Trade Me (Cyclone #1)(62)

“Nope. She tapped out after Organic. She said it was too much boring memorization for her. So she decided to be an actuary instead.”

“Words that have never before been spoken: ‘Organic chemistry is too boring; let’s become actuaries.’”

Tina touches my shoulder and lets her hand fall down my arm. “So what about yours? When did you get it?”

“When I was eighteen.” I turn my arm to show her. “If you pop open a first generation Cyclone Tempest and take out the shielding plate, this is what you’ll find. Magnified by about a thousand percent. It was the first product I really worked on.”

“So you designed this?” Her fingers trace the circuitry.

“Nope. My input is higher level than circuit design. But I got this to remind myself that wherever I go, whatever I do, Cyclone will always be under my skin.”

My voice falls. I’m not sure how to go forward from here. I’m not sure how to face what comes after these two weeks. Cyclone is in me—but knowing I have to go back makes me feel restless even now.

She must feel my body tense beside her, must know the direction of my thoughts.

“Blake. Just because we’re not talking about how f*cked up this is doesn’t mean it’s not f*cked up.”

“I know.”

She turns to me. “I don’t know if I should be shoving chocolate bars on you or getting you a food tube. I’m completely unqualified to deal with this.”

It takes me a moment to respond. “I haven’t exactly managed to deal with it well, either. When I came up with the circumference scrolling solution for Fernanda, it took me months. We looked at hundreds of possibilities. We’d actually decided on something else. And then I just had this idea when I was driving after a run—it just popped into my head. I thought this would be like that time. That if I got far enough away, I’d just figure it out one day.”

“Not all problems get solved in an instant of understanding. This is completely over my head.”

“I know.” I take her hand. “Just…don’t let go of me yet, okay? I have two weeks. That’s all I can ask for.”

Her fingers squeeze mine. “I think you should see someone.”

A sudden panic takes me. “Ah, well,” I joke. “Since I have five dollars and sixteen cents, that’s not exactly happening right now.”

“Blake.” She sits up. “No.”

I’m not looking at her. “We had an agreement. A deal. If I break it, this ends now, not just two weeks from now. Besides, I don’t have time to see anyone. Mr. Zhen is counting on me.”

“Blake.” She turns to me and puts her hand on my chest. “Don’t you dare use me as an excuse to avoid getting help.”

I shut my eyes. That’s exactly what this is: an excuse. There’s another reason I’ve never wanted to see anyone. How could I look my father in the eyes, knowing that I’m keeping this from him, and yet telling a stranger? If I find a therapist, it’ll be real. Right now? Right now, at least I can pretend. I can pretend it’s a distant visitor, hanging out at my place for a short spell, but one who will be leaving any day.

My heart is beating hard against her palm. But she reaches up with her other hand and turns me so I’m looking in her eyes.

You know, all along, deep down, part of me thought that if we ever got to this place—if Tina ever found out what was truly, deeply, most screwed up about me—that she’d know that our lives aren’t any different. Mine’s not any harder or easier than hers. Everyone has problems.

And this is the moment when I realize that’s complete shit. Yeah, everyone has problems. Somewhere else on this planet, there is someone just like me—someone who’s f*cked up and confused and who doesn’t want to tell anyone. Someone who needs help. Someone who wants out of his head. And the only difference between me and him is that I have the money to do something about it.

There never has been a trade. I’ve never been able to give away pieces of myself. I carry them all with me no matter what path I take.

“I don’t know what is going on with you,” Tina says, “but I think anyone who can do this…” She runs her finger down my tattoo. “…Can do this.” She sets her finger on my forehead.

And maybe that’s what I needed to hear, because this time when I kiss her, there’s no urgency. No overwhelming need. For now, there’s no danger. There’s just me and her. Just a silent stillness, a space where there’s room for both of us.

17.

BLAKE

It takes three days, but I do it.

First, I tell Mr. Zhen that I have to quit. He sighs heavily, and tells me to come back and say hi any time I have a chance. And then he calls one of the twenty applications he’s been storing and replaces me in fifteen minutes.

I find someone who specializes in athletes who have eating disorders. I call. We set up an appointment. I go to her office and shake her hand and sit in the comfortable chair in front of her desk. By the time I’m sitting there, I must have had this conversation with her a million times in my head.

“Hi,” I tell her.

She doesn’t act like she knows all about me, even though she probably does. She doesn’t raise an eyebrow. She just folds her hands and tells me about patient-client confidentiality. And then, even though I already filled out a lengthy intake form, she asks me, “So, Blake. Why are you here?”