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                            Chapter Square Root of Twenty Five 

                                     "Order of Operations" 

Bigg

The Days and Nights in Roger Bay, North Carolina in the spring only had two kinds of moods:

The days were drenched in sun; hot stinging rays that felt like they were pinching your skin, as if they were deliberately trying to annoy you.

Then there were rainy nights. Or maybe it wasn’t fair to just pin this excess of rain on just the nights.

Because, the sky would be darkening by the time evening had spilled in. Clouds would start to hover over our small town, dark and gray and just ready to burst. But they wouldn’t do so, not until the sun had completely submerged. So, maybe the sun was involved, albeit to a lesser extent. Maybe it could be charged as an accessory to Excessive Downpour. 

There was a certain scent that came whenever it rained. I was always so torn if I liked it or not.

Not on the rain, I hated that. But the scent.

I had long decided that the rain could be a bad omen. But, the other side - the more rational side – of me thought that all of that was just literary mumbo jumbo writers deploy to set the mood of a chapter.

Like right now, for example.

If this were a date in a novel, or a short story or maybe a badly written poem, the sky should have been clear; there should have been soft music playing somewhere, maybe a random outdoor band would be playing some slow Mariah Carey song for us to dance to. There should be a wind blowing, so Rory’s hair could get tussled, and land in his face.

That always happened in books. But then again, that was always attractive.

That wasn’t happening, currently.

 Rory had parked his car in the mall’s lot. We would have to walk (run…or maybe light jog) to Senor Burger that across the street from it.

 This was his favorite place in the known universe according to Jeremy’s incoherent ramblings, which liked to disguise themselves as small talk.

True to my town, it was raining tonight. The pitter patter of it all was like background music when you’re trying to do homework.  It wasn’t raining cats or dogs or some other domesticated small animal, but it was raining hard enough that we could not walk there.

We jogged in. Him, then I. Rory flipped his hair, splashing water onto my face.

“Hey freak, watch where you’re leaving your rain water, will you?” I shot.

“You could use a bath, Price,” he replied, looking down at me with his clear blue eyes. Almost as clear as rain water.

I was tempted to answer him, but went against it. We would probably get into a verbal argument that would evolve into a physical one and then we’d just get kicked of this place and be stuck in the rain.

Some people liked to assume that because I was a math nerd that I couldn't fight, or that I was weak. That could not have been anymore untrue. The truth was, I was more than willing to fight. I sort of liked it even, though that’s not something to be proud of, ever.

The place, Senor Burger was, apparently, owned by Frenchman, which just confused me.

It reminded me of McDonald’s; it had the whole greasy look to it. It was sort of like you knew that those employees didn’t clean these tables properly where that baby spat up, or you knew bad things happen in the back of that counter when you back sassed an employee, but you’re going to eat here anyway.

I admit to not liking it. I hated how small towny it felt. Like, here are your dirty fries, and here’s your fizzy drink, your arteries are going to bitch about that at some point down the road. Come again!

We didn’t have nice restaurants here. You’d have to go to the town over to actually find a really really nice restaurant. Like one to propose in.

The interior was blue; blue seats, blue tables, blue slushy spilled on the floor…Their mascot was a sombrero with a mustache on the top of it. It was neither clever nor anatomically correct, which rendered it completely idiotic to me. That didn’t stop this place from being the #1 fast food joint in our town.

Rory pointed a single finger, his pointing finger on his right hand, at an empty table, near the furthest window to my right. “You can go sit there, I’ll order us something.”

I smacked his hands out of my face. “I’m not your woman, Rory and this is not some abusive relationship where you tell me what to do and I just nod my head and obey my husband, master of my life. Save that for the Lifetime originals”

I could tell he was suppressing an eye roll, but was probably saving it for later when I said something really out of the way. “You shitty math types, I swear to Austen,” he mumbled, stuffing his hands into his jeans’ pockets and trudging away.

I obeyed anyway.

Rory stood on the line. I had decided to turn my gaze to the window and stare at the drops of rain as they slid down the glass. And of their purpose.

Those droplets were going to probably water something. That something would grow into something beautiful, probably a flower. I watched as some droplets crashed into others, forming bigger ones. Or how some would freeze and just disappear on the glass.

It’s weird. And it makes you think about things. I hated thinking so much, but I couldn't help it. Even in a fast food joint that reeked of oil and grease, my mind shifted to the existential. That’s pathetic.

It’s like someone handing you a unicorn that farts rainbows and you questioning if that rainbow symbolized something deep. Like an English major. Like Rory. Like Jeremy. 

I wondered what Joy said to Rory to get him to do this? Did she blackmail him? Or did she just convince him that Jeremy and I should be together? I have no idea. I hadn’t even asked.

When he showed up, all he said was that I owed him the moon for doing this. I, of course, gave him the middle finger and in the nicest voice I could muster up, told him to go screw himself.

 I also  thought of Jeremy. And me. Jeremy and Me. And how, we were so close, yet so far away sometimes.

How dumb does one have to be to not notice that someone was madly in love with one? How blind does one have to be? Enough to need a Seeing Eye Dog, probably.

And Jeremy was straight. Sure, he acted like less like it sometimes, but Jeremy was straight. He was. That was in stone.

I had seen him fall in love with girls, pretty girls. I have watched him break their hearts. I had seen his own heart broken; I have held him on those nights when his grief would devolve him into sobs.

He was straight. He was. He was. He was. That was something that I had accepted.

Then why are you here?

Jeremy was stupid, okay. I don’t mean that in a mean way. It’s just that he was not very articulate, he made up words, he sang songs he didn’t know the lyrics to, and I didn’t know why. He didn’t cry when his grandma died, but he did when his pet cat did. You’d think you’d know you’re best friend.

Okay, so maybe I was the stupid one then. Or at least the blind one, because how on earth don’t you know how to solve your best friend?

Jeremy just felt like so many different things. He was like solving 7 + 4 - 16 x 72 and not using the BODMAS rule. You came to the wrong answer, every time.

 Just as I was about to come to the conclusion that I myself, was the idiot in this relationship, I saw Jeremy, walking across the street, looking up at the sky  with his hand extended out, like he was cupping rain drops. He was smiling. Of course he was.

Yup. He was the dumb one.

He walked through the door and scanned the room. He didn’t seem to mind the drops of rain that looked like they were leaking from him, but he did take off his baseball cap to dry his hair. Some of that landed on an elderly woman who was sitting just a few inches away from the front door. That was probably her fault then.

Not long after, his eyes landed on me. Then they blew up. Those were his surprised eyes. He clutched his chest, bits and pieces of his blue collared t-shirt were crumpled between his fingers. He walked my way with his mouth curved into a lower cased ‘o’.

“What are the odds?!” he laughed. “What are the odds that Rory would bring you here?” he pointed at the space next to me, “Mind if I sit?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He just did.

“Jer, what are you doing here?”

“I came to get something to eat,” he said, but decided that was not enough. “I also was hoping that you’d be here to help me with my math.”

“I’m on a date,” I said. "One that you set up."

He literally just shrugged his shoulders. “It won’t take long, and it’s just Rory. He’s not much of a talker, so he wouldn’t mind.”

I just noticed the backpack he had brought with him. The one I bought for his 15th birthday that he continued to use, even though he had to sew it almost every week to keep it from ripping apart and spilling his things onto the floor. 

Or well, I did, to keep him from stitching himself to the bag.

He took out a few books. Jeremy’s school books were always red, his favorite color, so he knew exactly what to pick up whenever he had to carry something home with him.

But, out of the five books that he emptied onto the table, only four were red. One was yellow. My favorite color.

I pointed at it. “What’s that?”

“A rectangular shaped object, containing varying sheets of paper stringed together that people, mainly students of educational facilities use to write in; commonly known as a book,” he said with a laugh. “Are you about to roll your eyes?”

“Yes,” I said, but didn't. “I think you’ve been hanging around me too much. You’re level of sarcasm has spiked.”

“Oh, Peanut Butter,” he sang. “Always taking credit for everything.” He picked up the yellow book and opened it, but away from me.

“What’s in there?”

“Poetry,” he said and flipped through a few pages.

“Can I see?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I haven’t completed them yet.”

“How many are there?”

“Ten.”

“Ten?”

“Ten.”

We both smiled. But then he laughed and I followed after it. He closed the book and tucked it into his bag. “I will read them to you when they are done.”

I shrugged. “Secrets destroy friendships, Jelly.”

He mimicked my shoulder shrug. “I think they make them interesting. There’s a lot to tell, a lot to confess when the moment is right.” He paused and smiled at the table. He probably was smiling at his reflection.

“So say you,” I said and turned to the window just in time to see two raindrops collide. For a moment, I could hear the thunder over the chatter inside. Funny, I don’t remember seeing lightning.

 “Peanut Butter?” Jeremy said, his voice, a bit softer. Jeremy’s voice squeaked sometimes. I could tell it was starting to change, fighting to get deeper.

“Yeah?” I answered, eyes still on the window.

“……Look at me, please?”

I turned my head to face him.

His eyes. His eyes. I had to shake my head a few times to get them out of my head. Very light shakes. I didn’t dear swallow what was stuck in my throat. That was a dead giveaway. But they were just so bright. I tried to avoid looking at them. Instead, as he spoke, I focused just below them, instead directly in them.

Who could stare someone in the eyes for more than six seconds anyway?

“Do you have…things to tell me?”

I almost panicked. Who told him something? Was I just getting really fucking obvious?

 Lying would not work. I probably had some tell that Jeremy knew about by now whenever I lied. After all, his left eye twitched when he did.

“Yes,” I said.

He nodded and waited for a long time before he said something. “What is it?”

I didn’t answer.

Jeremy nodded. “Why not?”

“For the same reason you won’t let me see your poetry.”

He nodded. “You hate poetry.”

But I like you. “I don’t hate it. I just think it’s pointless.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move his eyes from me. Always so bold.

 “I think math’s pointless.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I answered back, almost immediately, scoffing in the process.

My eyes must’ve flared; my nose must’ve shot to the ceiling, because his eyes softened.

I saw the side of his lip twitched, and I knew he was trying to switch the topic. That this one was getting a bit heavy, like the rain pouring down outside. I didn’t like the rain. He knew that.

“I’m just saying, there has to be a better way for us to count and shit,” he laughed. He looked at his math book and slowly tucked it back into his bag. He rested his hands on the table, cupping them together and then resting his cheek in them, with his face pointing my way.

“That’s math,” I said. “Counting is math. Sequence, addition, subtraction, all of that is arithmetic. Basic math principles.”

“Well, we did it before we knew what math was.” He ran a hand through his stringy, noodled brown hair; possibly checking to see if it was still wet. “Count, that is”

“Nooo,” I said. “We always knew what math was, we just didn’t have a name for it.”

Jeremy laughed and shook his head. “Like I said Price… you’re always taking credit for everything.”

Rory joined us about ten minutes after that. Jer and I’s conversation had devolved into angrily debating which Leonardo DiCaprio movie should have gotten him an Oscar.

“Bro, The Great Gatsby was as close to a classic as we’re going to get out of Leo. That should have gotten him that Oscar, man,” I argued.

Jeremy wasn’t having it. “Titanic was freaking amazing. That shit should have won him everything. That shit should have gotten him knighted by the queen of fucking England.” He was sitting up now, his body was facing me. He had taken off his shoes and they we in the seat, occupying what space was between our bodies. “That shit could have won him the Presidency if he ran for Office and don’t you roll your eyes at that!”

Rory rolled his for me. He was just sitting there, eating his fries as he listened to us banter. Jeremy was right; he was a really quiet kid.

“Yeah, and he could make that atrocious Celine Dion song his theme.”

Jeremy flailed. “Now you’re dissing Celine,” he huffed. I couldn't help but laugh. “I hope it’s still funny when you’re in Hell.”

Rory chuckled, wiping his hands with a napkin and throwing the rest of his fries over to Jeremy. “Man, you two are something else.”

Jeremy smiled wide enough that I could see mashed fries in his mouth.

A few of his teeth at the bottom were a bit off; just a bit crooked. Straight enough to make him attractive, crooked enough to make him beautiful. 

I thought, as he laughed (and eventually choked), at how I wouldn’t want him to get them fixed, even if he had the money to do so.

And that scared me.

Because how terrifying is it when someone’s flaws are more beautiful than the possibility of perfection?

Solve the simple math problem above in bold. Quite easy, so the first one do it gets the next dedication. Also, don’t forget to vote and please comment, if you enjoyed.

 Answer to the sets question: 

ANS: AUB={1,2,3,4,5,6,8,10}