The Aspen Experiments

Chapter 3

“No, no,” he said, “You obviously feel awful. Let me walk you back to your room.”

“Okay, whatever,” I groaned.

“It was probably all those Skittles, and the popcorn,” he said helpfully.

“Unh, maybe.” I saw him look back again. Mr. Ringer was standing outside the door of the student center, watching us. He’d probably seen me throw up too, we weren’t that far away. I gave him a wave of acknowledgment; hopefully conveying that I was fine and he didn’t need to come do the doctor thing.

John didn’t touch me as we went inside, but he held the door and stayed next to me as I slowly mounted the stairs. I still felt icky, not up to making small talk. What was there to say anyway? I’m actually a fun person when I’m not puking? For some reason I really like you and I think if you knew me you'd like me too?

I didn't say a word until we got to my floor. I swiped my ID card to unlock the hall door, holding it open with my foot. Guys weren't allowed on girl's floors, only in the stairwell. 

“Thanks,” I told him finally, “I’m feeling a little better now. Thanks for walking me up.”

“No problem,” he said, looking fairly cheerful, considering. “I’ll see you in Physics on Monday.” He turned and jogged down the stairwell, and I went to my room to moan to myself.

Saturday and Sunday were low key. I could have caught a ride to church, someone told me the school van left at nine, but I didn’t want to deal with church yet. Particularly if the school van went to whatever weird church Shammas attended.

I did my geometry homework, which cheered me up a bit. Congruent figures and angles – it was breathing for me. I was the only one in class who grinned when the teacher told us our next unit: Conic Sections.

My physics homework was a whole other story. Vector analysis (a fancy name for lots of arrows) was not my cup of tea. For instance, if you have a left arrow and a down arrow, the result isn't gonna be pointing up. I sighed and erased that equation. One more time.

If I could only SEE what I was dealing with... Dr. Hendricks drew diagrams of the equations in class, which I understood pretty well. But when I had to do the math myself - no. I'm only good at practical science. 

I used to hold things - toys, plates, cups - on the end of a pencil. I could just sort of tell where the center of gravity would be. It annoyed my mom to death, but was really good at it. I only dropped stuff when my sister bumped me.

I went for a walk when I was done.  All the throwing up had given me quite a sore throat and the brisk air burned going in and out. That candy must have been bad. Maybe I should get some medicine for...

Oh, shut up! my inner voice yelled. Think! My inner voice tends to yell at me when I lie to myself. 

Face it, Dara - every time John is around, you throw up.

Friday night I’d felt fine until he came. Then my whole body had been doused in freezing cold water, and my stomach exploded. Could I be allergic to John?  

I couldn’t quite believe it, but my instinct said yes. I did a little experiment at dinner.

As I ate I kept my eyes open for John, like normal. I saw him come in and sit at his usual table, far away from mine.

“I’m going to get some more Sprite,” I told Katie. She was talking to Ava about paranormal powers and didn't pay any attention. I walked towards the soda fountain, weaving around the round tables in a sporadic pattern, taking me closer and closer to John’s table. I felt a little silly, and a little queasy. Ha! I thought. Definitely, as I got closer I felt more and more sick.  Since I knew what to expect, I kept my breathing even and focused on moving the muscles behind my ears as a distraction. I moved away again, toward the drinks, and my nausea passed quickly.