Page 2 of Little Pieces of Light

I glanced down at my worn shoes and my jeans with the holes in the knees, then pushed my glasses up higher on my nose. I was a Bend kid all the way. No one—certainly not a Richie—was going to let me play with them.

I wouldn’t know how anyway.

An anvil-shaped boulder surrounded by weeds and tall, spiky Atlantic manna grass rested near the edge of the parking lot. I sat down on it and waited for dusk while the kids played and the grown-ups drank their wine and grilled their food.

My stomach growled. It had been three hours since the gas stop in Connecticut. The scent of the ocean, the grill, and the sounds of kids laughing carried memories of other, better Fourths of July. Now I was just a boy, sitting on a rock, wondering what I’d done to make my mom leave.

“Hi.”

I jerked out of my poor-me thoughts and looked up. My breath caught like I’d been punched in the gut.

It was a girl.

Not just any girl. The girl.

I couldn’t stop staring. She didn’t seem real.

She couldn’t be real; she was too pretty—Alice in Wonderland in a pink dress instead of blue, her thick blond hair curling in long ribbons around puffy sleeves.

Big blue-green eyes watched me with curiosity, and her smile included the whole world.

It included me when I’d never felt more alone in my life.

But she was obviously a Richie, and I was from the Bend.

Once she knew that, this perfect girl would walk away.

Or I’d drive her away. It only took most kids a few minutes of talking to me to decide I was too freakish to be friends.

I’d learned the hard way it was better not to try.

Better to be a jerk and save us all the trouble.

“Hey,” I answered finally, tearing my eyes off of her and training them on my ratty shoes.

“What are you doing here by yourself?”

The girl’s voice was high and sweet, mine full of bitterness.

“Nothing. Sitting. Is that allowed?”

She jerked a thumb to the kids playing behind us. “I saw you from over there. You looked so sad and lonely; I thought I’d say hi.”

I scowled. “I’m not sad or lonely.”

The girl scuffed her shoe in the dirt. “Oh, okay. Sorry.”

I felt bad. She looked sad and lonely but covered it with her pretty smile.

She wasn’t dressed for the park in her fancy dress and shiny black shoes, either.

More for a family photo or special occasion.

She even had something pink and glittery painted on her lips.

This girl looked made-up, like a little doll.

Or maybe this is how Richies go to barbecues at the park.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “Bad day.”

“Yeah, me too.” She brightened and held out her hand. “I’m Emery Wallace.”

Slowly, I took her hand, certain my hair was going to stand on end when our skin touched. “Xander Ford.”

“Pleased to meet you, Xander.”

She gave my hand one strong shake, as if we’d made a business deal. When she let go, I could still feel her touch on my palm. My fingers curled to keep it.

“What are you doing out here, Xander?” Emery smiled. “I like saying your name. Xander with a Z .”

“With an X . It’s short for Alexander.”

“Oh. Why not go by Alex?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

She nodded, thinking. “That’s smart. Lots of Alexes. I don’t know any Xanders. But now I know you!”

The friendliness in her voice hit me right in the chest, warming over the icy cold spot where Mom used to be, just a little bit.

Emery glanced around. “Why are you by the parking lot?”

“I’m waiting for my dad to pick me up.”

“Are you here by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“My dad and I just got into town, but he had some stuff to do…” I shifted on the rock.

“Do you live around here? I haven’t seen you before.”

“No,” I said. “Well, not permanently. We spend a week or so every summer.”

“Oh!” Emery’s eyes brightened. “Do you belong to the Club, too?”

She must’ve thought we had a big vacation house on the water because who in the world—besides my dad—would have a summer home on the Bend?

“No.” I sat up straighter. “But my father is very important. He works for the government.”

“Really? Like a spy?”

“Umm…no.” I peered at her through my glasses. “You sure ask a lot of questions.”

“How else am I going to learn anything about you?”

“Why do you want to?”

Emery cocked her head as if the question didn’t make sense. “Because that’s how you make friends.”

A lump grew in my throat. “You want to be my friend?”

“Of course!”

Emery plopped herself next to me on the rock.

I froze, and—for once in my life—all thoughts flew out of my head.

There was no room for anything but her. She had to be the prettiest girl I’d ever seen, and she smelled like cotton candy.

For a short, happy moment, I forgot why I was alone on the rock in the first place or that I was supposed to be trying to make her go away.

I don’t want her to go away.

“So…” Emery settled herself beside me and smoothed her dress. “Your dad works for the government, but he’s not a spy.”

“He’s a physicist. That’s what I’m going to be too.”

“What does a physi…physicist do?”

She said it with a bunch of z ’s. Fizzizzist.

“Only the most important research in the world. We study why and how the universe is the way it is.” I tilted my chin. “It’s very complicated. You wouldn’t understand it.”

That was my usual thing: to make the other person feel stupid so I could feel better about being different. So I could pretend I didn’t care if they liked me or not.

Emery wasn’t buying it.

She gave me a haughty look. “Is that so?”

“Yep. Like Niels Bohr says, ‘Those who are not shocked by quantum theory cannot possibly understand it.’”

“Who the heck is Niels Bohr?”

“He’s one of the most famous physicists in history. He won the Nobel Prize for his work applying Max Planck’s quantum theories to visualize the world’s first atomic structure.”

Emery frowned. “How old are you?”

“Ten.”

“I’m ten too, but you don’t talk like me.”

“That’s because I’m a genius.”

She made the Is that so? face again until she saw I wasn’t kidding. “Wait, really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Does that mean you know everything?”

“Not everything.”

She cocked her head. “What grade are you in?”

Here we go. I cleared my throat. “I’m in high school.”

Emery’s eyes widened. “ High school ?”

A mental countdown began in my head. Any second now, this girl was going to walk away. May as well get it over with.

“I’m leaving the public school for a special high school in the fall. I have two more years, and then I start college. Then I’ll go to MIT. Just like my dad.”

“But…you’re ten!”

“I know .” I sighed. “It’s okay. You don’t have to keep talking to me.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Why would I stop?”

“Because it’s weird.”

“It’s not weird, it’s cool! You’re like Sheldon Cooper! Like on that show? Young Sheldon ?”

I stiffened. I didn’t watch TV, but I heard that comparison every day at my high school in Gaithersburg. Mostly, it was the older kids—which was everyone—making fun of me and asking me if I liked trains or Star Trek , or if I had something called a Meemaw.

“ No. I’m not like him.”

“He graduated high school when he was eleven.”

“I told you I’m not graduating high school. I still have two more years.”

Emery swung her legs and scuffed the heels of her shiny black shoes on the rock. “Well, I think that’s cool. I wish I could be done in two years. Then I could go right to Rizdy!”

“What’s Rizdy?”

“It stands for Rhode Island School of Design. R-I-S-D, but you say it like, ‘Rizdy.’”

“Okay. What do you want to design?”

“The inside of houses. I want to be an interior designer and maybe do big events, like weddings. I love drawing and painting and collaging, but more than anything, I love doing makeovers on rooms. You should see my bedroom.”

I felt heat creep over the back of my neck. I had no idea what to say to that.

“Soooo…” Emery scooted closer. “What’s it like, being a genius?”

“It’s…um, okay.” I stammered because now our arms were touching. “Some good things, some bad things.”

“What are some good things?”

“I can read anything I want,” I said. “I can play some piano. I can do math. Really hard math.”

Emery made a face. “Math is the worst. But I love reading! I love Wings of Fire, and Matilda, and The Secret Garden. ” She was lit up even brighter now, like a live wire humming with energy. “What are you reading right now?”

“ Meditations by Marcus Aurelius.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” I said quickly. The last thing I wanted was her to think I was making fun of her.

“Okaaay.” Emery cocked her head. “What are the bad things about being a super genius?”

A long list populated in my head. I picked the one at the top. The worst one. “I get lonely.”

Geez . I couldn’t believe I said that out loud.

Emery’s face softened. “You do? Why?”

“Because I don’t know how to talk to kids my age.” I glanced away. “Never mind. It’s dumb.”

“It’s not dumb. Maybe you just need the practice. If you didn’t go to a special school but a regular school, you’d be around more regular kids, right?”

“Yes. But…”

“But regular school is too easy for you?” She grinned. “Do you want to be famous and win a Nobel Prize? Like boring old Niels Bohr? Bohr the Bore.”

She giggled and it jumped to me, making me laugh on a day I thought laughing was impossible.

“Yeah…maybe,” I said. “Bohr specialized in atomic structure. I want to study black holes, and that’s a different kind of physics.”

“There are different kinds?”

“Oh yes—”

Emery gasped. “Oh my gosh! Your eyes!”

And before I knew what was happening, she took off my glasses and brushed a lock of brown hair off my forehead. Her face drew closer to mine—so close, our noses were almost touching. My heart beat faster.

“One is dark blue and the other is brown!” she cried. “Or mostly brown. A little bit of blue at the bottom… Wow, that is so cool!”