Page 7 of White Hole

“I was going to ask you about something.” Cale paused before we took our seats in the small chemistry classroom.

Was he always this annoying? “Then ask.”

“Do you remember that amethyst charm I gave you for your bracelet at junior prom?” Did I remember junior prom? Let’s see. I was hopped up on morphine and riding in a wheelchair and had to wear some weird dress I could sit in all night. And we didn’t get to have sex because my legs were still in casts, and I couldn’t open them wide enough for any action.

“The charm for the bracelet you gave me our first anniversary? Yeah, I remember it.”

Cale sat down next to me like we were friends. “Do you still have it?”

“Um, maybe at my father’s house. Why?”Please don’t make me go over there.

“Well, I, um. Kins, there’s no easy way to say this. My grandmother’s good luck charm was on that bracelet, and I need it back.” Cale’s phone lit up with a text message from Sydney. The background of his phone was them kissing in a highly provocative pose near a waterfall. I could read her text to him. It said:

Honeybear

Did you get the charm back?

“Sure, Cale. I’ll get it back to you.” I remembered the feeling of smacking a new tennis ball against a wall. Except, I imagined Cale’s face instead of the wall. Turning in my seat, I focused my eyes on the whiteboard so he wouldn’t be in my periphery when our teaching assistant, Sanjay, approached him.

“Cale, congratulations. You deserve it.” He patted Cale on the back, and Cale thanked him.

“What was that about?” I asked when Sanjay walked to the front of the classroom.

Cale cleared his throat and dropped his gaze to his desk, pulling out a notebook. “Oh, I, uh. I got that research project. With Dr. Britt.”

Perhaps a tennis ball to the face was not enough. “Research project?Myresearch project? The one I have been aiming for over two years, Cale?” Cale looked straight ahead. “You’re unbelievable.”

“What?” Cale pulled his innocent, but totally not, look.

Gathering all my stuff, I moved to the last empty seat in the classroom, just as Dr. Legget started his lecture. Now I remembered why I had such a great time with Matt that weekend. He wasn’t Cale.

I couldn’t believe they would pick Cale Dafoe over me. Sure, he played tennis for the university’s team, but did Dr. Britt really care about that? Did Cale really think I’d roll over and not come back swinging? I had taught myself to walk again, for fuck’s sake. Cale Dafoe had no idea whom he was messing with.

The class continued, but I was unable to concentrate. My mind raced with ways to get him out of my life and show him up at the same time. The first step was flushing that charm bracelet down the toilet, even if I did have to visit my dad to do so. Next was making sure I made perfect scores on midterms. Inorganic chemistry, physics, genetics, and Russian literature were cake; no problem. I had to find a way to memorize stupid star pictures. The third step was to ask for Elle’s help.

As soon as class ended, I dashed out of the room before I committed murder. I jogged back to the campus apartment I shared with my three roommates. Sharice was there cooking our meals for the week.

“Hey, girl!” She smiled. “Making pineapple chicken with basmati for lunches.”

I placed my schoolbag on the hooks near the front door and shirked off my sweater vest. “Thanks. How much do I owe you?”

“It’s on the fridge.” She half-pointed with her hands stuck in some sauce.

The refrigerator held the grocery receipt. I always threw in extra money because Sharice prepared my food. Cooking was another side effect of my “accident.” My hands couldn’t grip a knife properly or for very long. She was kind enough to make extra servings of everything she ate so I could avoid frozen dinners and the college cafeteria food.

Heading to my room to change, I called to her, “I’m going for a run.” Since I couldn’t hold a racket, running was how I learned to purge my frustrations. I completed a couple of marathons the year before and was planning another before the winter set in.

Running through campus always gave me time to think. Depending on my mood, I could go hard or take it easy. Today was definitely a sprinting day. Donning my leggings and sports bra, I headed outside. After popping in my earbuds, I cranked up the music. No podcasts or audiobooks today.

Maybe I wouldn't have become so bitter if anyone had believed me about the drunk driver that hit my car that night. I’d probably be at Harvard, ready to apply for Harvard medicine or Johns Hopkins. Perhaps I’d have a boyfriend who kissed my neck in class. I’d probably even be one of those girls who dressed up for lectures. One that wasn’t embarrassed to wear cute shorts or skirts.

No one ever searched for the other driver again, and no one admitted anyone else was there. The police were convinced my car had just spontaneously slipped on the ice. I knew. I saw the guy and memorized his face. It wasn’t just my imagination, or some weird chemical reaction, or some trauma shock, like people told me. He was real. He was there. I just wasn’t sure how to prove it.

The wreck forced me to change the course of my life. I couldn’t become a surgeon, no. But there were plenty of other medical specialties I could pursue. With everyone trying to assure me I had imagined a man that hit me, the study of neurology was my main focus. Some days, I worried my mind had hallucinated a man at my window. I needed to understand what the human brain was capable of under extreme duress.

Being a patient in the hospital for so long, then rehab after, taught me a great deal about medicine. My desire to become a physician had only increased. Before the collision, my goal had been something competitive, something expected by my father. Now, it was personal.

After my seventh mile, I headed back home. It was getting dark, and I still needed to study. And talk with Elle, who would be at the apartment when I returned.

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