Chapter Thirteen Max
Chapter Thirteen
Max
Max overestimated how long it would take Keely to connect the dots and realize he’d swapped out her books. He wouldn’t do that again.
This had been one of his longer cons, and the payoff was so, so sweet.
Keely had left her planner open one of her first Sundays at the shelter, and Max snapped a picture of the color-coordinated chaos to study at a later date.
It had taken half a week—and an online catalog of AMU’s biochemistry course offerings—to discern what classes she was taking, let alone her extracurriculars.
She also tracked her period, caffeine intake, and sleep. She had a severe deficit of that last one.
Getting into the school was a little trickier until he’d asked around to some of the other people in track and field.
Jazz told him she’d given talks at local schools before, a peek into life as a collegiate athlete.
It sounded like pulling teeth, but it would be a one and done thing.
He didn’t need to come back after this, and he could use it to bolster his chances for Pursue Your Passions.
It was still only late February, but the sooner he could get his application in shape, the better he’d feel.
A few emails later, he was in. The fourth graders were stoked to hear about the branded swag he received (just enough to make sure his drawers didn’t close all the way), the traveling he did (mostly regional), why he didn’t make the Olympic team (because he’d been distracted).
The teacher was onto him, but the kids ate it up.
And it was all worth it to see this look on Keely’s face now. To watch her choke, get embarrassed, get up and leave and ultimately scratch this out in her perfect little planner.
But then she just. . . shifted, right before his eyes. Pushed her shoulders back, calmly set her backpack on the floor again, and smiled.
Not at him. He wasn’t that lucky.
Unlucky.
Whichever.
Keely smiled at the children crowding into her personal space.
Had to ask them a few times to quiet down.
And none of it seemed to bother her. She kept her gentle grin as she answered questions about the book she hadn’t read yet.
What was her plan, anyway? Was she just going to pretend this book was Frankie the Fish?
She held up the textbook, flipping through a few pages to display the diagrams and graphs.
“This is Quantum Mechanics, which is a really fancy way of looking at the amount of something—or how much space something takes up—versus the frequency it emits. Because atoms are the building blocks of life, but they also have energy which is constantly emitting wavelengths.”
The kids were dead silent. Maybe this would work out in his favor after all.
“Change of plans.” She snapped the book shut. “Does anyone want to come up and help me with a demonstration?”
Almost every hand in the room went up.
He bit back a scoff. Did she have to be so good at everything?
Keely selected three kids as her volunteers and lined them up at the front of the room. She instructed the first kid—a girl with severe French braids lining her head—to stay as still as she could. The second was told to bounce up and down, which got a giggle out of everyone.
“What about me?” the third kid asked, eager as he stared up at Keely with hearts in his eyes.
“I want you to do both.”
He licked his lips so thoroughly, Max saw the saliva from here. “What do you mean?”
“Be totally still, but bounce up and down,” she instructed.
He tried, bouncing, then freezing midair once he realized he wasn’t supposed to move.
“I can’t,” he said, looking down at the floor. “I’m sorry, Miss Keely.”
She crouched to his level, giving him a kind smile. Max really needed to stop noticing her smiles. “You don’t need to be sorry, Reid. That’s exactly what I wanted you to say.”
Reid looked up. “So I didn’t make a mistake?”
“Not at all. You helped me make my point. We as people can’t do that, but there’s something in our bodies—something in everything on earth—that can.”
“Is it boogers?” one of the other kids shouted.
“Good guess, but it’s actually atoms.” Keely gave weight to the word, as if it mattered more than anything else. She let the kids go back to their seats and took up a spot at the whiteboard and uncapped a marker. “Atoms are so small, we can’t even see them.”
“Like boogers,” the same kid said.
“Smaller,” Keely responded.
Shock and awe filled the air. Max heard one kid gasp.
Keely commanded the room, asked leading questions, drew funny cartoon images on the whiteboard, and the kids ate right out of her palm.
She was left-handed, something one of the kids pointed out with reverence. She stopped what she was doing to give him a high-five.
As her hand worked to keep up with her mouth, some of the writing and diagrams smudged. No wonder ink smeared on her hand so often. But she didn’t let it stop her. The longer she talked, the more excited she became.
She was a natural, the way she was at everything, and it spiked his blood pressure. How was he supposed to win when he was up against perfection?
He stayed for her entire presentation, half enraptured, half trying to work out a way to best his biggest competition once and for all. He’d be late for strength and conditioning, but that was glorified weightlifting, and basically the only class he wasn’t concerned about.
“Next week,” Keely said as she packed her bag, “I’ll bring Frankie, but maybe we can also talk about vitamins. I bet you all take some to make sure your bodies and brains are healthy and strong.”
“Mine are shaped like strawberries,” one kid said.
“Mine are dinosaurs!”
“I want dinosaurs,” wailed a third.
Their teacher swooped in, effectively dismissing Keely.
Max held his breath, bracing for impact.
Keely shut the door behind her, threw him a nasty look, and marched toward the front office.
He fell into step beside her. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Why did they let you into this school?” she hissed, hiking her backpack up higher. “Did you even pass a background check?”
He sneered. “I’m a jock, not a criminal.”
She glared right back, craning her neck. God, she was short, five two or five three. Wait, she probably measured everything in metric.
“Yes, Keely,” he monotoned. “I passed a background check, same as you. And I’m so glad, because I got to witness whatever that was.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Anyway, sort of full circle, don’t you think? Us, ending up back in a classroom together. Sweet memories and all that.”
Keely barked a humorless laugh. “For you, maybe.”
Her words held so much raw emotion, he jerked to a stop. “I—what?”
“Just forget it, Max.” She pulled open the office door. It was the same tone she’d used that day at the shelter, when she said she didn’t want his apologies, plural.
He followed her lead, tearing off his visitor badge and handing it back to the office administrator.
Outside, the February chill smacked him in the face. The forecast was calling for snow this weekend, and the dark clouds overhead promised that would hold true.
“What do you mean? I thought we had fun in school. Back when we were friends. Best friends.” They had been, hadn’t they?
Keely beelined toward her car, a tiny blue coupé. “I said, forget it.”
“I. . .” he started. Maybe he was making a mistake, pushing too close when she was already nursing an invisible wound, but his brain wouldn’t let it go.
When she spun around, he was right there. Close enough to see her pupils battle against the bright daylight. Close enough to watch the vein in her neck throb.
Close enough to count her eyelashes.
His swallow got caught in his throat.
“Fine. Can we call a truce now?” he said. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re even. You got me, I got you, you failed to get me back and so did I.”
Her jaw ticked, and he had the strange, sudden urge to feel it with his mouth.
He took a step back, and another when he could still smell her. “Well?” he rasped.
Keely’s gaze searched his. Her pupils had adjusted to the light and now consumed the blue color rimming them. A pink blush bloomed near her temples. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “It’s a long time until May first.”
The deadline. Right. “Thanks for the reminder. Plenty of time to break all your Bunsen burners and send your laptop to an early grave for real.”
Her eyes flashed with hurt and, maybe, a little fear. “You wouldn’t do that to me.”
He wasn’t sure why the addition of “to me” at the end of that sentence changed it for Max. But it did.
“No.” He licked his lips. “But there’s a lot I would do to you, Keely.”
They caught the innuendo at the same time. The flush from her temples spread to her cheeks. Max’s neck went hot, and he quashed down the rampant thoughts that barreled to the forefront of his mind.
Keely crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side, a lock of hair falling into her face. He tightened his hands into fists so he didn’t brush it away.
“Anything else?” She was breathless. Hoarse. “I have somewhere to be.”
He spun for his own car, on the other end of the visitor’s parking lot. “Better bundle up,” he threw over his shoulder. “They’re calling for snow this weekend.”
On cue, a snowflake hit him in the eye. Another landed on his neck, melting down into his collar.
But the cold water did nothing to cool his blood.
· · · · ·
The flurries turned constant on his drive back to campus. By Sunday morning, Max’s world was covered in white.
Growing up, it would have meant an impromptu snow day. While his mom couldn’t take off work, his father was a dog groomer and had such a loyal clientele that he set his own hours. Customers rearranged their schedule to fit.
So at least once every winter, Dad shut down the shop, and he and Max and his brothers would spend all day outside. Snow forts, snowball fights, snow angels, snow cream. They’d tried it all.
Nostalgia tugged at his heart, so he FaceTimed his dad, ready to show him the late-winter wonderland.