sentences; remembered pretty much everything she saw written down orheard told to her; knew the ins and outs of string theory and could, if she had the urge, take apart a hefty radio and jam it back together. She didn’t sleep much and she knew it made her look like someone had beaten her about the face, but there it was. She was larger than was fashionable; sometimes caught herself looking with something akin to lust at all those bones that protruded out of girls at school; the solipsism of legs and arms, the buds of them. Mostly, though, she thought they looked as if they hadn’t grown properly. She understood – because she was logical and somewhat cold with it – that they saw her with the same confusion; imagined her bready with everything she carried, watched with distaste the motion of her childbearing hips, her milk-carrying breasts and wave-making thighs. She was a natural woman, they sang to one another under their breath when they saw her, and meant nothing good by it.
Harrow had worked through those bony women and them through him and she’d watched with dry fascination. In reception, it was little Marty Brewer who was the first girl to have her ears pierced and who held his hand for a day before holding someone else’s. Nora listened to the gossip, knew Harrow liked to take a girl on the bus to the cinema in the city and then to Subway. If he liked you enough he’d kiss you on the way back. Later she knew, because she understood about biology, there was more than hand-holding going on.
The year she turned sixteen she decided enough was enough. She was not the sort of girl who waited for something to come her way and, if she wanted a thing bad enough, she thought she could probably find a way to get it. She waited until after sports when all the other boys had gone home and Harrow was out with Ms Hasin practising for the 2,000 metres. He was heavy for a track runner but there was enough power in those limbs – legs more like a horse than a boy. Everybody said he was building himself up for the next Olympics.
She went out into the car park and leant against his car and when he came walking up she looked at him. There was no one else there.
He screwed up his face so lines appeared between his nose and around his eyes.
Nora, right? he said, as if they hadn’t been in the same school since they were four, as if he’d never planted that red handprint. Well, that didn’t matter now.
She thought the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard was entanglement theory. She told Harrow that was what they were: two particles forever linked and fated to change one another. He looked at her askance and she tried hard to think how to put it into a language he would understand.
When she looked back at him he’d taken his cock out. It was not miraculous the way she’d imagined, not beautiful or serene or possessed of any great power. All the same she liked the strange nod of it movingseemingly unconnected to the rest, recognised it was circumcised and liked that; liked the small, dark spots at its base.
You need me to tell you what to do? Harrow said.
She shook her head. She’d read the literature.
Harrow meant it to be a one-time event and that was a fine thing for him to think, but she knew he didn’t really understand entanglement theory at all, only liked hearing things he couldn’t comprehend, and that it would be a while longer before they’d shake one another.
She knew the way it worked. She was supposed to be coy and shy and give him her home number and wait to see if he’d call her.
That was one way of going about it.
She rang him the next night until he picked up. Didn’t let him speak but told him everything she was going to do to him. When she was done she stopped and let him think on it.
All right, he said.
His mother worked the night shift and her parents hadn’t ever worried she was the sneaking-out type, so they met at his. She knew why it was so good, why it was better than
Harrow had worked through those bony women and them through him and she’d watched with dry fascination. In reception, it was little Marty Brewer who was the first girl to have her ears pierced and who held his hand for a day before holding someone else’s. Nora listened to the gossip, knew Harrow liked to take a girl on the bus to the cinema in the city and then to Subway. If he liked you enough he’d kiss you on the way back. Later she knew, because she understood about biology, there was more than hand-holding going on.
The year she turned sixteen she decided enough was enough. She was not the sort of girl who waited for something to come her way and, if she wanted a thing bad enough, she thought she could probably find a way to get it. She waited until after sports when all the other boys had gone home and Harrow was out with Ms Hasin practising for the 2,000 metres. He was heavy for a track runner but there was enough power in those limbs – legs more like a horse than a boy. Everybody said he was building himself up for the next Olympics.
She went out into the car park and leant against his car and when he came walking up she looked at him. There was no one else there.
He screwed up his face so lines appeared between his nose and around his eyes.
Nora, right? he said, as if they hadn’t been in the same school since they were four, as if he’d never planted that red handprint. Well, that didn’t matter now.
She thought the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard was entanglement theory. She told Harrow that was what they were: two particles forever linked and fated to change one another. He looked at her askance and she tried hard to think how to put it into a language he would understand.
When she looked back at him he’d taken his cock out. It was not miraculous the way she’d imagined, not beautiful or serene or possessed of any great power. All the same she liked the strange nod of it movingseemingly unconnected to the rest, recognised it was circumcised and liked that; liked the small, dark spots at its base.
You need me to tell you what to do? Harrow said.
She shook her head. She’d read the literature.
Harrow meant it to be a one-time event and that was a fine thing for him to think, but she knew he didn’t really understand entanglement theory at all, only liked hearing things he couldn’t comprehend, and that it would be a while longer before they’d shake one another.
She knew the way it worked. She was supposed to be coy and shy and give him her home number and wait to see if he’d call her.
That was one way of going about it.
She rang him the next night until he picked up. Didn’t let him speak but told him everything she was going to do to him. When she was done she stopped and let him think on it.
All right, he said.
His mother worked the night shift and her parents hadn’t ever worried she was the sneaking-out type, so they met at his. She knew why it was so good, why it was better than
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