Can't Beat the Chemistry Read online

  The shock on her face is instant. It also confirms my suspicion.

  She bites into her cabbage roll. I smile at her diversionary tactic. I’m a patient guy. I can wait. Come on, MJ, you can trust me.

  It’s tangible, this sudden need to have her trust me. I try not to think about what that might mean.

  When she finally looks across at me, there’s vulnerability in her huge eyes. ‘Last Christmas break I found a letter addressed to my father … from the Huntington’s Disease Society.’

  I wrack my brain but, nope, no idea what Huntington’s Disease is. It must show because MJ explains.

  ‘Huntington’s is a neurodegenerative disease. It causes nerve cells in the brain to die. It’s progressive and … terminal. My grandfather has just been diagnosed with late onset. Which means there’s a fifty per cent chance Dad has the defective gene. If he does, he’ll eventually develop the disease.’

  No words. I have no words. Anything I say would be inadequate anyway. I don’t notice I’ve covered her hand with mine until she glances down at our jumble of fingers. I go to pull away but she curls her fingers over my pinky and holds on.

  ‘Have you told your dad you know?’

  She shakes her head. ‘At first there was just shock. And then, with Christmas and all, with Theo and Mum at each other’s throats … everything was already so tense. When break finished and Dad still hadn’t called a family meeting …’ Her teeth catch the corner of her bottom lip. ‘I started to hope maybe he tested negative and decided there was no need to say anything.’ She shrugs, but it’s slow. Like her shoulder is weighed down by the fear that she’s wrong.

  I can’t imagine the agony of watching someone I love suffer like that. If Mum ever—I can’t even go there. I squeeze MJ’s hand, hoping she hears my silent support when … hold up a minute. Since this thing is genetic that means there might be a chance that Theo and MJ—Ah hell. Talk about being dealt a crap card.

  ‘By the time school went back I’d researched everything about the disease,’ she says. ‘And I knew I wanted to find a cure for people like Dad and Granddad.’ She says this with a ton of anguish, like she’s made the decision to go into people smuggling instead of medicine.

  ‘And studying genetics is a problem because?’

  MJ toys with the leftover cabbage roll on her plate. ‘Because I’ve got the brains for something better than genetics. It’d be stupid to pass up an opportunity to do medicine, especially now that Theo definitely won’t …’

  Ah. Now the maths is adding up.

  ‘Have you told your parents?’

  Her face pales to near translucent. ‘God no!’

  No surprise there. I’ve never met the Olsen-Wangs, but if Theo’s remarks about his mother are anything to go by, I understand why MJ hasn’t come clean yet. But there has to be another way.

  ‘Isn’t genetics an offshoot of medicine? Okay, it’s more science than medicine but—’

  Her head shake cuts me off. ‘It’s not the same. Mum would never look at me the same …’ She takes a slow breath, releases it on a huff of resignation. ‘There are worse things than being a doctor.’

  Yeah? Not if you really don’t want to be one. ‘There’s got to be another way.’

  Her shoulders stiffen. She releases my pinky and slides her hand from mine. ‘It’s complicated.’

  Not as complicated as living a lie of a life. Especially if that life has a bitch of a question mark like Huntington’s hanging over it. But I don’t go there. This friendship thing between us is fragile; I don’t want to jeopardise it by pushing too hard.

  Time for a subject change. ‘You up for dessert?’

  She relaxes back into her chair. ‘Only if you do your story character thing with the entire dessert menu.’ Her voice and eyes are laden with challenge.

  ‘You’re on.’ I give her my best Groucho Marx eyebrow waggle. Even though I can see the game for the diversion tactic it is—a way for her to escape, to forget the future she’s hurtling towards. The Huntington’s diagnosis is out of her hands; in that respect there’s nothing she can do to change what’s coming her way. But she can do something about wanting to study genetics. Damn if I know why she doesn’t speak up. All I know is I can make her smile right at this moment. And that’s good enough for me.

  For now.

  MJ

  Kiss Me Quick

  It’s just after eight when Jason pulls his metallic blue beamer onto the boarding house street on Wednesday night. We both have extension classes at half past seven tomorrow morning, so I’m glad of the early night. I’m also hoping the relatively early hour—and the fact Jason parked under the cover of the huge Jacaranda tree a bit down the road instead of right in front of the boarding house entrance—might give us the opportunity for, um, a prolonged goodbye without the prying eyes of nosy Year 7s. At that thought, my fingers tangle in the strap of my handbag sitting in my lap. Maybe I should have let Sandy give me a few more pointers in this department before the date?

  ‘So, here we are.’ Jason pulls the hand break on and twists in his seat, turning that angles and planes smile on me.

  ‘Here we are.’ I twist my bag strap in my lap.

  ‘I had a great night.’ His teeth flash briefly in the street light. ‘I hope you did too?’ The unsure note in his question allows me to loosen my hold on my handbag.

  ‘I did.’ But the words come out half-hearted. Snap out of it, MJ! So what if he didn’t make me laugh by inventing crazy story characters for the items on the menu, or that he spent more of the night talking about himself than listening to me. We covered a lot of ground where our research paper is concerned, which allowed me to highlight our shared future goals. And the way his eyes darkened with what I’m sure was interest when I outlined my medical degree plans … I mean, it just re-affirms we are perfect for each other. Perfect.

  ‘It was perfect,’ I say, this time with determined enthusiasm. And for all I know it might as well have been. It’s not like I have any other dates to compare it to. Except for Monday night with Luke. Which wasn’t a date!

  Jason shifts forward slightly. ‘I’d like to do it again.’

  ‘I’d, um, like that.’ I would. Of course I would.

  There’s that angles and planes smile again, then his gaze drops to my mouth for half a heartbeat before he leans across the centre console and puts his lips on mine. And all I can think is teeth and tongue and more teeth and, and—Is that it? Because it’s all over after five wet and very underwhelming seconds.

  When he pulls back, Jason’s eyes set off a warning in my gut. Is hooded good or is hooded bad?

  ‘Are you free Saturday night?’ he asks.

  I’ll need to ask Mum and Dad about going out, but I nod, too afraid the relief coursing through me at his question might make me blurt out something stupid.

  ‘Message me your home address and I’ll pick you up around seven,’ he says, and turns the key in the ignition. Guess that’s my cue to exit the vehicle.

  ‘Sure,’ I finally manage and step out of the car. He doesn’t waste time getting on his way. I watch the beamer’s rear lights dwindle in the distance and try not to cringe. Really? That’s it? But he wants to see me again, and that’s all that matters. Even if the kiss was … if it was …

  My fault. I gasp, the mouthful of cool night air a sobering slap of realisation: it was all over in an underwhelming five seconds—because I had no clue what on earth I was doing.

  Luke

  Reciprocal Chemistry

  Thursday, 2.58. Everyone in the Educational Theory lecture is waiting for those four liberating words from the podium: That’s all for today.

  When they finally come, the tide of students surges out of the auditorium in search of an afternoon pick-me-up in the form of sugar or caffeine. Me not included. I trudge towards the exit closest to the science faculty—I’ve got a
make-up test consult with the P-man.

  ‘Mr Bains.’ The professor gives me a nod from behind his desk. ‘I have to say, I’m surprised.’

  Surprised good or surprised bad? I sit in the chair opposite him and search the man’s face for clues, but it doesn’t indicate either way. I had a good feeling about the test, but now? The professor draws my paper from a file on his desk and I draw blood around my thumbnail. The man must read the panic in my expression. Either that or he’s glimpsed the state of my fingernails.

  ‘Pleasantly surprised, Luke.’

  That one extra word, man, talk about relief. ‘So I passed?’

  He hands me my paper. It takes a moment for the grade to sink in, but when it does—

  ‘A low Distinction? Are you sure?’

  He raises a bushy eyebrow. ‘That’s a vast improvement on your last grade, Luke. I wouldn’t be scoffing at it.’

  ‘No, I didn’t mean—’ I shake my head, because … the absurdity of his thinking. ‘You’re sure it shouldn’t be lower?’

  Now it’s the P-man doing the head shaking. ‘Solid, Mr Bains. In fact, two more marks and you would have lost the minus.’

  No way. No way! My whole body buzzes. MJ’s going to lose her nut over this. I can’t wait to tell her. We’re not due to meet at the library until four; she’s got school and I’ve got a drum lesson. But damn I can’t wait to tell her. I could text her? Nah, I’ll wait. I want to see my stupid grin reflected in all her moonless midnight. By the time I push open the door to the music room, my face hurts from all the smiling.

  A glance around the room confirms Derek hasn’t arrived yet. No surprise there; the senior is usually late. Doesn’t bother me, and even if it did, I’m too pumped on Distinction endorphins to be annoyed about it.

  I pull my sticks from my backpack and, stupid grin still in place, plant my bum on the throne. Body on autopilot, I muck around on the kit, mind only half paying attention to the rhythm while the other half winds back to Monday night and that Lebanese restaurant.

  MJ’s admission she doesn’t want to become a doctor threw me like a drum solo in the middle of a Tchaikovsky piano concerto. Shows how much she hides beneath that grade-driven exterior of hers. If she applied all her drive and determination to a career she actually wants, man, the girl could make a real difference in the world.

  I get she’s scared of disappointing her mother, but at some point, you’ve got to own your future and stop listening to the voices that drown out your dreams.

  So why aren’t you?

  I fumble my rhythm, sending one of my sticks to the floor. Instead of picking it up, my hand drives into my back pocket for my phone. I open the mail app and scan the titles MJ sent me after dinner Monday night. Rhythm and Intellect: Rhythmic Accuracy as a Predictor of Problem-Solving Skills. Correlation Between Intelligence and Components of Serial Timing Variability. A whole heap of other articles all saying the same thing. MJ’s evidence-based argument to convince me I’ve got what it takes to do a Special Ed Masters.

  At first I wasn’t going to read any of them, but by Tuesday night I pulled my head out of my arse and admitted I wasn’t reading them because I was scared stiff MJ might be right. So I grew a pair and downloaded the stupid research papers. By the time I’d read the last one my whole body was shaking. Whether with fear or excitement, I don’t know. Hell, probably both.

  But what scares and excites me just as much is the realisation that MJ truly believes I can do this. No one has ever gone this far to convince me I’m more capable than I think myself to be. That I’m good enough. Makes me wish Monday night had been a real date and not just friends sharing a meal and confidences.

  ‘Hey, man, sorry I’m late.’ Derek’s voice comes from the music room door.

  ‘No drama.’ I bend to pick up the dropped stick.

  Unable to keep still all of a sudden, I hop off the stool and motion for him to take my place. ‘Let’s get started, yeah? I’ve got to be somewhere at four.’

  ***

  I spot MJ’s raven head bent over a journal the second I round the corner into the quiet study area. My stupid grin fights to crack open across my face, but I wrestle my features into something that won’t scare small children.

  She lifts her head when I’m still a few study booths away, but her expression isn’t right. The lines between her eyes are too deep, too long for her usual serious study face. Then she sees me, and a smile shoves the frown off her features. I quicken my pace.

  ‘So—’ she says as I slide into the study booth opposite her, ‘—what did you get on your test?’

  I shake my head. ‘You’re like a sledgehammer, you know that? How about a hello first?’

  ‘Sorry. Hello.’ Eyebrows raised, she leans towards me across the table. ‘What did you get on your test?’

  My grin tests its shackles. At least the girl is consistent in her social blunders. I pull my test paper from my backpack and slide it across for her to see.

  Here I thought my reaction bordered on manic, but MJ’s smile gives mine a run for its tooth enamel. ‘A low Distinction? That’s fantastic, Luke!’ She grabs my forearm and squeezes, and damn if the heat of her touch doesn’t set off a series of jolts across my entire body.

  ‘It looks like my initial assessment of drummers and what they’re capable of was very wrong.’ Her admission shoots colour into her cheeks and sends tightness across my chest.

  I don’t want to, but I pull my arm away and sit back in my seat. If I’m gonna have half a chance of concentrating on this afternoon’s tutoring session, I’ll have to avoid touching her. Especially if she comes out with any more of her ego stroking.

  I clear my throat. ‘You eat lunch today?’

  She squints at me in confusion but shakes her head.

  ‘Here.’ I pass her the ham and cheese sandwich I picked up for her on the way.

  ‘Thanks but—’

  ‘No buts.’ I cross my arms so she knows I mean business. ‘I need to pass chemistry, not have my tutor pass out.’ The girl just eats muesli bars.

  Her lips thin as the inevitable wave of stubbornness pushes her to stand her ground.

  ‘I shouldn’t eat this in the library.’ But like her stomach, her argument is empty. Hunger wins and she takes an eager bite.

  Satisfied, I give her a chance to swallow before I speak. ‘I was thinking we could go over the bits I got wrong in the test before we go on to other stuff.’

  ‘Sure. That’s a good use of today’s session.’ She takes another bite, moves her textbooks and science journals out of the way to make room for my chemistry notes, and there it is again—that frown.

  ‘Everything okay?’

  Those huge eyes lock on mine for one, two, three beats. ‘Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?’ On the fourth beat her midnight gaze wavers and … shoulder, tabletop, hands. Yeah, not buying it.

  A couple of weeks ago I wouldn’t have pushed, but after last weekend, after Monday night …

  I take the pen from her and pin her with my gaze. ‘Come on, MJ. Your face is shouting at me that something’s wrong.’

  My words set off a massive sigh before she slumps back into her seat. ‘It’s stupid.’

  ‘Try me.’ I rest my arms on the table and lean closer.

  ‘I went out with Jason last night.’

  Her answer freezes everything inside me. It takes considerable effort to form my response. ‘Isn’t that what you wanted?’

  A nod. ‘It’s just …’

  ‘What? The food was bad? Conversation a dud?’ He bored you to death reciting the results of his latest petri dish experiment?

  ‘No, that was all, um, fine.’

  ‘But?’ There’s definitely a ‘but’ in the waver of her voice, and damn if it doesn’t make me want to fist bump the air. I pick up my pen instead and start twirling.

  Her teeth
catch the corner of her bottom lip, hold for a second, then let go with a scrape along plump flesh that leaves my gaze glued to her mouth. ‘How do you know you’re a good kisser?’

  I stop the pen mid-spin. ‘Are you for real?’ But … oh great, there’s a guilty pink tinge stealing across her cheeks.

  ‘How do you know, Luke?’

  I look anywhere but at her. ‘You just … know.’

  ‘But how?’ She folds her arms on the table and edges closer. ‘There has to be a way to tell if the person you’re with is, um, you know, enjoying it.’

  Are we really having this conversation? Because the mental image of MJ and Jason sucking face is not something I want floating around in my head. ‘Look, kissing is … it’s an individual thing. Everyone likes something different.’

  ‘So what about you? What makes a kiss good for you?’

  I shift in my seat, the study booth suddenly uncomfortable. ‘MJ, this isn’t the kind of thing I normally—’

  ‘Luke, please.’

  The desperation in her voice, man, talk about Achilles’ heel. ‘Okay, okay. A good kiss for me is when—’ I take a deep breath; I can’t believe I’m about to go there, ‘—when time kinda … melts and I forget where I am and my heart thumps hard enough to break a rib just at the taste of her mouth.’

  Silence. She blinks. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Yeah, that about covers it.’ Not like I’m gonna tell her about the things a good kiss does to other parts of me. I tear my gaze away from her face and start up the pen twirling, faster this time.

  ‘There’s my problem then, I’m not a good kisser.’

  The pen drops to the table. ‘Why the hell would you say that?’

  ‘Because there was no change in the space-time continuum and my ribs stayed intact while Jason kissed me last night.’ She says it so matter of fact, if it weren’t for the flare of pink across her cheekbones I’d be fooled into thinking it doesn’t matter to her. Half of me wants to punch Jason in the face for making her think she’s deficient. The other half wants to shake his hand for his monumental cockup. I settle for pushing the tip of my pen into my notepad—imagining it’s Jason’s face.