Chapter 2 #2
I grimace. “Okay, you caught me. I’m an intern with the Tribune through my university. They needed someone to cover this event, and I volunteered.”
I don’t want to make them feel like no one wanted to come and watch today’s competition, even though that’s the truth. The lack of crowd here is sad enough that they surely already suspect the full-time reporters weren’t exactly fighting each other for the assignment.
When none of them says anything, the awkwardness of this exchange creeps over me. I push it aside and pull out my little notepad. “Would you be willing to give me a quick interview? I talked to some of the other competitors backstage, but didn’t really get much from them.”
They all glance at each other again, shrugging.
“Sure,” says Sebastian.
“Great!” I beam at them, pen poised. “So how does it feel to qualify for Nationals?”
“This will be our tenth year competing at Nationals,” says Elliot.
“Oh, wow, that’s a lot.” He didn’t answer my question, but now I know why they don’t seem more excited to have won.
Going for your tenth time must be a lot different than winning and going for the first time.
Maybe I should have asked their background before I started in on the questionnaire I’d prepared last night.
“Then it'll be our tenth time at Worlds, although it should be our eleventh, but Lukas’s fingers were stiff last time,” says Felix.
Lukas’s face darkens. “It was the cube, I’m telling you,” he grumbles.
“It was regulation and you know it,” says Felix.
“The past doesn’t matter.” Sebastian interrupts before they really get going with what I suspect is an argument they’ve had many times before. “This is our year.”
“So last year was the only time you didn’t make it all the way to Worlds?” I clarify. That explains why I hadn’t seen their names or faces during my quick research last night. I’d only looked up who the winners were last year.
They nod solemnly, but I swear they’re spinning the rows and columns of their cubes with more ferocity.
If their annoyance is with me, I don’t want to force them to talk, even though I’d like to learn a bit more about them. And not because they’re hot. I just think my article could use a bit more substance beyond a list of winners, that’s all.
“I just have a few more questions, if you don’t mind.”
Two kids choose that moment to start chasing each other through the crowd, their screams echoing off the tall ceilings of the foyer. We all wince at the auditory assault.
“This way,” says Lukas, leading us through the double doors to the backstage hallway where some of the volunteers are packing up. It’s not quiet, but it’s not nearly as loud.
“This is perfect.” I take a seat at one of the round tables so it’ll be easier to take notes. Volunteers are stacking chairs and folding up the other tables, but I don’t think we’ll be here long, so I hope we aren’t in the way.
The guys sit too, and I can’t help but blush as my knees bump into Sebastian’s below the table.
He doesn’t move away, but I shift so we’re no longer making contact …
even though I very much would not mind if his leg continued to press against mine.
They all rest their forearms on the table, and this table is so much smaller than I realized.
Maybe we should have stayed standing. Our hands all rest so close together, they’re practically touching.
They’re still fidgeting with their cubes, but I can feel how heavy and direct their attention on me is.
It’s a little disconcerting. I’m the type of girl who fades into the background and likes it that way.
I’m not used to being anyone’s focus, much less having the complete attention of four good-looking guys.
“Okay, ask your questions.” Lukas sets his cube in front of Felix to his right and takes the cube from Sebastian on his left. Felix passes his to Elliot.
Elliot sets his cube in front of me.
I stare at it, unsure what to do. Do I pass it to Sebastian on my right?
The table is so small that if Elliot had wanted Sebastian to have it, he could easily have reached over my notebook and set it in front of him.
Surely he can’t mean for me to solve it.
I’m suddenly buzzing with nerves. I look at my notebook sitting under the cube, but the words on the page blur together.
I can’t remember a single question I have written down to ask.
“I … don’t know how to solve it,” I say finally, sure they’ll laugh at me or get up and leave in disgust at my ineptitude.
All four of them look back at me, obviously confused.
“It’s easy,” says Lukas. “There is a solution to each pattern, so you simply assess what the configuration is and then apply that solution.”
“That doesn’t sound easy at all,” I say, trying to sound unbothered that I’ve clearly just failed some sort of test.
Sebastian snags the cube from in front of me and solves it slowly.
Well, slowly for them. It’s probably nearly a minute or so, but he’s being very deliberate with his motions, tilting the cube towards me so I can watch each twist and click.
It’s kind of sweet, that he’s trying to show me how to do it, even if I still have no idea how he’s doing it.
The others are also solving theirs slowly, giving me the chance to watch and magically deduce how it’s done. Like it’s that simple.
Clearing my throat, I pull my focus away from how smoothly their fingers manipulate the cubes and redirect my gaze to my notebook, forcing my brain to make sense of the words.
The questions I’d written down last night all seem so ordinary now.
How long have you been solving cube puzzles competitively?
What’s your favorite event in the competition?
These may have been perfectly fine questions if I was still interviewing twelve-year-olds with zero interest in me or my article, but they seem silly and amateurish to ask these guys.
“So, the four of you were the oldest people in today’s competition,” I hear myself say. Why did I say that? It wasn’t even a question. They stare at me, waiting to see if I’m going to ask them something or just keep stating the obvious and wasting their time.
I’ve got to get it together.
“Do you know why that is?” I add.
“When you’re young, you have lots of time to practice,” says Lukas. “When you’re older, you have more commitments.”
“We’re still in college, so we still have a little bit of time to practice, but this will be our last year probably,” says Felix.
“Oh? What college?” They look my age, but I hadn’t put it together that they would also be in college. Maybe even my college. I don’t know very many people around campus, unless they’re in my classes. I don’t have the social battery that my roommate does.
“MIT,” says Lukas. “And you?”
“BU.” I’m not sure if it’s smart to give them this information—it’s definitely not professional—but what could the harm be? It’s a big campus and it’s not like I told them what dorm I’m in. I’m just making conversation.
I ignore the little thrill that runs through me at the idea of these four guys tracking me down and showing up at my dorm. I’m supposed to be working right now, and anyway, who fantasizes about four strangers stalking them online and knocking on their door unannounced? Get it together, Rebecca.
“And what do competitive Rubik’s Cubers typically study?” I’m not flirting, I’m researching. Asking questions. Like the journalist that I am.
Okay, maybe I’m flirting a little. Which is completely unlike me. Ronnie must be rubbing off on me after a year and a half of us being joined at the hip.
“Not all cubes are Rubik’s Cubes,” Sebastian says. His tone tells me that this is not the first time he’s had to correct someone, and every time he has to say it, it weighs on him. “It’s a brand name. Like Kleenex.”
“Oh.”
“We study different types of mathematics. I do applied,” Lukas tells me.
“Theoretical,” says Elliot.
“Pure,” Felix mumbles.
“Philosophical,” says Sebastian.
I wasn't aware there were so many different types of math. I decide not to delve deeper into that topic, lest I disappoint them again. “You must get sick of each other, practicing for these competitions together and taking classes together.”
“We also live together,” says Felix.
“That’s a lot of togetherness.”
Lukas shrugs as if to say, This is totally normal for us, and we don’t care if you think it’s weird. “We like to share.”
Okay, living with Ronnie has absolutely been affecting me, because that statement combined with the way their fingers are moving so quickly over the cubes sends my thoughts to a place that is for sure not anywhere they’d have gone a year ago and should not be going in the middle of an interview.
I’m sure Lukas didn’t mean it like that at all, and my face heats as I shove the thoughts back into the depths of my psyche to be explored later. Much later. Without an audience.
Or never. Never is probably the better option.
Their cubes go silent, and I realize that I’ve just been sitting here frozen, my impure thoughts probably written all over my bright red face.
“Did you want a picture?” asks Lukas.
“A picture?” I’m struggling to breathe and pull my mind out of the gutter. I’m not sure how I ended up there. I make a mental note to tune Ronnie out the next time she starts detailing her sexcapades.
“Of us with our ribbons,” he says. “For your paper.”
“Oh! Yes! That’s a great idea.” I stand and pull my phone out of my purse, glad to have something to do that doesn’t involve making a fool of myself. “Why don’t the four of you stand against that wall there and hold up your ribbons.”
They line up, shoulders touching, and it’s weird how much they’re all dressed alike. It makes me wonder if they share a single closet too. Graphic tees, jeans, and Chucks. Although Elliot in his button-down kind of ruins that theory.
“One, two, three.” None of them are smiling, but at least they’re all making eye contact with the camera.
I still doubt my editor will dedicate more than two inches of column space to this event, and he definitely won’t include a picture.
But they don’t need to know that. They just won the qualifiers for Nationals.
They may not seem like they care, but I’m sure they do, and I don’t want to put a damper on their day.
“Are you going to write an article about Nationals for the Tribune too?” asks Felix.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “Where are Nationals happening?”
“New York,” he says.
“Oh. Probably not, then.” I bite my lip, feeling bad that I’m disappointing them when I just made an effort not to do that.
Which is crazy, because I don’t even know these guys.
I’m not sure why I care so much about how I’m making them feel.
“I don’t think I could convince my editor to let me travel outside of Boston. ”
“They were in Boston last year, so we wouldn’t have had to travel if we’d been able to go.” Felix shoots a glare at Lukas, who returns the look.
“That’s a shame,” says Elliot, ignoring them both. “It would have been nice to see a friendly face in the audience.”
Now I feel even worse, but that stupid little thrill runs through me once more. They want to see me again. “I mean, I suppose I could ask,” I offer.
“If you want to,” says Lukas. His watch beeps, but he turns it off quickly and tosses a hand up in a half-wave. “We’ll see you around, Rebecca Flynn.”
The guys all disappear back through the double doors, and I look around at the now-empty backstage space. The volunteers have all left, so it’s just me and a bunch of stacked chairs.
I take an uncertain step after them. That whole last bit of the conversation happened so quick. If they’d stuck around, I would have shoved my sort-of-dirty half-thoughts to the recesses of my mind and come up with more questions.
It wasn’t even a very good goodbye. “We’ll see you around, Rebecca Flynn”?
See me where? When? At Nationals, maybe, if I can get my editor to let me cover it—which is truly doubtful—but was that all he meant?
Or is the knowledge that I attend BU actually enough for them to find me on campus?
They’re math guys from MIT, for all I know they have some sort of elite stalking program on their computers, and my name and college is more than enough to track me down.
I’m being ridiculous.
I straighten my back and follow the guys through the doors. I’m a professional, representing my newspaper. I need to act like it.
When I return to the foyer, the guys are nowhere to be seen. In fact, most of the people are gone, with the exception of the woman from check-in and Karen, who are chatting as they stack plastic bins into a wagon.
I head outside to my car. Ronnie will be out with Trevor by the time I get home, so I’ll be able to grab a snack and get started on this article.
I shove all thoughts of handsome cubers with their fast hands and awkward goodbyes out of my head and crank the volume on my favorite playlist, psyching myself up to write the best article on competitive speedcubing that the Sunshine Tribune has ever seen.