Chapter 1: NOAH

I’m filling in the last few boxes on the online grant application when I sense that someone is trying to get my attention. This 8 a.m. class is about to start though, and I have to press Submit by the 9 a.m. deadline.

“One sec,” I mutter. I don’t want to be rude.

“What on earth are you working on so early in the morning?” The voice comes from over my shoulder. It’s female and amused.

“Umm,” I stall. I really don’t want to be rude, but any minute now the professor will ask me to put away my laptop. I enter the names and addresses of my recommenders, feeling a surge of gratitude for Professor Vaughan, who told me about this grant and offered to sponsor me.

The voice behind me reads out loud. “A comparative analysis of representative translations of Ovid’s Metamorphoses from the middle ages to the present…. Huh. Well, that sounds fascinating.” There’s a giggle. With an effort I tune it out and quickly glance over the form to make sure it’s all there, all good.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to use the term ‘middle ages’ any more. I mean, middle of what? Isn’t there a better phrase now? Post-classical? Pre-Renaissance? Way Long Ago?”

With a flourish I press Submit, turn my attention to this voice, and freeze.

It’s her. It’s her. It’s her.

That’s the mantra going through my head as I stare at the red-headed girl leaning over the arm of her chair to read from my computer screen. And she’s talking to me. Looking at me. Shit! Did she ask me a question? Laughing blue eyes meet mine. I want to pinch myself.

“Oops, sorry!” She shifts back into her seat, not seeming sorry at all. She’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt with the hood up and her face is bright.

“What?” I manage. Yeah, good one! I’ve seen this girl around campus but we’ve never spoken. I mean, I don’t really know her. I’ve just noticed her because how can you not? But I wouldn’t…. I mean, this isn’t a big deal. I swallow, mentally kicking myself.

She grins. “I asked about Ipsum Lorem but you didn’t hear me. I thought maybe you were a tech geek, but now I see you’re a Latin nerd.” She sighs and purses her lips. I gulp and glance down at my tee shirt, which does indeed reproduce several lines of Ipsum Lorem text.

“It’s not real Latin,” I blurt out finally. “It’s Latin that’s been garbled to serve as generic text when you don’t want text to distract you.”

“I know what Ipsum Lorem is!” she sniffs.

Then the teacher, who wants us to call her Marjorie, starts talking and I have a chance to collect myself while sneaking looks at the Redheaded Girl, as I call her in my head. She’s so bright in every sense—whenever I see her she’s sparkling, laughing, talking animatedly with some group.

And now she’s in this class called Extra Credit, which I thought was going to be a total drag. It’s designed as an intervention for students in trouble. No one is here by choice. We’ve all been placed here for some reason… and I just hope that my little problem won’t affect that grant application.

“Write for a few minutes about why you’re here and what you hope to get out of this experience….”

I sigh. That’s kind of a hard one. I still can’t quite believe I’m here. And I wonder what she’s doing here.

There’s silence while we work, then everyone reads their responses out loud. They span the usual range of pandering bullshit and resentful snarkiness. There’s a very pretty foreign girl who seems to know one of the guys on the other side of our half circle. I can’t tell if they are flirting or fighting. Then Marjorie steps out of the room for a moment and pandemonium ensues.

“I’m Holly,” the Redheaded Girl says. She has pushed back her hood and her hair is an explosion of vivid color. She sticks out her hand.

Holly.

I shake it. “Noah.”

“What are you in here for?” she asks conspiratorially, leaning in again. She might even have winked, unless she has a tic in one eye.

“I think it’s like jail. You’re not supposed to ask.”

Her smile widens, if possible, and she claps a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. The teacher comes back into the room.

Next task: “Describe what happened in the classroom when I stepped out of the room.”

I wonder what the teacher’s getting at, but it’s more engaging than I feared. At least we’re being asked to do something. Marjorie reads the accounts out loud anonymously but I can tell in two seconds which one Holly wrote. It’s in screenplay format and it’s pretty funny. She starts fiddling with her pen, then drops it. It rolls toward me so I rescue and return it to her.

“Oops!” she says again. “Thanks!” She lowers her eyes and hunches into her sweatshirt as students laugh at her piece. I wonder if she’s self-conscious about it.

“Don’t worry—it’s great!” I whisper. She looks startled, then smiles again. This one is a smaller, shyer smile.

“Thanks!” she whispers back. I smile too and her expression turns thoughtful, which makes me nervous. Does she think I’m flirting with her? Should I? She probably has a boyfriend, though I haven’t seen her with anyone. Not that I’ve checked. But….

By the time I’ve gone through my usual wheel-spinning she’s back at work. I sigh to myself and try to avoid looking at her for the rest of the class, diligently doing as I’m told. One of the students, a girl named Lani, actually writes something interesting.

When the class ends I look up and find Holly already standing. She must have taken off the hoodie at some point because now a tight tee shirt shows off a very impressive set of breasts. Not that I’ve ever noticed before. Or checked her out. Not that I’m checking her out now. It’s just that my eyes can’t….

“Jesus,” I say under my breath. But not enough under because her forehead furrows.

“What?”

I snap out of my trance and gesture at her shirt. “Loaded.” Ugh, really!? “I mean, Velvet Underground…. They’re great.” I hope my face isn’t as red as her hair. Way to objectify her, Noah!

She glances down at her shirt, then back at me. And she either takes pity on me or she’s just really nice and really naïve because she brightens again. “Can I have your autograph?”

I gape at her, utterly confused. Then the clouds clear. “Oh. The lyric.”

She nods happily and raises a hand for a high five. I just look at her hand for a moment before tentatively pressing mine against hers.

“Loaded is a great album!” she chirps. She starts singing “Who Loves the Sun” to herself, then gives me a little wave as she leaves the room. I let out a long breath of relief.

* * *

I make it through the rest of the day without crashing into anyone or falling down any stairwells—out of sheer luck, I think, because I’m a muddle-headed mess. I’m going to see the Redheaded Girl—Holly—every week. See her up close. Maybe even talk to her again if I can keep my brain from freezing and my eyes from wandering.

I’m torn between elation and panic. She could end up just like Dana, who I crushed on all through middle school and never asked out before she moved to D.C. Or Kristin, who I asked to prom. She told me she didn’t want to jeopardize our friendship and went with Adam Petrov. Then she caught him sexting with another girl and got trashed and I made sure she got home okay.

I sigh, moving on autopilot through the motions of my day. Classes. Library. Cafeteria. Homework. Bed. I wonder if I could ask Dana or Kristin for advice? We’re still friends on Facebook. I grimace. Rachel is going to laugh her head off.

Chapter 2: HOLLY

The problem with being a Comp Sci major is you have to take Comp Sci classes. I should have thought of that earlier. During Basic Algorithms I doodle some more Velvet Underground lyrics into the margins of my notebook, embellishing the letters with spirals and curly tails. That guy in my 8 a.m. class yesterday put Loaded in my head and now I can’t get it out. Could be worse though. I glance at the clock and groan. Forty more minutes? It’s worse.

Marjorie from the Extra Credit class emailed us all last night and asked us to start a journal this week. We’re supposed to jot down our thoughts about what got us into trouble. She said it could be informal. I turn to a blank page and begin some new doodles.

INFORMATION WANTS TO BE FREE!!!!

This sentence needs some flowers and rainbows, definitely. And a manifesto. I spend the rest of the Comp Sci class drawing one up.

* * *

At the next Extra Credit class I sit next to Noah again. His head is bent over a book, but he looks up and smiles when he sees me.

“Whatcha reading?” I ask, cracking the gum in my mouth.

“Boethius.” The guy’s not exactly chatty. He looks nervous, which just makes me try harder.

I peer over his shoulder. “Oh right, Ipsum Lorum. What have you got against living languages?”

“Nothing. I just like dead ones better.”

Just then Marjorie announces that we all need to find partners to work with on our “issues.” Noah and I eye each other warily.

“Do you know the Bechdel test?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation. Because that’s how guys are. They just won’t admit to not knowing anything.

“No, you don’t!” I smirk.

He blinks and leans back in his chair. “Yes, I do. Why would I lie about that?”

“Because you’re a guy.” Noah looks confused so I sigh. “Okay, prove it.”

“It’s Alison Bechdel’s test of whether a narrative demonstrates gender equality.”

Now I blink. “Hmmph. Well, what are the criteria then?” I cross my arms over my chest. I’m sure he’ll get at least one wrong.

“It has to have at least two named female characters and they need to talk to each other about something besides men.”

I look him over suspiciously. “Do you have a sister?”

Noah sighs and pushes up his glasses with one finger. “What’s this about, Holly?”

“We need a Bechdel test to see if we can be partners. Five questions. Starting now.”

He smiles at me. He has a nice smile. In fact, he’s pretty nice in general.

“Okay,” he says. “Shoot.” He crosses his arms over his chest, mimicking me, and waits, looking amused. I gather my thoughts and dive in. This will be fun!

“Okay! If you were in a band, what instrument would you play? Guitar, bass, or drums?”

“Why not keyboards?”

“Because.”

“Okay, bass.”

Right answer, I think. I hate showboating.

“Which is better Clueless or Chinatown?”

His eyes narrow on me. “Don’t tell me you’re from California.”

Busted! My chin goes up. “Answer the question, please!”

“Clueless. It gets extra points for updating Jane Austen.”

Whoa! This guy’s good! And he definitely has a sister.

“Would you rather your best friend come out to you as gay or join the military?”

Noah bursts out laughing. “You could just ask me if I’m homophobic!”

I glare at him. “People don’t always admit it!”

He smiles indulgently. “Okay. That’s an easy one because my best friend did come out to me as gay. And we both survived.”

“You’re still friends?” I clarify.

He tilts his head, still smiling. “Where are you from? You can’t be from California after all.”

“Just the answers, mister! No commentary! Now, fill in the blank. Your girlfriend flirts with another guy at a party so you….” I pause and he looks thoughtful now.

“How long have we been going out?”

I throw up my arms. “I don’t know! It’s hypothetical!”

“Okay, okay! I’d ask her what’s wrong. Obviously.” He looks at me as if I’m the idiot, his brown eyes serious behind his glasses. Obviously? I don’t bother to hide my surprise.

“Where are you from?” I wonder out loud. Noah raises an eyebrow and I continue.

“Last question and it’s trivia. Who wrote Neuromancer?” This is probably a long shot and I hold my breath.

“William Gibson.”

I jump up from my seat, ignoring the surprised looks of my classmates and Marjorie. “You’ve read it! Omigod, Noah!” I clap my hands together in delight.

“Uh. No. I just know who wrote it. I work in a library.” He looks apologetic.

“Oh.” I deflate.

“Sorry,” he mutters. Then he waits while I gather my dignity and sit down again. After a moment he continues. “So do I get a shot at you now? Five questions?”

“Sure. It’s only fair.” I square my shoulders. “I have nothing to hide!” I’m curious, actually. And impressed.

“Okay, ready?” he prompts. I nod and he takes a deep breath, furrowing his brow in concentration. It’s kind of cute.

“First, back at you: if you were in a band, what instrument would you play?”

Easy one. “I’d sing back up vocals.”

He frowns. “That’s not an option.”

“It is now.”

He frowns some more and squints at me. “You wouldn’t let me choose keyboards!”

“You should have insisted!” I shrug, not the least bit apologetic. He seems more bewildered than annoyed.

“Moving on then—who’s better? Jay-Z or Kanye?”

I give him an assessing look. “No Kendrick?”

He hides his smile. “No questions! Just answers!”

“Kanye. No, wait, can’t I have Kendrick?” I slump at Noah’s expression. “Crap.”

He sighs. “Okay. Next! You’re organizing a conference for women’s rights. Do you include trans women?”

Now I burst out laughing. “You could just ask me what kind of feminist I am, Noah! And the answer is yes, obviously,” I add with emphasis.

He nods, grinning and pushing his glasses up again. “Next. Your car is about to crash. You can steer toward a crowd of people and kill ten of them but maybe save yourself or steer toward a brick wall and kill only yourself. What do you do?”

I chew on my lip, and mull this over in silence for a few minutes. How awful! I picture the scene and I don’t know what to say. “I can’t save everyone?” I whisper.

Noah leans in and peers at my face. His own is close enough that I can see his eyes are more hazel than brown. I blink a few times.

“You’re not crying are you?” He sounds anxious. “Aww, Holly!” He reaches out to pat my shoulder and I feel even worse.

“It’s okay,” I sniff. “I’m fine. I…I’d steer toward the wall.” I take a deep breath in while Noah watches me, looking remorseful.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t realize. You weren’t like…once in a car accident, were you?” His expression betrays an agony of concern. I give him a shaky smile in reassurance.

“No, no, nothing like that. I’m just a crybaby! But you have one question left.” I pull myself together and pass a quick hand over my eyes.

Noah relaxes. “Okay, here’s your trivia question. Think carefully!” He looks very serious and I can tell Noah is a guy who takes looking serious seriously.

“Who is Dido?” He holds his breath while I frown.

“Well, you’re a Latin nerd so I assume you mean the Phoenician queen in the Aeneid? Not the pop singer?”

I can tell from Noah’s expression that he had no clue there was any other Dido so I was right the first time. He looks like he was struck by lightning.

“That was too easy, Noah! If you wanted a challenge you could have asked who is Lavinia? That might have stumped me, out of context like this. But I must say, while we’re on the subject, that old Vergil did not do right by poor Dido. She was too good for Aeneas and she didn’t deserve her fate.” I cluck my tongue, frustrated with those Dead White Male Authors.

“She was too good for him,” Noah repeats slowly, as if from far away. “But he had to leave her to found the Roman empire….”

“Ha! More imperialist propaganda that!” I grin at him, but he still looks a little dazed.

“You read The Aeneid?” he says with something like awe.

I backpedal, holding up a hand in protest. “In English, buddy! In my Masterpieces class. Don’t get too excited!”

I suddenly notice that everyone else is packing up their bags and putting on their coats so I stand up too. Shit, we spent the whole class on our tests and never got to the work we were assigned. I give Marjorie a sheepish look.

“Hey Noah,” I lean in closer to whisper. “I think we’re partners now.”

“Yeah,” he answers vaguely. “Sounds good.”

As we leave class we trade notebooks and numbers because now we’re behind and we need to come up with a plan to help each other with our so-called problems.

* * *

By the next class, when Marjorie asks us all to go around the room and discuss our plans to help each other, we have one. One partner pair, Matt and Annika, who are always fighting, concocted some passive-aggressive ten-step challenges for each other. I know a bit of their history and it isn’t pretty, though they sure are. Annika’s tall and blond and foreign and reserved. I think we’re all a little afraid of her though that doesn’t stop Matt from provoking her. But he would because he’s just a spoiled frat boy as far as I can tell.

Kyle and Lani, another pair, have already tackled his writer’s block and are trying to find ways for her to stand up for herself more. I’ve talked to Lani, who’s smart and sweet, but Kyle seems like a typical macho idiot. It’s too bad she’s not with someone like Noah, but then that would be too bad for me. After we listen to these other plans, ours seems elegant in its simplicity.

“All Noah and I need to do is spend a lot of time together,” I announce to Marjorie and the class. Which will also be fun, I think.

Marjorie’s brow furrows, but it’s Matt who speaks. “Why? I don’t get it.”

I shoot Noah a long-suffering look and explain. “We’ve got the same problem from different sides so if we spend time together we can meet in the middle!” We haven’t actually discussed the specifics but I know we’re onto something.

“What problem is that?” Marjorie asks, perched as usual on the edge of her desk. I gesture to Noah to take this one.

“Holly spends too much time in her narrow techie world, and forgets about consequences outside it. I spend too much time in my ivory tower and forget about so-called ‘real life’ outside.” He puts air quotes around real life, which makes me snicker. “So she’s going to bring me into her world and I’ll bring her into mine. More or less.”

I beam at him. “Exactly! We’ll balance each other. My twenty-first century to his ancient world. How ‘bout we meet in the nineteenth century, Noah?”

He smiles, and shakes his head. “Chronologically, that’s way past the midpoint, Holly.”

“My Palo Alto to his Baltimore—that puts us somewhere in Chicago! See?”

Kyle rolls his eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Lani shushes him.

Marjorie looks a little dubious. “Well, I think you could challenge yourselves more than that. You both need more grounding, more reasons to get outside your comfort zones. Maybe you're spending too much time in your own heads, working with abstractions like languages and codes. You need to add something physical.” She looks speculatively at me and I freeze. Uh oh.

“Do either of you play sports?” she asks.

Noah and I look at each other warily. “I run,” he admits just as I say, “I swim.” Is it no coincidence that neither of us plays on a team?

“Hmm. Well consider training for something or….” She shrugs. “Balance seems like a great goal for you both, but maybe think about it more broadly. Don’t take it too easy.”

I’m a little unsettled by this. “Okay!” I say and it comes out a little forced.

When the class is dismissed Noah and I linger awkwardly. I see Annika bolt out of the room like her pants are on fire. Kyle and Lani exit together, looking preoccupied. Noah runs a hand through his messy hair and stands, watching me silently.

“You okay?” he asks abruptly, shoving a notebook into his backpack with a little more force than necessary. He picks up his coat and shrugs into it.

I lift my shoulders. “Sure.” Then I sigh because I don’t want to fake it with Noah. “It’s just that physical isn’t my forte. My boyfriend always says I’m all brain.”

Noah flinches like I’ve slapped him. “Your boyfriend says that?” He sounds incredulous.

“Yeah. So?” Now I’m even more uncomfortable than I was before. Somehow we’re edging closer to things I really don’t want to talk about. Or think about, actually.

“Idiot,” he mutters. And I’m afraid he may mean me.