Space (Laws of Physics #2)(29)

Clarification was in order. “I just mean, you are safe. From me.”

He blinked once, slowly, shifting back on his feet and lifting his chin. While doing so, he tucked away his confusion and that sliver of his former self, leaving a half-lidded glare of hostility. “Oh. Really?”

“Yes.” I nodded emphatically, experiencing the long dormant sensation of being discombobulated.

“What did you leave in my room?” The question sounded bored with an edge of the aforementioned hostility.

“A letter. Or, rather, a note. It’s not long enough to be a letter.”

“You left me a memo?”

So discombobulated was I, I didn’t think before responding, “Uh, no. Memos usually have dates and subject lines, I didn’t include either of those. But I can.” I tossed my thumb over my shoulder again, indicating to his door. “If you want to wait here, I can go get. . .”

As I spoke, one of Abram’s eyebrows slowly lifted, and I belatedly caught on.

Sarcasm. That was sarcasm.

Poe used sarcasm to tease me, and I used sarcasm to tease him. Our sarcasm-interactions were well-meaning and helped keep my sense of humor (and self) healthy. Without Poe, Allyn, Lisa, and to a certain extent, Gabby to tease me and keep me grounded, I shuddered to think how shuttered I might be.

Poe’s sarcasm was friendly. But Abram’s statement was the other kind of sarcasm, the unfriendly kind.

My unfriendly-sarcasm detection abilities were usually within one standard deviation of normal, a skill I honed for obvious reasons. Not many, but a sparse few of my colleagues enjoyed making the youngest person in the room feel inadequate and na?ve.

Unfriendly sarcasm didn’t usually faze me now. I used to visit my brain planetarium or mutter nonsensical phrases as a means of distraction. I still muttered those anytime phrases, but more as a joke with my friends than as a coping mechanism.

Twenty-one-year-old Mona believed the best policy was to ignore unfriendly sarcasm. Being the butt of someone’s joke was only funny if I reacted. If I kept my head down, if I stayed focused, if I outperformed and outthought them, if my research was ultimately more relevant and necessary and important than theirs, no one laughed.

I cleared my throat, struggling with an uncomfortable rush of embarrassed heat, and gave Abram a thin smile.

“No. Not a memo. Just a note. It’s—uh—on your dresser.”

Every word out of my mouth arrived quieter than the last and my gaze settled on his chin covered in a baby wizard beard. I knew he still had the potential to grow one. I wondered if I would ever see it.

“You went into my room without my permission and put a note on my dresser,” he summarized, sounding unfriendly and distracted.

I’d thought I’d be safe in my spacesuit of acceptance, but apparently, I wasn’t. He was here. Real. Standing in front of me. Smelling like Abram. Looking like Abram, but not. He was Abram, but not. I asked myself a question that hadn’t occurred to me before just now, What do you hope to gain from this?

The answer was an immediate and resounding, Nothing.

That made me feel better. I honestly didn’t want anything from him. I wanted to tell him the truth, so he would know, because it was the right thing to do. That was it.

Taking a deep breath, I lifted my gaze to his and met his glare, an action made easier now that my specific aims had been clarified. He seemed to flinch this time as our eyes connected, a subtle wince I might’ve missed if we hadn’t been standing so close.

Abram studied me, and I gave him a polite smile, gathering a breath in preparation for making an excuse to leave.

But then he asked, “What’s in the note?”

“Uh . . .” My eyes moved up and to the right as I recalled the note’s contents. “I asked—it’s very short. I request a time to meet, if you have the time and inclination.”

“You want to meet with me?”

“Y—yes.”

“Why?”

“To talk to you,” I answered honestly, meeting his gaze with equal frankness.

“What about?”

“An important matter,” I quoted the note. Since we were standing in a hall with many bedrooms attached to it, I didn’t think he’d want me to go into details here.

He lifted the eyebrow again, his lips twisting. “What’s wrong with now?”

I swallowed reflexively, startled by the suggestion. “Now?”

“Yeah. Now.”

“Okay. Sure. If you follow me, there’s a study on the second floor we can use, and—”

He stepped closer, very close, necessitating that I take a step back if I didn’t want him to bump into me. For the record, I had mixed feelings about being bumped into by Abram, and with mixed feelings, erring on the side of caution was always prudent.

He reached around my right side and apparently turned the knob, opening the door to his room. “Let’s do it here.”

“Here?” I squeaked.

“Yes,” he said, staring down at me, taking more steps forward. Like before, I stepped back to avoid coming in contact with his advancing form, which had a by-product of carrying us both into his bedroom.

Once we were fully inside, he shut the door behind him without turning, his eyes never leaving mine. And then we stood like that, looking at each other, in his room with the door closed, for several seconds.