Lock and Key(111)

Chapter Seventeen


That weekend, there was only one thing I should have been thinking about: calculus. The test that pretty much would decide the entire fate of both my GPA and my future was on Monday, and according to Gervais—whose method was proven—it was time to shift into what he called “Zen mode.”

“I’m sorry?” I’d said the day before, Friday, when he’d announced this.

“It’s part of my technique,” he explained, taking a sip of his chocolate milk, one of two he drank each lunch period. “First, we did an overview of everything you were supposed to learn so far this year. Then, we homed in on your weaknesses therein, pinpointing and attacking them one by one. Now, we move into Zen mode.”

“Meaning what?” I asked.

“Admitting that you are powerless over your fate, on this test and otherwise. You have to throw out everything that you’ve learned.”

I just looked at him. Olivia, who was checking her UMe page on her phone, said, “Actually, that is a very basic part of Eastern cinema tradition. The warrior, once taught, must now, in the face of his greatest challenge, rely wholly on instinct.”

“Why have I spent weeks studying if I’m now supposed to forget everything I’ve learned? ” I said. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Olivia shrugged. “The man says his method is proven.”

Man? I thought.

Gervais said, “The idea isn’t to forget everything. It’s that by now, you should know all this well enough that you don’t have to actively think about it. You see a problem, you know the solution. It’s instinct.”

I looked down at the practice sheet he’d given me, problems lined up across it. As usual, with just one glance I felt my heart sink, my brain going fuzzy around the edges. If this was my instinct talking, I didn’t want to hear what it was saying.

“Zen mode,” Gervais said. “Clear your head, accept the uncertainty, and the solutions appear. Just trust me.”

I was not convinced, and even less so when he presented me with his instructions for my last weekend of studying. (Which, incidentally, were bullet-pointed and divided into headings and subheadings. The kid was nothing if not professional. ) Saturday morning, I was supposed to do a final overview, followed in the afternoon by a short series of problems he’d selected that covered the formulas I had most trouble with. Sunday, the last full day before the test, I wasn’t supposed to study at all. Which seemed, frankly, insane. Then again, if the goal was to forget everything by Monday morning, this did seem like the way to do it.

Early the next morning, I sat down on my bed and started my overview, trying to focus. More and more, though, I found myself distracted, thinking about Nate, as I had been pretty much nonstop—occasional calculus obsessions aside—since I’d seen him swimming a couple of nights earlier. In the end, both Harriet and Cora had heard from Mr. Cross, who was wildly apologetic, crediting Harriet’s account and offering Cora a free week’s worth of walks to compensate. But in the days since, whenever I’d seen Nate across the green or in the halls at school, I couldn’t help but notice a change in him. Like even with the distance between us, something about him—in his face or the way he carried himself—was suddenly familiar in a way I hadn’t felt before, although how, exactly, I couldn’t say.

After two hours of studying, I felt so overwhelmed that I decided to take a break and quickly run over to get my paycheck from Harriet. As soon as I stepped off the greenway, I saw people everywhere—lined up on the curb that ran alongside the mall, gathered in the parking lot, crowded at the base of a stage set up by the movie theater.

“Welcome to the Vista Five-K!” a voice boomed from the stage as I worked my way toward the main entrance, stepping around kids and dogs and more runners stretching and chatting and jogging in place. “If you’re participating in the race, please make your way to the start line. Ten minutes to start!”

The crowd shifted as people headed toward the banner— VISTA 5K: RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!—strung between the parking lot and the mall entrance. Following them, I kept an eye out for Olivia but didn’t see her—just runners of all shapes and sizes, some in high-tech lycra bodysuits, others in gym shorts and ratty T-shirts.

Inside the mall, it was much quieter, with few shoppers moving between stores. I could still hear the announcer’s voice from outside, along with the booming bass of the music they were playing, even as I walked from the entrance down to the kiosk courtyard, where I found Harriet and Reggie standing at Vitamin Me.

“I’m not doing the fish oil,” she was saying as I walked up. “I’m firm on that.”

“Omega-threes are crucial!” Reggie told her. “It’s like a wonder drug.”

“I didn’t agree to wonder drugs. I agreed to take a few things, on a trial basis. Nobody said anything about fish.”

“Fine.” Reggie picked up a bottle, shaking some capsules into a plastic bag. “But you’re taking the zinc and the B-TWELVE. Those are deal breakers.”

Harriet shook her head, taking another sip of coffee. Then she saw me. “I thought you might turn up,” she said. “Forget vitamins. Money is crucial.”

Reggie sighed. “That kind of attitude,” he said, “is precisely why you need more omega-threes.”