stores, some of them as big as canyons, where they sell millions and millions of things, way more than people can even buy. Not because they CAN’T buy them, usually, but because they already have so much stuff in their houses that they don’t need them. When the mall closes at night, there’s still practically as much stuff left to buy as there was in the morning when it opened. People don’t rush around or line up in giant queues as you might expect. It’s just normal here to have all this extra stuff around that you DO NOT EVEN NEED.
I’m not sure where it all comes from, because you never see anybody making anything.
Love,
Prenna
SEVEN
Every day after school for a week I walk through the park and then past the A&P. I haven’t decided for sure what to do about the old man yet. As I try on the idea that he might know what he’s talking about, I can’t help having all these questions. For now I just want to see him. I even try the community center again, but he’s not in any of these places.
“Have you seen Ben Kenobi lately?” Ethan asks me on Monday at the end of the school day, taking the thought straight out of my brain.
I’ve been avoiding Ethan since the incident at the community center. I don’t want him to ask me why the old man wanted to talk to me or what he said. Ethan seems to understand this. But now he’s standing at my locker, chewing gum.
“No. Not in a few days.” I put my history textbook in my backpack. I clear my throat. I can’t let anything lie. “Why?”
“I have something I want to give him. There’s this paper a scientist wrote at the place I interned last summer. I think he would find it really interesting.”
Something in Ethan’s manner seems a little artificial to me, a little manic, and it’s not just the gum.
I’m not sure what to say to this. There is rarely an unwanted silence between Ethan and me; we can usually fall back on banter. But today we stare at each other. Neither of us quite knows what to do about it.
So he keeps talking. “She’s brilliant, this woman who wrote the paper. She’s just come out of MIT in physics, doing this work on traversable wormholes that is just wild. Her real field is wave energy, so this is like her hobby.” He pulls the paper out of his book bag and hands it to me. It is full of diagrams and equations.
“You can read this?”
“Mostly.” He looks up, realizing he’s forgotten to be the guy who needs help on his physics problem sets. He finds a wrapper in his pocket and spits his gum into it. “I mean, not all of it, obviously. But I’ve been fascinated by this stuff since I was, like, thirteen years old, since I had this … well …” He stops and looks at me. He opens his mouth and closes it.
“Since what?”
“Since I … Nothing. Never mind.” Ethan’s forehead is crimping with agitation.
It’s always me who’s cautious, me who’s secretive, me who talks myself into corners. Very strange to see Ethan acting this way. Frankly, I think I do a better job with it.
“Since you what?” I probably shouldn’t ask. The counselors are probably tuning in to everything I say and do right now exactly as I say and do it.
Ethan is eyeing me carefully. “It’s just that I had this very strange experience when I was thirteen. I went fishing at this creek not far from my house …” His expression is bewilderingto me, just as it was the first time I talked to him. Like he’s looking to me for some kind of understanding.
“Yeah?” Suddenly I am wondering why, if this is so important, he never told me about it before, and why he is telling me now.
“I don’t really talk about it much. I mean, I told my folks at the time and they had no idea what to make of it. I made some drawings to show them, and they made an appointment to show
me
to the school shrink.” He laughs, but it doesn’t seem to strike either of us as funny.
Slowly the hubbub in the hallway is dying down, and now it’s quiet
I’m not sure where it all comes from, because you never see anybody making anything.
Love,
Prenna
SEVEN
Every day after school for a week I walk through the park and then past the A&P. I haven’t decided for sure what to do about the old man yet. As I try on the idea that he might know what he’s talking about, I can’t help having all these questions. For now I just want to see him. I even try the community center again, but he’s not in any of these places.
“Have you seen Ben Kenobi lately?” Ethan asks me on Monday at the end of the school day, taking the thought straight out of my brain.
I’ve been avoiding Ethan since the incident at the community center. I don’t want him to ask me why the old man wanted to talk to me or what he said. Ethan seems to understand this. But now he’s standing at my locker, chewing gum.
“No. Not in a few days.” I put my history textbook in my backpack. I clear my throat. I can’t let anything lie. “Why?”
“I have something I want to give him. There’s this paper a scientist wrote at the place I interned last summer. I think he would find it really interesting.”
Something in Ethan’s manner seems a little artificial to me, a little manic, and it’s not just the gum.
I’m not sure what to say to this. There is rarely an unwanted silence between Ethan and me; we can usually fall back on banter. But today we stare at each other. Neither of us quite knows what to do about it.
So he keeps talking. “She’s brilliant, this woman who wrote the paper. She’s just come out of MIT in physics, doing this work on traversable wormholes that is just wild. Her real field is wave energy, so this is like her hobby.” He pulls the paper out of his book bag and hands it to me. It is full of diagrams and equations.
“You can read this?”
“Mostly.” He looks up, realizing he’s forgotten to be the guy who needs help on his physics problem sets. He finds a wrapper in his pocket and spits his gum into it. “I mean, not all of it, obviously. But I’ve been fascinated by this stuff since I was, like, thirteen years old, since I had this … well …” He stops and looks at me. He opens his mouth and closes it.
“Since what?”
“Since I … Nothing. Never mind.” Ethan’s forehead is crimping with agitation.
It’s always me who’s cautious, me who’s secretive, me who talks myself into corners. Very strange to see Ethan acting this way. Frankly, I think I do a better job with it.
“Since you what?” I probably shouldn’t ask. The counselors are probably tuning in to everything I say and do right now exactly as I say and do it.
Ethan is eyeing me carefully. “It’s just that I had this very strange experience when I was thirteen. I went fishing at this creek not far from my house …” His expression is bewilderingto me, just as it was the first time I talked to him. Like he’s looking to me for some kind of understanding.
“Yeah?” Suddenly I am wondering why, if this is so important, he never told me about it before, and why he is telling me now.
“I don’t really talk about it much. I mean, I told my folks at the time and they had no idea what to make of it. I made some drawings to show them, and they made an appointment to show
me
to the school shrink.” He laughs, but it doesn’t seem to strike either of us as funny.
Slowly the hubbub in the hallway is dying down, and now it’s quiet
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