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Authors: Maryrose Wood
Tags: Fiction
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the sort of thing her dad often tells her. I feel the Russian melancholy wafting in, pooling like fog around her feet.
“You crazy kids today,” says Trip. “When I was fourteen we didn’t care about love. We just wanted to make out!”
We’re approaching the center of lovely Gram. There are few people here besides us: an overdressed woman with her overdressed dogs, a businessman in a trench coat talking on his cell phone. There is someone who’s always here, though, and as we reach the central circle he looms in front of us, black and imposing and always just about to speak. It’s the statue of Edwin Booth.
Edwin Booth, says the plaque at the base of the statue, was the greatest American Shakespearean actor of the nineteenth century. He was also the brother of John Wilkes Booth, a less talented actor who ended up far more famous than Edwin because he assassinated Abraham Lincoln. However, I don’t think there are any statues of John Wilkes Booth in New York City or elsewhere, so the moral is, it pays to come by your fame honestly.
“Let’s cut to the chase here,” says Trip as we reach the statue. “What is this project? What is it that you kids wanna know?”
“To BE, or NOT to BE?” replies Edwin Booth, with really impressive diction. But I think I imagined it. I mean, duh, of course I imagined it.
“The secret of love,” Matthew says.
“Why some combinations of people fall in love, and others don’t,” I explain.
“It was Felicia’s idea,” Matthew adds helpfully.
Trip turns to me. “And how much Canadian hydroponic monster weed did you smoke to come up with this notion?” he asks, sounding more friendly-teasing than mean-teasing.
It occurs to me that I’m going to have to explain this over and over again should we actually make it to the science fair, so I might as well get thick-skinned about it. “Well, I’ve had this big crush on Matthew since, like, September,” I begin oh-so-casually. “And it made me wonder what exactly is the reason for things like that happening.”
“You devil!” Trip smacks Matthew on the arm.
“People sometimes call it chemistry. We’re calling it X, since we don’t know what it is.”
“Yet,” Matthew adds.
Trip looks at me with a fresh appreciation that seems totally genuine. “That’s fearless,” he says. “I think you are the coolest chick I ever met.”
“That’s because she IS,” says Jess, hugging me fiercely. Kat nods her endorsement. Is Matthew getting all this? I look at him, but he has his scientist face on.
“Bummer that we lost Randall, though,” Matthew says. “We sure could use the data points. I wonder what’s up?”
Trip snorts, the ways of the world so obvious to him. “Read the writing on the wall, people!” he says, striking the same dramatic pose as Mr. Edwin Booth, Shakespearean Actor! “Randall doesn’t want to answer your probing questions about love because he’s
in
love! And I think it’s with the Marie Curie of romance here!”
It takes me a minute to realize he means me.
Now everyone is looking at me. Even Edwin Booth is looking at me.
Me! You know, the coolest chick ever?
Love
objet
of the Randinator?
ME????
6
Two Brownstones, Two Interviews, Too Much Information!
A s their wanderlust reaches critical, a conga line of photons say
“¡Mañana!”
to the sun and go partying across the solar system till they hit the Earth’s atmosphere, curving ever so slightly before whooshing across the Pacific Ocean; then California, the Rocky Mountains, and the flat Midwest to fragrant New Jersey; they skitter across the Hudson River, wait impatiently for the light to change on Broadway, and, finally losing speed, slant through the west-facing windows of the Moonbeam Diner to make strange, late-afternoon patterns of light and shadow on our table as Matthew and I sip chai tea and review what we’ve learned from our interviews so far.
For one thing, we’re ditching the questionnaire. When it comes to
“You crazy kids today,” says Trip. “When I was fourteen we didn’t care about love. We just wanted to make out!”
We’re approaching the center of lovely Gram. There are few people here besides us: an overdressed woman with her overdressed dogs, a businessman in a trench coat talking on his cell phone. There is someone who’s always here, though, and as we reach the central circle he looms in front of us, black and imposing and always just about to speak. It’s the statue of Edwin Booth.
Edwin Booth, says the plaque at the base of the statue, was the greatest American Shakespearean actor of the nineteenth century. He was also the brother of John Wilkes Booth, a less talented actor who ended up far more famous than Edwin because he assassinated Abraham Lincoln. However, I don’t think there are any statues of John Wilkes Booth in New York City or elsewhere, so the moral is, it pays to come by your fame honestly.
“Let’s cut to the chase here,” says Trip as we reach the statue. “What is this project? What is it that you kids wanna know?”
“To BE, or NOT to BE?” replies Edwin Booth, with really impressive diction. But I think I imagined it. I mean, duh, of course I imagined it.
“The secret of love,” Matthew says.
“Why some combinations of people fall in love, and others don’t,” I explain.
“It was Felicia’s idea,” Matthew adds helpfully.
Trip turns to me. “And how much Canadian hydroponic monster weed did you smoke to come up with this notion?” he asks, sounding more friendly-teasing than mean-teasing.
It occurs to me that I’m going to have to explain this over and over again should we actually make it to the science fair, so I might as well get thick-skinned about it. “Well, I’ve had this big crush on Matthew since, like, September,” I begin oh-so-casually. “And it made me wonder what exactly is the reason for things like that happening.”
“You devil!” Trip smacks Matthew on the arm.
“People sometimes call it chemistry. We’re calling it X, since we don’t know what it is.”
“Yet,” Matthew adds.
Trip looks at me with a fresh appreciation that seems totally genuine. “That’s fearless,” he says. “I think you are the coolest chick I ever met.”
“That’s because she IS,” says Jess, hugging me fiercely. Kat nods her endorsement. Is Matthew getting all this? I look at him, but he has his scientist face on.
“Bummer that we lost Randall, though,” Matthew says. “We sure could use the data points. I wonder what’s up?”
Trip snorts, the ways of the world so obvious to him. “Read the writing on the wall, people!” he says, striking the same dramatic pose as Mr. Edwin Booth, Shakespearean Actor! “Randall doesn’t want to answer your probing questions about love because he’s
in
love! And I think it’s with the Marie Curie of romance here!”
It takes me a minute to realize he means me.
Now everyone is looking at me. Even Edwin Booth is looking at me.
Me! You know, the coolest chick ever?
Love
objet
of the Randinator?
ME????
6
Two Brownstones, Two Interviews, Too Much Information!
A s their wanderlust reaches critical, a conga line of photons say
“¡Mañana!”
to the sun and go partying across the solar system till they hit the Earth’s atmosphere, curving ever so slightly before whooshing across the Pacific Ocean; then California, the Rocky Mountains, and the flat Midwest to fragrant New Jersey; they skitter across the Hudson River, wait impatiently for the light to change on Broadway, and, finally losing speed, slant through the west-facing windows of the Moonbeam Diner to make strange, late-afternoon patterns of light and shadow on our table as Matthew and I sip chai tea and review what we’ve learned from our interviews so far.
For one thing, we’re ditching the questionnaire. When it comes to
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