Apolonia

  Nothing. Fine, I'll help. "What do you mean?"

  Cy raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, what do I mean?"

  "You need me to help you with this?" I said, nodding to the desk.

  "Of course."

  I nodded. "Good to know. Just wanted to be clear that you didn't mean something else."

  Cy fidgeted a bit and then pulled off his black-rimmed glasses, placing them carefully on his desk. "I'm finished for now. I can walk you to your next class."

  "What is your fascination with walking me places?"

  "It's customary, isn't it?"

  "Not since 1920."

  Cy grinned. "Just let me walk you. You don't have to be a...hard-ass all the time."

  "Oh! Listen to you swearing like a real college student!"

  His grin broke into a broad smile. "Really?"

  "No. C'mon. I'll walk you."

  We kept a slow pace. Even though the thick cloud cover brought in another brutal cold front, neither of us seemed to notice. We talked about my classes and how out of control Dr. Zorba's beard had become. We laughed a lot, and it was nice to just talk about nothing. We stopped at a food cart, and Cy watched in awe as I ordered a falafel.

  "What?" I asked, eating and walking at the same time.

  "It's just an odd dish."

  "The falafel?"

  "Yes, the croquettes in pita bread. Very strange."

  "You've never heard of a falafel?"

  He shook his head.

  "It's a Middle Eastern dish," I said, confused by his confusion.

  "Just because it's Middle Eastern doesn't mean I must have heard of it. Are you familiar with all Canadian dishes because Canada is also located in North America?"

  "Okay, okay, you win."

  "I what? Can you say that a bit louder?"

  When we stopped in front of my class, I smirked at his teasing. "Very funny."

  "I'm finished with classes for the day," he said, smiling. "I'll see you tonight."

  "You're not coming to lab?" I asked.

  "I have an appointment."

  "Are you sure you don't want to walk me to my next class? And then back to my dorm after that? I'm giving myself a haircut. You can help me with that, too," I teased.

  "I can if you wish," he said, his voice steady.

  I wasn't expecting him to say yes. "It's kind of ritualistic. I should probably just be alone."

  "You don't have to be. I can be there with you."

  "I'll see you tonight," I said with an appreciative smile.

  Cy walked backward a few steps and then turned to walk away. I stepped into lab to see Benji sitting next to my empty seat with a forced grin and sad eyes.

  "You missed out. It was potato soup day at the cafe."

  "I had to set up some samples to save time tonight."

  He leaned down to help me plug in my laptop and then pulled out his own. "I can help you in the lab, you know."

  "No, you really can't."

  "I just feel as if it's taking up all of my Rory time. Kind of sucks."

  Rory time? "You kind of suck."

  Benji chuckled and shook his head, booting up his computer. "I only take that from you, just so you know."

  "And I appreciate it."

  Is what I am feeling a...good mood? Do I even remember what that feels like? Whatever it was, it was completely fine with me if it stuck around a while. But then it occurred to me that I hadn't thought about my family all morning, and my good mood immediately dissipated. It felt like a betrayal, disrespectful to go a day without thinking about them. They deserved better from me.

  For the remainder of class, I studied microbes, recorded their molecular signals, and felt sorry. Sorry that I didn't save my parents or my best friend. Sorry that I lived and they didn't. And I promised myself that I would never forget about them again.

  Benji tried to smile at me a few times, but I ignored him. He got the hint fairly quickly, and I thought it made him feel better that I was behaving like my usual self.

  After class, I packed up my things and trudged outside. The sky had been gray for two days, but now huge snowflakes were falling. I pulled at my sweater sleeves, covering my fists with the wool to try to ward off the cold.

  I looked down at the bottom of the steps, and there stood Cy. An involuntary smile touched my lips.

  "What are you doing here?" I said, descending the ten or so steps down to him.

  "I decided to take you up on your invitation to walk you to your next class."

  Without thinking, I threw my arms around him. Cy wasn't fazed. He pulled me more tightly against him, crossing his arms across my back and pressing his chin gently into my shoulder. I buried my face into his neck. He smelled so good. I couldn't get enough of it. It wasn't even cologne. It was just him. His skin was as warm and soft as it looked. He let me get as close to him as I needed, and then he let me let go of him when I needed to.

  He didn't ask me what was wrong or if I was okay. He just walked with me in silence to my next class.

  When I stopped in the doorway, he finally spoke, "I'll wait for you."

  Cy had made it a point to remain aloof since we met, and now he was walking me to my classes. A part of me wanted to ask him more questions about why he had gone from one extreme to the other, but I was afraid if I did, it would make things awkward, and he would stop.

  There was no use in pretending that I didn't want or need him around more, so I nodded and went inside, relieved to know Cy would be there when class was over.

  JUST A FEW DAYS BEFORE THANKSGIVING BREAK, the sidewalks were clustered with red-faced but otherwise chipper students and faculty, almost all of them holding a Styrofoam cup of steaming hot liquid. I didn't drink coffee, tea, soda, or hot chocolate. If I drank anything but water, my throat would feel dry and raw. My father said that Mom must have passed that down to me because she was the same way until she turned forty, and then she tried her first glass of wine, and that became her new favorite beverage.

  Christ, she was beautiful. Even her last day on this earth with mascara running down her face and a rag tied tightly across her mouth, she was the embodiment of beauty. When my father was happy, he would call her honey or dearest, and when he was angry, he would say Charlotte, but even then, her name sounded lovely. The night we all died, my father said her name in a tone I didn't recognize. A warning. She remained calm until they began tying my wrists, but then she fought them in utter despair.

  "Charlotte," my father had said, "sit still, love. It will all be over soon. Just let them get what they came for, and we can go home." He looked at me with calm eyes. "It's okay, sweetheart. It's going to be okay."

  That was when she looked at me for forgiveness. She was a ferocious mother bear, unleashing her wrath on anyone who dared mistreat me or disrespect me or made me feel anything less than the amazing being she thought I was. Watching the knots being tied around my wrists and then behind my head, the begging in my eyes, and the torture on my face when I had to watch them hurt my best friend, who I'd known and loved since I was three, killed her hours before she died.

  "Rory?"

  I was standing outside of Microphysics class, frozen.

  "You look lost," Benji said.

  "Isn't everyone?" I said, leaving him alone in the hallway.

  Benji chuckled as I passed. "That's deep, Rory. We feeling a little emo today? Hey...I'm just kidding...Rory?"

  My boots stomped up the stairs to a desk, and my bag fell off my shoulder to the floor. Ice-cold fingers found their way to my chest to touch the stained hair that was no longer there. When I needed to remember her, I would reach for my hair, but I'd shaved it off so that I could forget.

  Forget my mother. Who does that? Was it too much for me to keep the one tangible thing I had left of her? It wasn't only my blood that had saturated my hair but hers, too. And I'd thrown it in the trash.

  For the last three years, Thanksgiving had been difficult for me, and I could feel myself breaking down. It was going
to be a rough day.

  As the professor instructed straight from the physics textbook, I took unnecessary notes in the margins with shaky hands, not having a clue about what I was writing down on the pages. By the time class was dismissed, my anxiety was nearly intolerable.

  Dr. Zorba's office was in the building, so I pushed my way past the other students, focusing on the relief I might feel once I was sitting in his ugly and itchy orange chair. It was there when he'd been hired at Kempton thirty years before.

  Without knocking, I pushed my way inside and sat in the chair, focusing on my breathing. In. Out. In. Out. In...out. In...out.

  "Difficult morning?" Dr. Z said, not looking up from the paper he was scribbling on.

  "I need her today."

  "I told you not to cut the hair."

  "Too late."

  Once I got a handle on my breathing, I noticed someone sitting in the swivel chair on the other side of Dr. Z's desk. It startled and embarrassed me, and then that embarrassment flashed to anger.

  "What are you doing in here?"

  Cy didn't answer. He just watched as my eyes darted between him and the professor.

  "We had a meeting," Dr. Z said.

  "About the research?" I said. "Why wasn't I called to this meeting?"

  Dr. Z wasn't fazed. "You're worked up, Rory. Calm down, and then we'll talk."

  "You didn't know I was having a bad morning. That has nothing to do with my exclusion from a research meeting."

  "You're assuming it was a research meeting," the doctor said, his voice low and calm as always. "Remember, Cyrus is also my student. We do have other things to talk about."

  "It's not Cyrus. It's just Cy," I said.

  Both of them gave me a funny look.

  "He's the one who said it," I said, motioning to Cy. I was surprised he hadn't let the professor know that he preferred the shorter name.

  Dr. Z just watched me, waiting for me to come to some sort of a conclusion.

  "Okay," I said, getting angrier by the minute. "Well, I guess I'd better excuse myself, so you can finish your meeting."

  "Sit," Dr. Z said. "We were finished. We can talk about the research since you're both here."

  I settled into my seat, satisfied with that suggestion.

  Dr. Z continued, "I've determined that this project should be kept between us. All the data should be recorded and put into an encrypted file, and then all the paperwork should be shredded and taken to the incinerator."

  I lowered my chin, watching the professor speak. He had a stern look, one I hadn't seen before. He wasn't kidding.

  "And we shouldn't speak of it," Cy added, "to anyone."

  "What am I missing?" I asked.

  Dr. Z intertwined his fingers and rested his hands on his desk. "I've been receiving emails from a Dr. Fenton Tennison. He's from a special division at the CIA, one of the heads of a committee of scientists, military leaders, and government officials. In some circles, this committee is known as Majestic Twelve. He's...interested in the specimen."

  I sat up. "So, the rumors are true then?"

  Dr. Z sighed. "It appears so, but that's not good news for us."

  I'd heard Dr. Z talk about Dr. Tennison before, and my father before that. Tennison was labeled unethical before I was born, and he'd been all but dismissed in most scientific circles. Regardless, he was brilliant, and some research institutions brought him on board until they couldn't deal with his kind of crazy anymore. After Tennison disappeared from the science world, it was rumored more than once that he'd been commissioned by a super think tank within the CIA.

  "So, he's interested in the rock--as in, he wants it," I clarified.

  "Demanding it. He is stating that it is government property."

  "We're going to keep it from him? Can't he just take it?"

  "Hopefully not without a court order. Theoretically, that gives us some time to finish recording the data before we move the specimen to a safer location. It's more important than I could have dreamed, Rory. We need to keep it out of hands that might exploit the knowledge there is to learn from it."

  "Those special departments don't usually wait on court orders, Dr. Z."

  "Which is why we'll do this quickly."

  "The CIA wants the rock, and when they come to get it, you won't have it because you're going to hide it from them. Isn't that illegal?"

  "Yes," the professor answered matter-of-factly.

  Both men looked to me, awaiting my response. Thanksgiving break began in two days, and the campus would be desolate. It was the perfect time to hide out in the Fitz and dedicate all our time to recording Dr. Z's data. It was also perfect timing for me. I wouldn't have to spend Thanksgiving alone, and the project might even help to keep my mind off my orphan status.

  "I'm in," I said.

  Cy and Dr. Z traded small knowing smiles.

  Two. Two glances from Cy since we sat down on our stools twenty minutes before. I'd brought a medium brick oven pizza with me and ate a few slices. I was hoping he'd ask for some, but he never did. Maybe he wasn't glancing at me at all. Maybe he was starving and thought it was rude to ask.

  "Want some?" I asked, holding up a slice.

  Cy shook his head. "No, thank you."

  I put the pizza back into its cardboard box and closed the lid.

  After every class, Cy was waiting for me with a smile on his face. He would offer his arm and ask me every question he could think of about everything but my family or my past in general, which I appreciated. We talked about fun things like concerts and food, and we talked about things people weren't supposed to talk about, like politics and religion. Cy wanted to know my opinion about everything but not because he wanted to argue. He just wanted to know.

  Benji had asked me to lunch earlier, but I decided to line up specimens with Cy at the lab instead.

  It felt as if I was spending twice as much time with Cy as before, and he was talking to me twice as much. But he never talked about himself, and he answered my questions about him with questions about me.

  I flipped open the lid. The smell of the greasy cheesy goodness filled the room even more. For the third time, Cy glanced up at me, but he quickly looked back down at his stack of papers.

  "Are you sure you don't want a slice?" I asked, pulling up a triangle from the rest. The melted cheese made a string from the slice to the pie, and I used my other finger to pull it off and stuff it in my mouth. "It's so good. Best in town."

  "It smells delicious," he said, still looking at his paper.

  "Then, have some."

  "I'm not sure if I should."

  My nose wrinkled. "Why?"

  "Because I...I've never had pizza before."

  "You've never had pizza," I deadpanned. "You're lying."

  He looked up at me and blinked, clearly surprised at my accusation. "I don't lie."

  I put another slice on a paper plate and held it out to him. "Noted. Now try some pizza. Get the full college experience."

  After some hesitation, Cy took the plate from my hands and studied the slice of pizza. The grease had already saturated the plate around the cheesy borders. The pepperoni and sausage glistened.

  A corner of my mouth went up. "Unless you're lactose intolerant, take a bite or forever be a pussy in my eyes."

  "A-a," he stuttered. "I presume you're referring to one of two definitions for that word. The less vulgar possibility doesn't make sense. The second is preposterous. How could one become a vagina when not taking a bite of pizza? I'm clearly a male--"

  "Christ on a bicycle, dude, just eat the fucking thing!"

  Cy clumsily picked up the limp triangle and bit off the end corner, chewing with his eyes closed.

  "And?"

  He took another bite. "It's wonderful. Now, I really must return to my duties." He set the plate down and picked up a pencil, scribbling something in his elegant small handwriting.

  I sat, deflated, and then resumed the clacking on my keyboard. So much for the saying that the way
to a man's heart is through his stomach.

  I barely finished a third entry when Cyrus fell off his stool and reached for the closest wastebasket. His body lurched, and he vomited violently into the can.

  "Oh god! Cy!" I said, jumping off my stool and joining him on the floor.

  As quickly as his groaning, moaning, and hurling started, it stopped, and he sat, leaning against a file cabinet, breathing hard. A thin sheen of sweat covered his olive skin.

  "I'm okay," he said, out of breath.

  I leaned up to pull a napkin from my desk and held it out for him. He took it without looking at me and dabbed his mouth.

  "I am so sorry. Are you on a special diet?"

  He wasn't a skinny man. He stood at least six foot and filled out his height fantastically. He yanked off his tan twill jacket, and for the first time, I saw that his arms also filled out his shirtsleeves.

  "No," he said before dry-heaving one more time. "Well, technically, I suppose I am."

  "Why didn't you say so?"

  He stood up, almost a head taller than me. "You're a bit intimidating, Rory Riorden."

  "You know my last name," I said, watching him climb back onto his stool. "I know next to nothing about you." I stood.

  Cy glanced up from his papers once and then looked back down, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. "There's nothing wrong with that. Being familiar is overrated."

  "What's your last name?"

  Cy let his pencil fall, and he breathed out a frustrated puff. "You wouldn't be able to pronounce it."

  I walked over to my stool and sat down. "Try me."

  "This is a horrible waste of time."

  My eyebrows shot up. "Letting me get to know you is a waste of time? Gee, thanks."

  His expression softened. "No, of course not. That's not what I meant. You're very...I like you."

  "Enough to check on me and walk me to class but not enough to trust me. Isn't that what this is about?" My voice sounded ridiculously acerbic, but I felt as if he'd just slapped me in the face.

  "I'm sorry, Rory. It was absolutely not my intention to upset you. Sometimes, I just feel it's better not to...we're too...I feel too..." He sighed, clearly frustrated. "It's Kazemde."

  I didn't flinch. "It's not that hard to pronounce."

  He smiled. "You should try to spell it."

  "What's your favorite food?"

  "I don't really have a local favorite. The food here is...have you heard the adage, Eat to live, not live to eat?"

  I shot him a look, and he shrugged.