A Strange Situation(ship)

Apparently, mathletes was canceled for the day. It was the talk of the town for weeks, but Mr. Valdini finally got hitched to his boyfriend of 15 years.

“They kept putting it off after the marriage bill first passed,” Anne-Marie laughs, coughing up some crumbs, “But then they adopted, and moved into a house, and then his mom got sick. And dont’cha know, we’re living in an era where they might not even be able to get hitched past the next election cycle, so they finally decided to tie the knot. But it’s the week of the state semifinals. So, like, what are we even gonna do?”

“I do think it’s kinda weird that we’ve had a substitute for the last week.”

She almost chokes on her pastry. “Are you serious? How did you not notice?”

I’m the kind of guy that awkwardly nods past the social obligation to look each other in the eyes and say hello around these parts, so it’s not that big of a surprise.

I make sure to get the cream with my next bite before replying. “Idunno. The rock I live under barely gets wi-fi.”

“Oh my god, you’re so weird.”

She was a planet away for two days straight. Yet now here we are, walking side by side like it’s no big deal. Piping-hot kringles in our hands, the chilly air through our hair, and nothing but the bald, forested path ahead of us in the setting sun.

“Speaking of weird,” I ask. “Where the hell are you taking me?”

“It’s not that far. I promise it’s nice, quiet, and secluded.”

“We already passed the murder cave a while back, if that’s what you’re thinking of. Plus, I don’t have all that much good meat on me.”

She rolls her eyes. “Relax. My ravenous hunger shall be kept at bay by this noble sacrifice-” She shakes her kringle for emphasis, “What is this, like a thousand calories?”

I shrug. “Feels like it. I’m already half-full.”

“Whatever,” she replies, taking another bite, “I need to carbload for practice tomorrow anyways.”

I can’t help but feel a little out of place next to her. Even now, after a long day of school, she still looks perfectly photogenic. Between her little black beanie, that artfully-bulky white jacket, and those geometrically-patterned faux-jeans, she looks like she walked right out of the winter catalogue. I, on the other hand, am wearing the same plain winter clothes I’ve had since my growth spurt at 13.

“We’re here,” she says.

I follow her blindly through a thicket of bushes and bump into her outstretched arm. Then, I balk at the cliffside I was about to walk off of. Admittedly, she was right—it’s quite nice after it stops being terrifying.

Half a dozen whooshing waterfalls empty out into a granite pit two stories down. Despite the drop, the water at the bottom remains serene enough for lilypads and cattails, as well as a healthy ensemble of frogs and birds. The drop is lined with a surprising amount of greenery. Some pines, some willows, and others that are too naked to distinguish. Anne-Marie tip-toes along the worn, rocky lip of the pit and takes a seat on the edge of a short wooden dock that seems to hover amidst the frosty mist.

I inch my way to the edge and throw my legs over it beside hers. “It’s like a fantasy novel. Hard to believe a place like this exists so close to a Walmart.”

Anne-Marie chuckles. “Ch’yeah. When I was a kid, I always liked to pretend that this is where all the forest fairies came from.” With a shiver that I can’t differentiate between the sensations of cold and cringe, she shrinks into herself. “Sorry, I guess that’s pretty lame.”

I grimace, considering the fact that just yesterday I had binged my twentieth generic isekai.

“It’s not that lame. At least, not any lamer than running around pretending that sticks are swords and guns.”

Her eyes widen. “Wait, boys did that too?”

“What? We’re the same species, after all. It’s not like guys’re homo habilis or something.”

Anne-Marie holds back a snort. “Homo habilis is the one that learned how to use sticks as tools.”

“Whatever, the one before that. Wait, no, that still proves my point!”

She fails to hold it back this time, grunting like a mirthful pig as she leans towards me.

Time slows as I see the top of her head approach my shoulder. I tense up. My heart beats with the agonizing cadence of an indie horror game menu theme. Her hair comes close enough for me to smell the honey-scented conditioner she must have used. I suck in my gut and flex my shoulder muscles. Anne-Marie’s eyes close in half-time, her long lashes catching the misty reflection of the lowering sun as everything turns golden.

And she pulls away.

“Here, look at this,” she says.

In an instant, I’m left half-dazed, staring at a strange assortment of mutli-colored pebbles in her cupped palms.

“Wha-” is all I can muster.

“What’dyou look so confused for? They’re skipping pebbles.”

“Skipping pebbles,” I repeat after her, the words carrying as much meaning to me as if I had repeated them a hundred times in a row.

“Yeah,” she replies, flashing me an uneven, but nonetheless perfect smile. “Watch.”

Anne-Marie stands, parting fallen hair from her shining eyes. Then, she cocks back her arm like a baseball pitcher. I can hardly take my eyes off of her as she twists her body back and then springs forward. The pebble blurs out of existence from the palm of her hand, and I can only track its motion by the leaves it bounces off of on its way down to the water. After like half a dozen ricochets, it finally plops into the green-blue portal waiting at the bottom.

“Six,” she remarks, plopping back down next to me without a fear in the world for the creaking wood. “That’s a seasonal best.”

“Six what?”

“You saw it, right? It bounced six different times before it hit the bottom.”

“Oh yeah,” I nod along.

“Now it’s your turn.”

I feel the brief touch of her impossibly soft skin as she shoves a pebble into my hand. The wood cries out below me as I stand, and I try to pretend like I’m not terrified. Closing my eyes, I try to remember the way she set up her throw. But all I can recall is the zen determination in her sky-blue eyes. What the hell? Was I really not even paying attention?

Screw it.

The stone flies out of my hands with markedly less momentum than I thought it would. After one pathetic clack off of the nearest bend of the Fairy Pit, it plops onto a broad leaf sticking out twenty feet below and then unceremoniously drowns. It looked. Like. Way easier when professional baseball players did it on TV.

Anne-Marie nods to herself, and says, “Not bad,” in the same, frighteningly genuine way as back in the bowling alley. “But you were definitely a bit tense. Let me show you.”

She stands once more, and this time I make sure to keep track of every little movement of her body. The way she plants her back foot, and twists at the hip in the wind-up. Her eyes as they dart ahead of the first arc to calculate the perfect trajectory. Even the way her already bulky jacket bulges slightly at the shoulders, hinting at a flexed shoulder and back. It’s immaculate, the way she throws.

“Damn,” she says, twisting her lips. “I only got five this time.”

“Uh-huh,” I reply.

She starts scanning around us for another pebble to throw, and plucks one right from a crumbling section of the pit’s lip by the dock. It finds its way into my hands, and I find myself struggling to envision a throw once more. Even though I paid full attention this time, it’s almost impossible to feel as certain and agile as she looked. But I give it my best shot.

And it goes sailing straight down.

I speak without turning around for fear of letting her see my burning cheeks. “How do you manage to do it?”

“Just pretend like you’re releasing doves.”

“Huh?” I ask, turning to her without thinking.

“When I was like 6, I had to go to my aunt’s wedding, and I was in charge of the doves. I remember crying at the time because I wanted to stay home and read my favorite story. It’s been a while, but I think it was about a girl that has the power to give anything except herself wings, or something like that. So my dad came up to me as I was sobbing with these smelly birds in my hands and said, ‘Just pretend like you’re skipping little rocks with wings. Give ‘em a gentle toss from underneath and they’ll fly straight.”

Anne-Marie’s eyes had softened in the waning, buttery light. And even though what she said had made no sense I still sort of understood it.

“Alright,” I grunt, stretching to pick a pebble from the bushes behind us. “Pretend like they have wings.”

This time, I’m pleasantly surprised with the results. Though not nearly as fluid as her throws, I manage to chip a jutting dark rock, then slide down a bushel of leaves, and finally bounce off of a glassy inclusion in the granite facade before splashing down.

“Woo!” Anne-Marie exclaims, throwing her arms up. “You got three. That’s not bad at all for a beginner!”

She turns to look at me with this remarkably magnetic excitement in her eyes. Simultaneously deep and meaningful, simultaneously pure and childlike. It’s blinding like the sun, in the sense that I can’t look at it for longer than a second or two before cowering beneath my hand. I scratch the back of my head and try to come up with something witty to cover up my shame.

“You really like throwing things, huh?”

Her cheeks redden a tad. “It’s not just throwing. I just find the general concept of sending something flying through the air to be quite engaging.”

“Fine, sending things flying, then. You sure do it a lot.”

She replies in a coquettish drawl. “Not that much. I only really feel like throwing something when I’m around you.”

Anne-Marie laughs like a demented horse, and I follow along. But something bothers me. God knows how long we’d spent on this forest trail walking and talking. In fact, I’m sure another couple of hours could slip by without either of us noticing. But that’s exactly it. Things feel so natural when I’m talking to her in isolation. But when we’re at school, it feels like the universe itself is conspiring to keep us apart.

No. It’s not the universe.

“What’s the matter? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I reply, “Just thinkin’ about homework.”

“Oh. Okey-doke, you just looked a bit depressed there for a second.”

“Is homework even supposed to be anything but?”

Anne-Marie chuckles. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

I stand up, and she looks at me like I just sucker-punched her.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, I just remembered I have this one lab project due tomorrow.”

“Oh,” she says, starting to move, “I’ll walk you back then.”

“It’s okay,” I say, “I don’t wanna bother you.”

“Oh,” she repeats, “Bye, I guess.”

“Take care, now,” I add, as I head into the thicket. “Get home safe, ya’ hear?”

I wave goodbye over my shoulder and walk off with my hands in my pockets. It takes my damnedest effort to maintain an even pace for as long as she can see me, and my legs are fighting me with every limp and sluggish step. God, it’s stupid of me, but I start to feel this strange, vacuous ache in my chest. I don’t know where it came from, but it follows me all the way home to my empty room.