Chapter Twelve Keely #2
Maybe when Max bested her at her own game, it voided the rest. Which was fine, because she’d had too much to do this week to think too hard about it.
Olympiad practice on Wednesday, Women in Science yesterday, a biochem test this morning, and a hundred or so hours of thesis work in between everything.
She’d been at the lab until midnight last night, working and reworking equations to see what could be tweaked.
The official title of Keely’s thesis was “Drug and Vitamin Interactions with an Emphasis on Adaptable Energy Levels.” While there were plenty of supplements out there that boosted energy—vitamin D, B12, good old-fashioned caffeine—there were far fewer that put you to sleep, and fewer still that did both consistently and across multiple metabolisms and body types.
Keely wanted to find the perfect cocktail, whether it be natural substances, artificial, or a combination, that would provide just the right amount of energy, readily available, whenever she needed it.
Whenever someone needed it. This wasn’t just for her.
But she sure as hell would benefit from it now, trudging into Mountain Ridge Elementary School Friday afternoon.
After stopping in the office for her visitor’s pass, she wound through the halls. This was only her third week here, but she already knew her way around. Like the staff bathroom at the end of the hall, which she had full access to.
She was about to walk into said bathroom when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She had a few minutes, so she answered.
“Hey, Dad. I can’t talk long.”
“Hey, punk.” Her dad’s nickname for her, an inside joke between them because Keely had never, in her life, done anything rebellious. “Just need to run something by you.”
Keely’s ribs closed over on her lungs like one of her claw clips. “Sure,” she said, trying to keep the wariness out of her voice.
“So, ah. When you come home. . .” Dad cleared his throat and started over. “I finally nailed down a more permanent place.” Her father had been pushing the boundaries of his short-term rental since the fall, when her parents officially started the divorce process.
“That’s great, Dad.” She meant that—didn’t she? Even if her throat had gone a little raw. “I can’t wait to see it.”
A beat of silence. “You won’t have a room there.”
Her heart crashed inside her chest. Had he somehow found out her grad school acceptance hung in the balance?
With her parents separating finances, assets, lives, Keely thought her problems would slip by unnoticed.
She’d hoped to have a solution in place before she presented them with another problem.
Another point of contention. Another stick of dynamite to implode an already-crumbling house.
It must have been too much to ask for.
“Oh,” she breathed. Except, not really. She had to work to get oxygen into her chest to ease the tugged-under sensation.
“Sorry, kiddo,” Dad continued, not hearing the catch in that single syllable.
“Two bedrooms were significantly cheaper than three.” Keely knew her parents were still working out what Vince’s schedule would look like, what days he would spend where.
It made sense that Vince would have a permanent spot with their dad.
She’d just thought she’d have one as well.
“And with you being in grad school, I figured you’d stay with Veronica when you visited.
” Since when had he started calling her mom Veronica?
Even her closest friends didn’t use her full government name.
Maybe Keely should just tell him. Get it over with, rip off the bandage again. The last time she did that, though, it didn’t work out well for her.
“Dad, about grad school—”
“Don’t worry. We can work something temporary out for summer if you’re not already in California by then. Well at least I can. I’m not sure if Veronica is ready to be that civilized yet.” Under his breath, he mumbled, “She’d probably expect me to pay for it.”
Keely’s chest burned now, searing inside the deepest chambers of her heart. “Dad.”
“I supported her for years before you were in school. You remember, right?” Keely didn’t remember, but it was apparently a rhetorical question.
“She must not. Last week her lawyer asked my lawyer if she could have an extra forty dollars a week for Vince’s after-school robotics program.
Obviously I’m going to pay for his robotics.
But I don’t want her to have it. I’ll mail the check myself. ”
This was what always happened. Whenever Keely so much as thought about one of her parents while in the presence of the other, the conversation ended at the same place. Hatred, accusations, choking out all Keely’s air.
Would there ever be a good time for her to bring up her problems?
Jury was still out.
“I have to go, Dad.” She swallowed. “Can you text me if you need anything else?”
If he noticed how raw her voice had gotten during their short conversation, he didn’t let on. “You got it. Talk soon.”
She shoved her phone into her backpack and left it on a table outside the bathroom—because, gross.
She took a second to tidy her hair in the mirror. Press cool, wet fingertips to her ruddy complexion in an attempt to alleviate the redness. Cup the back of her neck. It felt like there was sand in her eyes, remnants of tears she couldn’t afford to shed.
Keely took a deep breath and shoved it all down.
She’d figure out how to tell her parents later. What was one more item on her endless to-do list, anyway?
In the mirror, she practiced a kid-friendly smile, which looked demonic in this lighting and with her bloodshot eyes.
She grimaced and said, “You’ve got this,” under her breath.
After one quick adjustment of her top, she grabbed her backpack from the table outside—had it always been this heavy or was the extra weight of her deception piling up?
—and made her way to Mrs. Kershaw’s classroom.
The teacher was, as always, incredibly gracious to Keely for showing up.
She always got the impression that Mrs. Kershaw would kiss the ground Keely walked on if it meant half an hour where she didn’t have to say please remove your hand from your pants, Samson.
Keely could turn it into a drinking game, if she wanted.
The desk phone rang, and Keely knew as soon as the teacher hung up that it wasn’t good news.
“I need to pop to the office,” she said. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can. And the TA is right next door.”
“We’ll be alright,” Keely said, assurance flooding her bones and replacing the ever-present anxiety. “Won’t we, kids?”
She got settled on the too-small stool at the front of the room. The children bounced on their knees and butts, hands shooting pre-emptively into the air. The volume reached earsplitting quicker than ever.
“Who’s ready,” Keely half-shouted over the noise. She reached into her backpack. “To learn about Frankie the Fish and all his Fin-Tastic Friends?” The children’s cheering could have broken glass. Keely pulled the book from her backpack. Except—
“This isn’t Frankie,” she murmured.
“What’s condom mechanics?” one of the girls sitting near the front asked.
“Quantum mechanics,” Keely corrected gently, despite her mind blanking out. She hefted her bag onto her lap, opening it wider. It didn’t make sense; this wasn’t her textbook.
None of these were her textbooks. Biological Anthropology. Particle Physics. Genetics. Did she grab someone else’s backpack by mistake?
No, her Women in Science button was still pinned to the front pocket, next to one Zoey had gifted her last Christmas that read I periodically make bad science jokes.
These books didn’t even go together. This is what would happen if someone walked through the science section of the library and chose books blindfolded.
As she flipped to the front of the book, desperate to find a clue, a note fluttered out.
Keely,
Happy reading—hope those first-graders like science as much as you do. Maybe you can teach us all something we don’t know.
All my love,
Max
Her head snapped up, and her gaze caught on someone, out in the hall. She’d know that cocky grin anywhere.
Oh, he’d learn something today—Keely could handle her science.