Chapter 20 #2
“That’s not true,” I argue. “And anyway, my dad’s journal has additional theories.”
“And isn’t that a fun word, theory.” Sumner folds his arms across his chest. “So abstract and unproven.”
My eyes narrow. “I have a few other fun words for you—”
“You know,” Lionel interjects, moving between us, “as much as I’d love an etymology lesson, we should get started.”
“Our biggest issue is the incomplete equations,” Sumner says, popping his knuckles like we’re about to do advanced surgery. “I want to focus on the fundamentals in order to crack them.”
“We should think larger,” I press. “Start building first.”
“The engineering is part of the framework, Carmichael.”
“But we already have rough sketches to work with.” I flip my dad’s journal open on the desk to prove this point.
He spins the journal toward him, sparing it the briefest glance. “There’s hardly any math to quantify this.”
I snatch it back. “There’s some.”
“Right, I forgot the Parthenon was built on dreams and deep-seated desire.”
Ignoring this, I shut the journal. My urge to win this fight is too strong. “Just admit you don’t want to follow my lead.”
“Is the lead in the room with us?”
A headache builds behind my eyes. Sumner’s grip tightens on the box, tense. Neither of us wants to back down.
“Perhaps Delaney and I can source the remaining materials while you and Lionel root through the unresolved formulas?” William offers.
Lionel nods enthusiastically, and I’m suddenly embarrassed. This is the exact reason teachers separated us. We could never agree.
Sumner averts his gaze and starts toward the whiteboard as Lionel grabs a copy of Numbers, Physics, and You from Danforth’s shelf. He produces a graphing calculator from his bag, smiling apologetically as he trails behind Sumner.
William drops into the desk beside me and consults the academic paper I printed. I read it carefully, combing through for obvious answers. This isn’t an exact blueprint, and so much of the article is theory, which means the math will have to inform our direction.
Not that I will admit this to Sumner.
We’ll need to weld certain metals, but how much remains a mystery.
We also have to read between the lines to guess which parts we’ll need, and William writes down what we can source ourselves.
Ivernia must have certain items—table clamps and neodymium magnets and copper wiring—but we’re going to have to hunt down hyper-specific tools.
The Expo marker’s felt tip squeaks from across the room as Lionel and Sumner consult each other in overlapping voices. Sumner occasionally writes an equation on the board, studies it, then furiously wipes it away. The sides of his hands are stained in dry-erase residue.
“Don’t be discouraged,” William reassures me in a hushed voice. “We’ve done quite a bit.”
He’s right. I draw in a breath, my dad’s mantra running through my mind. Grounded feet. Open mind. Maintain curiosity.
It’s approaching eight, which means we’re going to have to get out of here or risk earning a late curfew demerit. I wish the progress looked more significant.
“Everything I know is rooted in logic that can be solved,” Sumner mutters when he and Lionel rejoin us. “I’m not used to theorizing. Feels like a waste of time.”
I frown. “You’re saying the thing my dad dedicated his life to was a waste of time?”
“No—sorry. That’s not what I meant.” He tugs at the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m just used to plugging in numbers to a formula someone’s already invented.”
“And experimentation and theorizing are what got them there.”
“I think,” Lionel jumps in, “it all works congruently, right?”
My mouth flattens into a firm line, but I nod in acquiescence.
As if to offer a partial truce, Sumner begins helping me repack the items and then stores the box in an empty cabinet.
William reveals our progress in a chipper tone and seems positive we’ll find solutions over time.
All the while, I try not to feel like we’re in over our heads.
Lionel’s mid-conversation with William, showing him something on his Switch as they start for the door, but Sumner hangs back while I grab my bag.
“I need you to know there’s a high statistical likelihood that we don’t figure this out.” His voice is low, but gentle. “But I’ll try.”
I swallow. “Thank you.”
Sumner averts his gaze to the back of the room. His mouth twists in contemplation. It’s an expression I know well.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Sumner rubs his eyes underneath his glasses. “I think I’m tired.”
We’re silent as we leave the classroom and step into the hallway. Lionel laughs at something William says up ahead, and we’re slow to follow them outside.
“We can keep meeting on Fridays.” He uses his back to push open the door. “Or weekends when I’m not with crew.”
Clouds overtake the sky. There’s a balmy scent like gathering moisture lingering in the air.
“I still can’t believe you joined.”
In the moonlight, his eyes are a shade of dark, muted blue. “Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s unlike you, I guess.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “My three best friends graduated last year and now? They barely respond to the group chat,” he blurts.
“My mom won’t talk to me unless it’s through my brother, and my dad hasn’t bothered since I was fourteen.
So, yeah, maybe I decided to change it up this year, so I didn’t have to live like a lonely shut-in for the next nine months. ”
Guilt streams through my chest. The weight of transition falls on Sumner too.
Anytime I was upset over a test score or felt the teeniest bit homesick, I’d go find Jared.
No one knows you better than family, at least in my experience.
Jared never expelled me from his presence or made me feel insignificant.
Even when he was hanging out with his friends, he’d pause to hear me out.
It’d hurt if my core group of friends stopped responding to my messages, let alone my family.
Except.
I can relate on some level. Mads barely volunteers anything at all, and the distance pulls and stretches between us each day.
Change is a loneliness Sumner’s also experiencing. Maybe his loss isn’t the same as losing a parent, and neither can be compared as larger or more severe than the other, but I’d imagine it dredges up similar feelings. Uncertainty. Anxiety. Innate sadness.
“And that’s why you’re playing Capture too,” I guess.
“Right.” He adjusts his frames. “I figure I could either keep feeling bad for myself or try to find my place.”
We follow the curved path that leads toward the houses. There’s no one else hanging around the courtyard this late.
“You never talked about your dad,” I say, but I know we both hear the unspoken last summer.
“Not much to say.” I think that’s all he’s going to offer until he continues. “And you were going through it—and Jared and Madelene—and it didn’t feel right to bring up. Because even though he’s made a ton of poor decisions, he’s still around.”
“But not really,” I argue. “If he’s not in your life. Or, you know, refuses to be.”
Sumner doesn’t contend this point.
“It’s a different type of grief,” I offer, “knowing he could have been a more stable presence and chose not to. Mourning another life you could have had but didn’t. It leaves you to take on too much, which isn’t fair.”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s fair or not.”
“Yes, it does.” I stop. Look at him. “I’ve never had to worry if Mads could eat. Or if my mom was making enough to afford the mortgage. It is too much, whether you feel that stress or not.”
Sumner bows his head. “Yeah,” he says, the word distant and thoughtful.
“I didn’t mean to discredit theorizing. Or your dad.
That’s not what I believe. It’s just—when I was younger?
My mom put me in this after school math program because my teacher was stunned by how quickly I could calculate.
And when I was solving simple multiplication tables, it was like all my anxiety went away because I could lose myself in it.
I didn’t realize it was a skill. I was just—focused. Absorbed.
“Then flash forward to middle school, where I was taking home math trophies—I know you’re dying to make fun of me, it’s okay.
” He casts a glance my way, the corners of his mouth upturned.
“I ended up winning a state competiton and a local paper featured me. My mom sends it to my dad, who’s a hedge fund manager in New York City at this point, and it gets his attention.
That’s when he starts looking into advanced schools and decides, by the time I enter high school, I’ll attend Ivernia.
“But before, that whole time, he acted like we didn’t exist. New Jersey isn’t far from the city, and he still couldn’t be bothered to make an effort.
But as soon as I do something worthy, it’s like I’m suddenly important enough.
” He takes a breath. “I never want Preston to feel that way. Not if I can help it.”
I’ve never had to earn my family’s love. It was given. Unconditional. Not measured in accolades and honors. Sometimes I don’t feel as talented as Mads or Jared, but I never doubted how much my parents cared.
This is the most vulnerable Sumner’s ever been with me. It feels fragile, like he’s offered me something delicate in hopes I won’t shatter it. We may have our own unresolved issues, but I know what it looks like when someone puts an inkling of trust in you.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. Because it makes sense, him holding on to logic and rationality in order to quiet the internal apprehension causing discourse inside his brain.
Almost like when I reread the Sherlock Holmes series.
I understand what’s going to happen and can get lost in the story, even if only for an hour.
We cling to these comforts to quell our internal fears.
“I know you hate making promises you can’t keep, but here’s one I’m certain of,” I begin. “Preston? Will never question how much you love him. That’s not nothing, Sumner. I promise.”
His Adam’s apple moves through a swallow. “Thank you,” he says faintly.
The glow from the lamppost pools over him in a warm golden ray.
I adjust my headband to give my hands something to do when the thought occurs to me.
I may not know what’s going on with Madelene since she won’t tell me outright, but I won’t allow the physical distance between us to create an emotional distance. I’ll keep trying.
A comfortable silence falls between us. We peel off the path and pause outside Hyde House, where a few students filter out and head toward Segner for the evening.
My mouth bends into a half smile. Maybe this won’t be so bad.
We have a shared goal. Tonight sort of proved we can work together without bickering to death.
As I start to veer toward Hyde House, his voice stops me. “Carmichael?”
I turn.
“You sure you want him to go back?”
A confused crease forms between my brows. “Why wouldn’t I?”
I’m not sure why he’s asking me this, considering the implications of having him stay.
The longer he’s here, the riskier it becomes to hide who he is not.
And what about home? He’d never see Caroline again.
Never see his mother and father. What would that mean for his future?
If he doesn’t go back, would Ivernia still exist under a different founder?
My parents met here. I grew up here. What would it mean for us?
Would we be in the same predicament we’re in now—but in some kind of alternate universe?
We can’t risk that. There’s no way of knowing for certain, which means it’s in our best interest to correct the paradox. If an unordinary occurrence can happen once, then there must be a chance of its reversal.
Amusement relaxes across his face. “You need a brief overview of the Victorian era? Arsenic, for one thing. Like, so much arsenic for no reason.” He begins ticking these on his fingers. “Then, you know, cholera. Street sewage. Tuberculosis.”
“Well, when you put it that way—”
Our phones simultaneously bleep with the same melodic email chime. I reach into my cardigan and tap over to my inbox, where I discover a message directed to the entire student body. In the subject line, Headmistress Ellerby has written: A NOTICE ABOUT IVERNIA SCHOOL.
I hold my breath. When I click into the email, I see it. A detailed memo about the school’s impending closure.