Page 19 of The Chemistry Test
Penny
Ro was watching Black Panther in the kitchen, so I joined him halfway through, more for the company than anything else. He’s sketching T’Challa in the black suit from the beginning of the film, with chevrons on the chest and a metal-toothed collar.
At this point, he’s working completely from memory, but when I google the costume, it looks almost identical.
He’s even incorporated the basket-weave texture that subtly runs underneath it all – I have no idea how artists remember intricate details like that.
If I felt a bit better, I would ask him. Maybe later, I will.
Meanwhile, I’ve spent the whole time trying to stay as still as humanly possible, waiting for my anti-sickness meds to kick in. I’ve got a sick bowl in one arm and Sooty in the other when there’s a knock at the door.
Ro stands up to get it and I swear I hear my name, but he doesn’t call for me.
I press Pause so I can hear them better, but they’re too far away for me to make out any meaningful conversation.
I consider putting a glass up against the wall, but it’s never worked for me before, so after a minute, I give in and go to the door myself.
There’s a banister along the hallway, so it doesn’t take me too long to reach them.
‘Ah, here she is,’ Ro says, giving me a knowing look.
‘CJ,’ I say. He’s stood right there, outside my door. A boy has knocked on our door. For me. That’s never happened to me before.
I try to hint at Ro to leave, but he’s still giving me a questioning look, so I give him a subtle nod and then a shrug, because, yes, CJ is the guy I told him about , but no, I don’t have a clue why he’s here.
And now I really need to sit down, so I don’t have any choice but to let him in to find out.
‘Are you baking?’ CJ asks when he spots the empty bowl on the table.
I cringe, not knowing what to say. Our dirty plates are still stacked on the counter, so I could pretend I’m tidying up after dinner, but before I open my mouth, Ro starts chuckling.
‘She’s not baking, she just wasn’t feeling well,’ he says, as a shadow of that dreaded smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. ‘The bowl was for ... backwards baking, I guess you could say.’
He did not just say that. I shoot subtle, fluster-fuelled daggers in Ro’s direction as he continues to chuckle at himself. This is not the look I’m going for.
‘Oh,’ CJ says, looking at me apologetically. ‘I can come back another time if you like?’
He says it like it’s not a problem. Like it won’t really matter if he leaves right now.
But I don’t want him to go. And now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t even feel that sick anymore.
Either because my meds have kicked in, or because my good old pal adrenaline is back.
And I know I shouldn’t have adrenaline over something as silly as a boy knocking on my door for me.
But I do. And adrenaline is a wonderful anti-emetic – except, of course, when it does the exact opposite.
But that’s not the case right now, so he can’t leave just yet.
Even if it’s just so I can pretend that this is something it’s not.
‘I’m actually feeling a lot better now,’ I say hurriedly, hoping I don’t sound too eager. I might not know what he’s here for, but I know I don’t want him to go.
He doesn’t look like he believes me, but he answers anyway. ‘Are you feeling up to going outside?’
And I swear my first thought is that this is a date.
But how could it be, when it’s CJ? And I can tell from the way Ro’s looking at me that he doesn’t know what’s going on either.
He looks like he’s itching to go and get Amy to see what she thinks of all of this.
I kind of want to go and get her too. But I also love saying yes unless there’s a very good reason to say no, so I guess I’m going out tonight instead.
I wave goodbye to Ro through the window, but as I turn towards the path that leads to the centre of campus, CJ stops me.
‘We’re going this way, actually,’ he says, turning 180 degrees. I look at him blankly. The only thing in that direction is the road into the university, which curves along a big grassy hill that’s usually full of rabbits in the springtime. Or at least in the brochures it is.
‘One sec,’ I say, getting my phone out of my coat pocket.
It’s not that late, but it’s dark and I don’t know how I feel about this, so I share my location with Amy and Ro on WhatsApp just in case.
There are streetlights ahead and there should be security guards for the next couple hundred metres at least, but there won’t be any once we’ve crossed the road.
‘We’re nearly there, don’t worry,’ CJ says to me as we make our way around the corner. It’s even emptier here than it was a few metres ago. And I have no idea where ‘there’ could be.
He stops in the middle of the path, smiling back at me. ‘This is us!’
I stop my wheelchair and look around. We’re literally just halfway up the road. We’re not even at one of the streetlights. Respectfully, what the flaming heck does he mean?
‘Is it?’ I say, feeling the hairs on my arms stand up slightly. It’s not that dark yet, but we’re definitely standing in the darkest part of the path – equal distance from the streetlights ahead and behind us. I clutch my house keys in my pocket instinctively.
‘Yeah, I think this is good,’ CJ muses, walking around my wheelchair to face me.
‘This is Kerby,’ he says, tapping his foot on a dropped kerb.
‘And this is where I teach you how to go up kerbs in your wheelchair.’ He grins, taking his backpack off.
He pulls out a grey skating helmet and some knee pads and starts putting them on, not caring how strange he looks or who’s around.
‘I’ve been watching videos on how to do a wheelie in a wheelchair to get over the kerbs,’ he says, buckling his helmet while holding a pair of elbow pads between his knees. ‘So, I was thinking, if I learn it first, then I can teach you.’
My hand relaxes in my pocket. I can’t quite believe what I’m hearing. No one has ever done something like this for me before.
‘What do you think?’ he says, laying a blanket at the bottom of the slightly overgrown hill.
My mouth is open, but I haven’t said anything yet. ‘I could be wrong, but that is quite possibly the best idea ever,’ I say, and this time, when he offers me his hand, I take it. He supports me more than I need him to as he guides me over to the blanket, which is only a few steps away.
I hug my knees to my chest, trying to keep as much of myself off the already damp blanket as I can, while trying to figure out how best to do this.
CJ’s a lot bigger than me, so I show him how to take off the mudguards and armrests to give his legs more room.
It still might not be enough since the chair’s custom made for me, but there’s nothing else we can do.
‘This will work,’ he says, as he shuffles in, and I can’t tell if he’s hiding how much it’s digging into him, or if the chair has more wiggle room than I realised.
It doesn’t look too uncomfortable. But then again, what does discomfort look like?
I can’t look as uncomfortably cold as I am, otherwise CJ would offer me his beanie. At least, I hope he would.
He claps his hands, ready to start. ‘In the videos, they said you just have to sit back, push the wheels forward and ...’ He scratches his nose.
‘That’s pretty much it. Obviously, it does rely on balance too, but as long as you find your centre of gravity, you’ll be good. That’s literally all there is to it.’
‘All there is to it.’ As if that’s not a lot? Pfft. I search his face for any signs of sarcasm – and come up with absolutely Jack squat. Jeez Louise. He genuinely believes this is going to be easy peasy lemon squeezy and not what it actually is – difficult difficult lemon difficult.
I tear my eyes away from the abyss, where I was busy picturing it going catastrophically wrong. But he doesn’t need to know that. ‘So, you’re saying we could practically do it in our sleep?’
‘Something like that.’ He grins, unaware that his previous statement was not a small addition, but rather a colossal Kim Kardashian of a but – that’s quite frankly sent my mind reeling. He may as well have said we have to learn to fly for a few seconds. Heck, he basically did.
I’m about to say so, when he leans back, already gearing up to launch.
‘CJ, you can’t just—’ Oh great. His actions invalidate my point before I can fully verbalise it.
The weight of my unspoken words hangs in the air between us – unlike the castor wheels, which come crashing down with an almighty clunk almost immediately. He punches his fist in the air.
‘Was that it?’ He beams, doing what I can only describe as a pirouette on wheels, while I’m still trying to process the kerfuffle.
I quickly play it over again in my mind and technically, no, that was not it.
But I’m not a bubble-bursting girl, so I grin back and nod, encouragingly.
I mean, sure, he might not have found his centre of gravity, and he was definitely caught by the anti-tip bar, but there’s no need for me to say that.
Then, with more enthusiasm than before (if that’s even possible), he tries a few more times, and with every attempt, his movements become more and more controlled until finally his landing becomes semi-graceful. On his sixth try, he catches himself before the anti-tip bars reach the ground.
‘Now we’re talking,’ he says, standing up to nudge the bars away. They swing neatly under the chair at the push of a button – I know that, of course. But I’m surprised CJ does. And I’m even more surprised to see him do it so smoothly. It must’ve come up on the tutorial he watched.
‘Wait!’ I say, but he’s already sitting back down. ‘Do it with this behind you, at least,’ I add, scooting over to the pavement to toss the blanket to him. ‘So you don’t fall right on the grass.’