Unremembered (Unremembered #1)(17)

‘I wasn’t aware I was supposed to.’

One of the other boys starts to laugh and then covers his mouth with his hand.

‘Well, you are,’ Cody replies. His tone still has that edge to it. I don’t like the way it makes me feel.

‘Are you angry with me?’ I ask, taking a step towards him, searching his face.

He won’t look me in the eye. ‘No,’ he says, barely audible.

‘You seem angry.’

‘I’m not. What do you want?’

I look to the other boys, wondering if I can trust them with what I’m about to ask. Wondering if I can even trust Cody. But right now he’s my only option. I would go to Heather and Scott, but something tells me that they wouldn’t grant my request. And that they would ask me for explanations I’m not ready to give yet.

‘I want to go to Los Angeles,’ I finally say. ‘To the airport, specifically.’

Cody laughs but it doesn’t sound genuine. ‘Then ask my parents to take you.’

‘I can’t go with them.’

‘Well, good luck with that.’

I understand the phrase but I’m fairly certain he’s not really wishing me luck. His tone and body language say otherwise. I find the contradiction frustrating.

‘My parents are never going to let you leave this house alone,’ he points out.

‘Yes, I agree. That’s why I’d like you to take me.’

His eyes widen. ‘What? Now?’

‘No,’ I reply. ‘In the morning. Before Heather and Scott wake up.’

‘This girl has lost her mind,’ he says to his friends.

‘Yes,’ I say again. ‘And that’s exactly why I need to go. To see if I can find it.’

They all laugh in unison now but I don’t understand. Did I make a joke? I would hate to have made one without even realizing it. What a waste that would be.

‘So, can you take me?’ I repeat, once their amusement has subsided.

‘No.’ Cody turns his back to me and faces the whiteboard. He continues to write with his red marker.

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’m busy,’ he snaps.

I glance at the whiteboard and review the series of scribbles. On closer inspection, I notice that the board is covered with numbers, letters and mathematical symbols.

‘You’re busy with this?’ I confirm.

He doesn’t look at me. ‘Yes. If we can solve this problem, we start out freshman year with like zillions of extra credit. Not to mention go down in the math hall of fame. And since school starts in less than two weeks, I don’t exactly have time for clandestine journeys to LA.’

‘So if you solved it, you’d have time,’ I conclude.

He snickers. ‘Yeah, sure. If I solved it, then I’d have time to take you.’

‘Well, what if I helped you solve it?’ I suggest, feeling hopeful.

This makes him laugh again. The two other boys join in. ‘Yeah, because someone like you is so likely to solve Goldbach’s Conjecture, a conjecture that hasn’t been proved or disproved in over two hundred and fifty years. Award-winning mathematicians around the world haven’t been able to solve it, but you, the amnesiac supermodel, you can.’

‘And if I do, you’ll take me to Los Angeles?’

He finally turns back around and looks at me, replacing the cap on his red marker with a loud click. ‘Yes.’ He’s smiling now. It’s not the kind of smile I saw on Heather earlier today. His eyes don’t crinkle. ‘If you can prove or disprove that every even integer greater than two can be expressed as the sum of two primes, then I’ll personally escort you to Los Angeles.’

I focus on the whiteboard, expanding my field of vision until I can see it all at once. Then I approach and examine each section individually, noticing where the boys started with the original formula and where they strayed off course. I grab the eraser from the shelf below and wipe out the second half of their markings, eliciting a series of gasps behind me.

‘You c-c-can’t . . .’ I hear one of them stammer. ‘She just erased two hours of work!’

I ignore the protests, pluck the red marker from Cody’s hand, and continue where the proof leaves off. My hand moves fast. Almost faster than I can follow. I don’t remember anything I’m doing and yet the numbers and symbols that are appearing on the whiteboard in front of me are familiar. Familiar in a way I can’t explain. They don’t come from memory. They come from somewhere else. I know how to form them like I know how to walk. How to speak. How to count items in a shopping cart.

I’m finished less than a minute later. I step back and examine my work. The entire white space is now filled. I circle the final result. ‘Proved,’ I say.

Cody doesn’t reply. His mouth is hanging open at a funny angle. The other boys have similar expressions on their faces. I interpret them as surprise. I’m surprised as well. Not by the fact that I could do it. But by the fact that Cody inferred that it was near impossible. It definitely didn’t feel impossible.

But I have other things on my mind to think about. Higher priority items on my list of impossibilities.

I hand the marker back to Cody, who is still silent, staring at the whiteboard, his eyes running rapidly across my lines of scribbles, his lips moving as he silently reads what I wrote. If he’s checking it for errors, he won’t find any.