Tell me, how would you expect dark matter to behave as it approaches the event horizon of a supermassive black hole, given this theory of yours?
We should chat more about this in person when you’re on campus. Were you planning to visit any earlier in the summer, or should I put a meeting on my calendar for mid-September?
- John
My brain immediately switches gears, and I take his question about dark matter and black holes and run with it. Idohave the awareness to type quietly, and more than once, I glance back behind me to make sure I haven’t woken up Nico. But it feels good to let myself get lost for a bit in the theoretical—concepts that have me straining to really perceive them, even as I try to formulate a coherent response to Dr. Ellis’s question.
I take my time, too, since I want to at leasttryto sound smart, and by the time I’ve finished what I hope is a thorough explanation of what I think dark matter might do as it nears the edges of a supermassive black hole, I’ve spent nearly three hours, read four new research articles published in top-ranked astrophysics journals, and rewritten and rethought my response multiple times.
I sit back, looking at the email one final time and grinning. I love this stuff, and I hope that even if I sound like an uneducated idiot to Dr. Ellis, he can hear the enthusiasm I have for it.
There don’t appear to be any stupid typos in the email, and everything seems clear to me on my final read through, so I finish the email with a note that no, I do not have any plans to visit sooner than mid-September but that I’m really looking forward to talking in person then.
My stomach does a little anxious swoop when I hit the send button, but I’m smiling, and there’s a part of my brain that’s still racing with excitement for all the ideas I’d written down. I start to lean back in my chair when there’s a low laugh behind me, and I startle and nearly fall backward, barely managing to catch myself by grabbing onto my desk.
Nico laughs again, though it sounds weak. “Did you write a whole novel or something?”
His voice is slow and deep with sleep, and when I turn around to face him, he’s sitting up in the bed, his eyes half open and his hair falling in messy black curls over his forehead. He’s got one of myT-shirts on, and it’s a size too big on his small frame, but it looks perfect.Helooks perfect. Right there in my bed, wearing my shirt, just as he is.
I don’t realize I’m staring until he quirks an eyebrow at me, and then I cough and tear my eyes away. “No, uh, no. Just... writing back to Dr. Ellis—that professor at Stanford.”
“Oh.”
I reach up and rub the back of my neck. “I might have gotten a little carried away, but I’ve got this theory on dark matter and black holes and gravity, and, well, he said he wanted to hear about it, so, uh... yeah.”
My eyes meet Nico’s again, and I’m not surprised to see him smirking at me. He blinks and then rubs his eyes and collapses back onto the bed, curling up and tugging the blanket around his shoulders.
I turn back to my computer, close the lid, and then stand up and face him, expecting to see him already asleep again. But he’s not. He’s staring at the box next to my desk, his jaw clenched.
“That’s the stuff from my mom?” he asks, his voice rough.
“Yeah. There’s clothes and some books. Not... too much.”
I instantly regret saying that, though it’s the truth, and I watch, my heart aching for him, as he pushes himself back up, climbs out of the bed, and shuffles across the room. Then, he lowers himself to the ground to sit cross-legged next to the box. I want to warn him, although I’m not sure what I want to warn him of, but I end up staying quiet as he reaches out and lifts the flaps open.
He blinks and looks down into the box, and his expression flickers with pain and then hardens.
I’m really not thinking too clearly now, but whatever. I push my chair back and quickly join him on the floor, slipping my arm around his shoulders. He’s stiff, his body rigid with tension, and he doesn’t immediately relax into me or seem to take comfort inmy closeness like he had earlier in the day.
Maybe that’s because he’s probably thinking the same thing I am.
Everything in this box.
That’s it.
That’s all he has.
I close my eyes and squeeze his shoulders gently, and I feel him shudder as I whisper, “It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay, I promise. We’ll figure everything out.”
But he doesn’t react or relax, and as I lean my head against his, feeling his whole body trembling, I realize I’m not really sure whether he even heard me.
Chapter Thirteen
Nico
Mom (Tuesday, 10:39 p.m.):Cell phone billing cycle is up on Saturday. Your line will be canceled then
Mom (Wednesday, 11:14 a.m.):You know, things didn’t have to be this way
