“You’re standing in a glass house while you throw those boulders. Be careful.”
“Okay, I’m out.” Rose comes out with her coat and purse, followed by a cloud of perfume.
“You have mace?” Olivia asks.
“Check.”
“Phone?”
She pulls it from her pocket and drops it into her purse. “Check.”
“Protection?”
“Double check,” Rose says with a grin.
Olivia shakes her head as she tries to hide her grin. “Be safe.”
“I’ll text you when I’m on my way home.” She offers a wave and then disappears out the front door.
“You know what we need to do?” Olivia says, twisting in her seat. “We need to prove your bad luck isn’t a curse. We can do this. There has to be a way.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Are you going to nerd out on me?”
Her blue eyes flash to mine. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
I shake my head in swift jerks. “I didn’t mean it to be offensive. Smart is hot. Nerdy is hot.”
“You’re being offensive by trying not to be offensive.”
“Is that your polite way of telling me to shut up?”
“Will you?”
“Are you going to tell me how we’re going to test this?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know yet, but I will. I mean, people were able to predict black holes before we knew they existed. This can definitely be tested.”
“Tell me again what you’re majoring in?”
“Engineering mathematics or technomathematics.”
“What does a technomathematician do?”
“It varies. Electrical engineering, design, civil engineering, chemical engineering…”
“So, genius-level stuff?”
She shakes her head, a fresh grin making her eyes smile. “Weren’t you just telling me things aren’t all that complicated?”
“That was before you told me you’re going to be a techno-attic.”
She leans forward, her laughter growing until she closes her eyes.
10
Olivia
The doorbell rings five minutes before the time restaurant had quoted they’d be delivering by. My cheeks ache from laughing as I move to stand, but Arlo beats me to it. “I’ve got it,” he says.
As he turns toward the door, I question if it’s possible for the crutches to make his shoulders appear wider? If his arms are always this strong or if the crutches have forced him to build those muscles?
Who am I kidding? Crutches don’t build forearms like that.
Arlo reaches for his wallet as he opens the door. I’ve learned from working at my step-mother’s physical therapy office that many who are recovering struggle with asking for or accepting help. It’s a strange balance that changes with each patient, to learn when to help and when to hang back, and unfortunately, I haven’t been around Arlo enough to formulate that answer. However, I do know the guy seems to have bad luck or at least some strong coordination faults as of late, so I risk his wrath by joining him at the door. I glance at him, trying to read his expression as I lean forward and accept the double bags of food from the delivery guy. His smile appears equal parts obligation and genuine relief.
The delivery guy looks relieved as well like he wasn’t sure about entrusting Arlo with the food. “Thanks for the tip,” he says, tipping his chin before turning back toward the parking lot.
Arlo closes the door, and I wait for him to turn around before following him to the table and carefully setting the bags down as the aroma of curry dance through the air, making my stomach growl.
“Okay, so no label Matt, techno-magician, and Rose is your best friend,” Arlo surmises, taking a seat in one of the three chairs we have remaining.
“What?” he asks when I stare too long.
“Nothing, I just was making sure the chair looked safe after the last time I offered you to take a seat.”
Arlo leans back as though he doesn’t share the concern. “What’s your favorite thing about living in Washington?”
“Rose.”
“Second favorite?”
“Rose.”
He chuckles, helping open the containers I unload from the bags. “Not the mountains or the picturesque weather? The fact that everyone from here claims to have seen bigfoot at least once?”
“Everyone everywhere claims to have seen bigfoot at least once.”
“Can technomath prove if he’s real?”
“That’s for next week. This week we have to focus on your bad luck.”
“Curse,” he says.
I shake my head, my chest filling with a swell of emotions. “There has to be a reasonable explanation for this.”
“Or I just have to wait six years and some odd months. Curses last seven years, right?”
“What?”
“Like if a black cat crosses your path or you break a mirror, it’s seven years, right?”
I shake my head. “I have no idea.”
“How are you going to be a technomathematician without knowing the hard facts on curses?”
I grab some napkins, plates, and forks. “I’m really a spy. I know nothing about statistics, or math, or science. My true specialty is black-ops and how to kill people using only a paperclip and a pair of socks.”
My fake Russian accent has Arlo’s single dimple appearing. “I had no idea you were in on this operation,” he says, using an accent that sounds more German than Russian.
“We can’t let anyone know about our mission, this one or the one for our country.” I set a place setting in front of him and another across from him. “But first, we should eat, it might be our last chance.”
Arlo nods. “Yes. That’s a very sound idea.”
I burst out laughing as his accent changes again, his syllables all dragged out and heavily pronouncing the vowels. “Was that your attempt to sound Southern?” I ask.
“Attempt? I nailed it.”
I shake my head as I laugh so hard tears form. “That is not how I sound.”
“No, your accent is thicker.”
“People in Texas don’t even think I have an accent anymore.”
“Well, they’re crazy.”
His words shouldn’t bring comfort to me, yet they do. Since moving to Washington, I’ve remained in a state of vacation, mentally speaking, compartmentalizing these years of my life, and never taking the time to find a regular grocery store or pizza place, things people would normally do when they relocate. I still don’t know how to get around to most places and am entirely reliant on my GPS to provide directions when I go anywhere except for school and work. Aside from Rose, I barely even hang out with many other people, always chalking it up to the thought that I won’t be here long. Matt’s words last week, telling me I sounded like a Yankee, caused my reality to come a bit more into focus, but Arlo’s words feel like an assurance.
“You can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the girl,” I tell him, purposely sliding into a thick Southern accent. “Feel welcome to try anything. We always do family-style when we order, and Rose and I were feeling especially indecisive when we ordered. It all sounded good.”