, Jeb.”

Jeb clears his throat and smiles. “3.14159265.” He pauses.

Eight digits. I was right.

“35897 …” He pauses again, this time longer, his brows furrowed.

“Hey, that's my bank account number,” Corey says from the back row, and even I laugh at that one.

Jeb scowls. “You broke my concentration. I have to repeat the last few numbers. Let's see, 6535897 …”

It isn't until I hear Jeb say it a second time that it strikes me. Sixty-five thousand, three hundred fifty-eight dollars and ninety-seven cents. My heart flops. It's right there in the digits of pi, a pattern that never repeats itself. What are the odds? Those numbers have been my whole universe for the past three years.

My God, Mr. Feege is right! Pi is the answer to
my
universe.

Jeb is still talking but I no longer hear him. There are coincidences in life, and there are forces that point you in a new direction, a tiny spot on the map where you can be someone different. But maybe that new person will cause you to lose your real self. I'm so tired of hiding and pretending. I'm so tired of trying to fit in when clearly I don't.

I tried to change who I am, like Jay Gatsby, who was ashamed of his past and never thought he was good enough for Daisy, and maybe that's why he lost her. Maybe I lost Halle because of who I pretended to be instead of who I really am. I never gave her a chance to like the real Baxter, perfect memory, strange quirks, and all. Like Eddie said, what's the point in being a superhero if nobody knows about it?

I pick up the sheet that Mr. Feege handed out, the one that lists a thousand digits of pi. I didn't ask for this memory, but like the digits of pi, it's a mystery that's waiting to be solved. I look at the sheet and raise my hand, fully aware that math class will never be the same again.

The Daffodil Dance

Two hours later I find Eddie. “Halle's absent again. Can you give me a ride to her house?”

“Gina called her. She's not home. And now she's in big trouble. Her mom and dad know that she skipped school today. What happened between you two?”

I sigh. “She hates me. She thinks I'm a freak.”

“Does it have something to do with you reciting one thousand digits of pi in math class?”

“You heard about that already?”

“News travels fast. Everyone's talking about it. First the prank and now this. You're making quite a name for yourself.”

I let out a breath. “I didn't mean to.”

“So, what's with the memory thing?”

I steel myself for his reaction. “I have a photographic memory and I don't forget anything.”

Eddie's eyebrows go up. “You mean you
never
forget? Like an elephant?”

“I never thought of myself as an elephant before, but yeah, I guess we do have that in common. That and tusks.”

He laughs. “That's pretty impressive. You made Mr. Feege's year. He's already talking about entering you into a national contest. So, that's how you were able to recite all those names and dates at the football game. You really
are
a superhero.”

“Not according to Halle.”

He flashes me one of his knowing looks. “Well, maybe you're a mutant. Or maybe you need to use your superpowers to convince her.”

“I don't even know where she is.”

“She's probably hiding out.”

“Hiding out? Where?”

Eddie flicks my forehead with his finger. “You know, for someone with a great memory, you suck at figuring out clues.”

Sometimes I am
so
slow. “Oh, right.”

“I'll give you a ride, but you'll have to find it on your own from the road. Is your memory really that good?”

“Not a problem.”

Thirty minutes later Eddie drops me off on a gravel road at the edge of the forest. “You want to borrow my cell phone in case you get lost?”

“I won't get lost,” I assure him. “I remember the way there.”

He tosses it to me anyway. “In case she's not there and you need a ride back.”

“Thanks.”

He nods. “I knew there was something about you. I mean, who remembers where the middle of the freakin' US is?”

I shrug. “An elephant or a mutant superhero.”

“Why keep it a secret?”

“Why keep your cancer a secret?”

Eddie sighs. “I guess we both have our reasons.”

“Well, I'm kind of glad my secret's out, regardless of the consequences.”

He taps the wheel. “Something to keep in mind. Good luck with Halle. And just for the record, nobody should make you feel like a freak just because you're different.”

I get out of the van with a new resolve. Eddie's right again. I'm the one who should be mad at Halle, not the other way around. But by the time I've made my way to the cave, the only thing I can think of is escaping the bitter cold.

There's a small light coming from the tunnel. I crawl through the hole and stand up when I get inside. A tall lantern is perched on a flat rock, spreading light out onto the rocky walls. Halle sits next to it on a blanket with her legs crossed. She looks up from the book she's reading as though she's not surprised to see me, as though she's been waiting for me all day.

She points to a spot next to her on the blanket. “Have a seat.”

I sit next to her. Our legs touch and the indignant fire that was blazing in my stomach when I got out of the truck is little more than a piece of lukewarm charcoal now.

She hands me the book. A greenish tear falls from the sad eyes on the cover of
Gatsby.
Those eyes stare up at me and I'm overwhelmed with pity for the poor little rich girl.

Halle looks at me. “You didn't really need a tutor, did you?”

I shrug. “I guess not.”

“Then why pretend?”

I can't help but look at the book's cover as I tell her the truth. “I had this stupid idea that I could be someone else. Someone completely different than the Memory Boy. Someone you'd like.”

“I did like you,” she says softly.

Great. She said “did,” as in she no longer feels that way.

She picks up the book. “You and Gatsby have a lot in common.”

“Gatsby was a much better liar than I am.”

“He had more practice.”

“I didn't mean to lie. Especially to you.”

She sniffs. It's not enough. She hates me. Either that or she's catching a cold. “Did you get in trouble at school?” she asks.

“Not really. Everyone thought it was cool.”

She reaches up. I flinch when her finger touches my jaw. “You should see the other guy,” I say.

“My dad heard about the football game stunt.”

“Did
you
get in trouble?” Maybe that's why she's hiding out in a freezing cave.

“He thought I had something to do with it, but he couldn't really accuse me. He said that whoever did it was misguided.”

She shakes her head. “He grew up here. He said he'd never put the lives of family and friends at risk. I think he really meant it. He said that if he thought the taconite dust really caused all those deaths, he'd start a study himself.”

“He doesn't have to. Eddie got a letter from the Mesothelioma Research Association. The Department of Health is beginning a study on the elevated rates of mesothelioma and the taconite plants and mines.”

She gasps. “Really? Are you kidding me?”

“Really.” I still can't mention the donation, even if it means she'll forgive me, seeing as how it wasn't really my money to begin with.

“I'm sorry I missed it.” She sniffs again. “I'm sorry about a lot of things.”

I wonder if meeting me is one of those things. “I should have told you who I was.”

Her face softens. “I didn't mean to react the way I did. It was just the suddenness of it all. I couldn't believe it was you, that boy …”

My jaw tightens. “You mean that freak?”

“The truth?”

“Yeah.”

“I had a crush on you in kindergarten. But I remember that I was shy and you were the only one who was nice to me back then. Even if you were sort of different.”

“Of course.”

“I was five years old, Baxter. I can't control what I remember.”

“You're not five years old now.”

“And did you really think I was your soul mate? Wasn't I just an idea you romanticized?”

I stare at her. “You're not an idea. You're a person.”

She sighs. “So you remembered me?”

“I remember that you had three freckles around your nose, that you hated the black tights your mom made you wear, that when you said the word ‘spaghetti' it sounded like ‘basghetti,' that you wanted the condor I bought at the zoo that day.” I stop and sigh. “I remember everything.”

“Everything? As in
everything
?”

“Yes. Even stuff I want to forget.”

“You must be the smartest guy in the world.”

“Not really. There are a lot of things I don't know.”

“Like what?”

“Like how to speak Portuguese or be a cork stripper.”

Her mouth tilts in a half smile.

“Why didn't you tell me?” she asks.

I turn the book over in my hands. “Because you didn't remember me. I figured you'd like me better if I was someone else instead of the Memory Boy.”

I want to cry, to beg her to feel the same way about me now that she felt before. I want to tell her it wasn't an accident that we moved here, that I've loved her since the first day I met her. But I know deep down that it's useless, and besides, I can't be that other person anymore.

“So you didn't give me a chance to know the real you.” Her voice is harsh and I look up at her.

“Well, now you know the truth about Baxter Green,” I say sarcastically.

She looks back at me, her brown eyes curious. “And what's that?”

“He's a pathetic loser.”

Halle lets out a short breath. “Anyone who can memorize eighteen names and dates in a matter of seconds isn't a loser.”

“Just a social outcast.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. Mysterious, maybe, like Gatsby. There are rumors about you. Some say you're an alien from outer space here to study life on earth. Others say you killed a man.”

Is she teasing me or flirting? It's hard to tell with Halle. But for the first time in days I feel hopeful. It's time for some truth.

“Actually, I recited a thousand digits of pi in math class today. Eddie says I'm a superhero. Either that or a mutant.”

Her eyes hold a spark of playfulness. “I vote for superhero. And we all know how difficult it is to have superpowers. Just look at Superman and Spider-Man. And by the way, Spider-Man was always forgetting his suit.”

There's a breeze floating in from that small window of opportunity that Brad talked about. Halle is giving me another chance. But I have to be myself this time. Warts and all.

I clear my throat. “Akira Haraguchi said that memorization of pi was an expression of his lifelong quest for eternal truth.”

“So his truth is in memorizing pi? Interesting.”

“Of course, he took five-minute breaks every two hours to eat
onigiri
rice balls to keep up his energy levels.”

“Well, of course. That always helps me.”

“Do you remember the horse with two heads that you drew in kindergarten?”

“Are you kidding? I still have that drawing. It's framed on my wall.”

“Um, you're joking, right?”

She nods. “I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.”

“Well, you did draw one. It was pretty amazing, really, considering that it was also biologically impossible, something I pointed out at the time.” I stop. “By the way, feel free to tell me to shut up when I get too obnoxious.”

Halle leans over and kisses me. “Oh, don't worry. You'll be the first to know,” and the daffodils in her voice, lush and full, do a sexy little dance.

Memories

“Mom, we need to talk.”

It's 6:21. She's just finished watching the weather segment of the news. There's a forecast for snow tonight and Mom is anxious. She's never driven in snow.

Dan Peterson helped her pick out special tires for the car and every day she watches the weather reports, ready to tackle her first Minnesota winter.

“I've been talking with Dr. Anderson,” I say. “He'd like to do some more tests.”

“You're not a guinea pig, Baxter. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do.”

“I know. But maybe I want to do this.”

“Oh. Really?” She sounds disappointed. “I thought you liked it here.”

“I do. He's asked me to spend next summer at his research facility in California. I could stay with Aunt Val. And Dr. Anderson even offered to let me stay at his house if I want. He's got a pool and a tennis court. He said he'd teach me how to play tennis.”

“Tennis? What happened to the dragonflies?”

“I'm not really into …” Oh. She's teasing me. “Good one, Mom.”

Mom ruffles my hair. “A whole summer without you?”

“You could come visit. Aunt Val would love to see you.”

I'm hoping to talk Halle into coming, too. I don't think I could spend three months away from her, not after finding her again. But Mom doesn't even know that I'm dating Halle yet. That conversation is for another time.

Mom twirls a pencil in her fingers. I haven't caught her smoking in a week, but the pencil looks like it has teeth marks on it. “If that's what you really want to do.”

Mom shivers and pulls on a sweater over her turtleneck shirt. She's learning how to dress in layers. Mom's also more fidgety since she's given up smoking. “You know, my memories aren't as good as yours. They're broken fragments, and pieces are missing. But they're good memories, at least most of them.”

“I think that's the way memory is supposed to work.”

“Sometimes, well, a lot of the time, I wish I had a better one.”

“I used to hate remembering everything. But it would be weird to forget, too.”

Mom looks thoughtful. “Well, I remember something you can't remember because you were too little. You were only two years old and Aunt Val and I took you to the zoo. You saw the giraffe and you wanted to know what kind of noise he made. I said he didn't make a noise. He just stuck out his long tongue to eat. So for the next two weeks you stuck out your tongue when you ate. Then you said you knew what sound the giraffe made.”

“What sound was that?”

“You made this weird slurping sound. You said that all tongues made that noise, so that must be the sound the giraffe made. You spent the next week slurping your food every time you ate. I didn't take you to the zoo for a long time after that. See?” She smiles. “You don't remember everything.”

“You're right. I don't remember that.” I love it when I gain a new memory of my early years. It's like filling in pieces of a puzzle or adding one more stamp to a collection. I do remember that when I was older I found out that giraffes really do make noises.

So I search for a happy memory to give her in return. “Do you remember when you and dad took me trick-or-treating when I was three? It was two months after my fall on the playground.”

She squints, as if the memory is out of reach, too far away.

“I wore a pirate costume with a patch over my eye and a bandanna on my head. I carried a cardboard sword that Dad had spray painted silver. Dad dressed up as Indiana Jones. He wore a leather jacket and a brown fedora pulled down over his eyes, and he carried a fake whip over his shoulder.” I smile as the memory takes shape, and I remember how fearless I felt with my dad beside me.

“After Dad took me around the neighborhood, we came back home and I rang our doorbell, thinking you wouldn't know it was me because I was wearing a costume. You pretended you didn't know who I was and gave me a Baby Ruth bar. You also said that Dad looked like Harrison Ford and you swooned and pretended to faint in the middle of the yard. Then Dad picked you up and carried you into the house.” This is one of my favorite memories of them together.

One eyebrow goes up and Mom has a half smile on her lips. “I'd forgotten all about that.” I can see her reconnecting the memory, maybe getting rid of an unpleasant Dink memory to make room for this happy one. Someday soon I'll tell her about Halle, and how sometimes people
can
get their happy endings. Mom is blushing, and in that instant, I feel as though the green light, the one that Gatsby watched from across a darkened sound, turns back on in Mom's heart.

I believe in the promise of that light.