Shoshana could have carried the portrait Hobo had made of her up to the bungalow, but, well, it was like one of those faces of Jesus that appear in a sticky bun: she was afraid that if she moved it, or touched it, or did anything at all to it, it would disappear. That was irrational, she knew, but, still, everything about this moment should be recorded in situ. Just as a fossil was worth far less without its geological context, this painting needed to be studied here, where it had been created. It was significant that the painting had been done before Shoshana had arrived, and although there were photos of her back in the bungalow, there were none here in the nipple. Hobo hadn’t painted something he was looking at; rather, he’d called up an image of Shoshana in his mind and expressed that image, as best he could, on canvas.
She pulled out her flip phone. Without taking her eyes off the painting, she opened it and pressed a speed-dial key.
“Marcuse Institute,” said the voice that answered; it was Dillon.
“Dill, it’s Sho. I’m in the gazebo. Get Dr. Marcuse — get everyone — and come out here.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. But something amazing has happened.”
“What is—”
“Just get everyone,” she said, “and come out here — right away.”
Chapter 23
Caitlin felt a bit sorry for the Hoser. Trevor had finally worked up the courage to ask her to the dance — or else his other options hadn’t panned out, but she preferred to think the former was the case. The invitation had come via email, with the subject line, “Hey, Yankee, you free Friday night?” and she had accepted the same way.
But now he had to come by the house to get her. Of course, at fifteen himself, he wasn’t picking her up in a car; rather, he was going to walk with her to Howard Miller Secondary School, eight blocks from her house.
Caitlin’s dad was going to return to work this evening. The Perimeter Institute frequently hosted public science lectures, which Caitlin often went to with him, and tonight’s speaker was someone he wanted to see. But he’d come home for dinner, and now Trevor would have to go through that ritual of meeting the parents. Caitlin’s mom was always warm and friendly, but her dad — well, she wished she could see the Hoser’s face!
The doorbell rang. Caitlin had spent the last hour getting ready for the dance. She wasn’t really sure what to wear, and there was no point asking Bashira: her parents wouldn’t let her go to school dances. She’d settled on a really nice pair of blue jeans and a loose but silky top that her mother said was dark red. As she rushed down the stairs, she was a bit nervous about what Trevor’s reaction would be.
Caitlin could smell and feel that rain was possible tonight, but she didn’t want to carry an umbrella in addition to her cane; she needed a free hand in case Trevor wanted to try to hold it. But it was supposed to get cooler later, and she didn’t have anything sexy to wear for warmth, so she’d tied a sweatshirt around her waist; her dad had gotten her a sweet one last month that had a large version of the Perimeter Institute logo on it.
Caitlin’s mom beat her to the door. “Hello,” she said. “You must be Trevor.”
“Hello, Mrs. Decter, Dr. Decter.”
At first Caitlin thought he’d been correcting himself, but then she realized that her dad was standing there, too. Caitlin tried to suppress her smirk. He was tall in an imposing sort of way, and doubtless the fact that he wasn’t saying anything was unnerving poor Trevor. And if Trevor had extended his hand, her dad had probably just ignored it, which would have been even more disconcerting.
“Hi, Trevor,” Caitlin said.
“Hey—” He cut himself off before he called her “Yankee.” She was a bit disappointed; she liked that he had a special name for her.
“Now, remember,” her mom said, facing Caitlin, “be home by midnight.”
“‘Kay,” Caitlin said.
She and Trevor headed out, walking along, talking about—
And that was the part that made Caitlin sad. They really didn’t talk about much of anything. Oh, Trevor liked hockey, but he didn’t know the stats and couldn’t say anything meaningful about trends.
Still, it felt good to be taking a walk. She’d walked a lot in Austin, despite the heat and humidity. She’d known her old neighborhood intimately: every crack in the sidewalk, every overhanging tree that provided shade, how many seconds it took for each traffic light to change. And although she was now learning the topography of these sidewalks, feeling the joins between sections with the tip of her cane, she was afraid she’d be lost again when they were covered with a layer of snow.
They reached the school and made their way to the gymnasium, where the dance was already in progress. She had trouble hearing people talk: sounds echoed off the hard walls and floor, and the music was too loud for the speakers. It always amazed her that people were willing to put up with distortion for the sake of volume — but at least they played some Lee Amodeo along with all the Canadian bands she’d never heard of.
She wished Bashira had been able to come, so she’d have someone to talk to. The Hoser had left her alone at one point, saying he was going to the washroom — but he’d obviously snuck off to smoke. She wondered if sighted people really couldn’t smell very well. Didn’t they know how much they stank after doing that?
She’d been to dances at her old school, but those were different. For one, they always slow danced — which was kind of nice, actually, especially if it was with the right boy. But these kids usually danced by jumping around without being in physical contact with their partners. It was mostly like Trevor wasn’t even there.
But there were some slow dances. “Come on,” Trevor said, as one of them began, and his hand took hers; she’d left her cane by the door.
Caitlin felt a little rush. She was surprised at how far they walked before he finally drew her into his arms; maybe it had taken a while to find an empty spot.
They swayed along with the music. She liked the feeling of Trevor pressing against her and—
His hand on her ass. She reached down and moved it back up to the small of her back.
The music continued, but his hand slid down her back again, and this time she could feel his fingers trying to work their way into the top of her jeans.
“Stop that!” she said, hoping no one besides the Hoser could hear her.
“Hey,” he said. “Come on.” He pushed his fingers down more aggressively.
She tried to step backward, and suddenly realized that he’d maneuvered her very close to a wall. They were still in the gym — the sound made that clear — but must be in some dark or out-of-the-way corner of it. He moved forward, and she found herself trapped. She didn’t want to create a scene, but—
His lips on hers, that awful smell on his breath—
She pushed him away. “I said stop!” she snapped, and she imagined heads were turning to look at her.
“Hey,” Trevor said, like he was making a joke, like he was playing to an audience now, “you’re lucky I brought you here.”
“Why?” she shot back. “Because I’m blind?”
“Babe, you can’t see me, but I am—”
“You’re wrong,” she said, trying not to cry. “I can see right through you.”
The music stopped, and she stormed across the gym, bumping into other people as she went, trying, trying, trying to find the door.
“Caitlin.” A female voice — maybe Sunshine? “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Caitlin said. “Where’s the fucking door?”
“Um, to your left, ten feet or so.” It was Sunshine; she recognized the Bostonian accent.
Caitlin knew exactly where her cane should be: propped up against the wall near the door, where others had left umbrellas. But some asshole had moved it, presumably to make room for something of his own.