“Of course,” Tristen agreed. He looked to me. “See you tonight, Jill.”
I sort of avoided his eyes. “Yeah, sure.”
But before Tristen could walk away, Mr. Messerschmidt called to us. “Hyde—stay there.” As we watched, he lumbered toward us, threading his wide body through the narrow rows of lab tables. “I want to talk to you all.”
“What’s up?” Tristen inquired in a way that suggested our teacher was overstepping his bounds by asking for a moment of time. “What do you need?”
“Darcy, this involves you, too,” Mr. Messerschmidt said.
“Todd, finish up,” Darcy directed her partner. Then she turned to smile at our teacher. “Yes?”
“I just wondered if you’re all entering the Foreman Foundation contest,” Mr. Messerschmidt said, looking from face to face.
“No,” Tristen said, shooting me a warning look. “I’m not.”
“Me neither,” I said, following his lead. But I looked to the floor, afraid that everyone would see the lie in my eyes. We were in that very room almost every night, transcribing notes, mixing chemicals, working on our contest entry—and Tristen’s personal project. Most nights he would leave with a bottle filled with solution, in preparation for the time we’d meet and he would begin drinking the variations. We were stealing chemicals like my dad had done.
“Well, I’m in,” Darcy announced. “I’m doing my initial research now.”
“Good girl, Darcy.” Mr. Messerschmidt smiled at his star pupil. Then he frowned at me. “Jill, why not?”
I tucked my hair behind my ear, still averting my eyes. “I don’t know. I’m just really busy now.”
Very smooth, as usual, Jill.
“And you, Hyde,” Mr. Messerschmidt added. “I suppose you’re busy, too?”
“No, just lazy,” Tristen said. “I told you. I completely lack ambition.” Then Tristen walked away, not waiting for Mr. Messerschmidt’s dismissal.
“I hope you’ll reconsider,” our teacher addressed me again. “And if you could convince Hyde to team up like I suggested, I really think you’d have a good shot at winning the money. Especially if you could somehow focus on the intersection of chemistry and brain function. Actually play off the old Jekyll-Hyde story!”
“Oh, I don’t think Tristen’s interested,” I said, getting a little sweaty. I wasn’t a good liar, and Mr. Messerschmidt was hitting too close to the actual deception. “I’ll talk to him, though,” I promised, just wanting my teacher to drop the subject.
“Excellent!” Mr. Messerschmidt beamed, seeming really pleased. “I could help you define your research agenda, bounce around ideas—anything you needed.”
“Don’t bother.” Darcy laughed, interrupting us. I hadn’t realized she was still listening, and I looked over to see her watching us while Todd struggled with decantation, one arm hampered by his cast and his big fingers, so adept with footballs, fumbling with the delicate equipment. “I’ve got a lock on this thing,” Darcy boasted.
“Yes, I’m sure you’ll do well,” Mr. Messerschmidt agreed, like he always did with Darcy. “I just want to inspire some healthy competition. Maybe Supplee Mill could take first and second place.”
“I guess they could shoot for second,” Darcy said with a shrug. Then she turned back to her lab station and resumed directing Todd.
I stared at Darcy’s straight spine, frustrated and powerless to fight back even if for once I had real ammunition. Tristen and I could beat her. Darcy Gray couldn’t just assume I was a loser. But of course I just stood there, unable to defend myself.
“Talk to Tristen,” Mr. Messerschmidt urged. “And remember, I’m here to offer guidance and support.”
I met my teacher’s eyes, thinking his enthusiasm was starting to border on pushiness. “Um, sure. Thanks,” I finally said.
There was an awkward silence, then Mr. Messerschmidt wandered off, leaving me and Becca together again. I continued our experiment, lighting the faulty burner, which sputtered, just like Darcy had warned.
“Are you and Tristen really just studying?” Becca broke into my thoughts.
“Yes,” I said. “Why?”
Becca shrugged. “No reason.”
I turned around and saw that Tristen had finished his experiment and was leaning back on his seat staring out the window, safety glasses shoved up into his thick hair. Completely oblivious to me.
“Well, we are just studying,” I repeated, still watching him.
“Good,” Becca said.
It was a weird response, maybe as strange as Mr. Messerschmidt’s eagerness to see me take part in a contest that wouldn’t win him any money, but for some reason, I didn’t want to think about why Becca might be glad that Tristen and I were nothing more than study partners, so I didn’t ask her what she’d meant.
Chapter 27
Jill
“ARE YOU COMFORTABLE, MOM?” I asked, handing her a small amber bottle and a glass of water. “I could turn the heat up.”
“No, Jill.” She shook her head, dumping pills into her palm. “I’m warm under the covers.”
“Okay.” Although the night was cold, I didn’t press the issue. Our electric bill, which I’d paid that morning from our shrinking checking account, was high enough without cranking the heat. I watched as Mom swallowed her medication, eyes closed, like she was already falling under its spell.
“Dr. Hyde,” I ventured, accepting the glass, “does he really seem to be helping?”
Mom nodded, eyes still closed. “Yes, Jill. The medication seems to help. And Dr. Hyde seems to understand me when we talk.”
“Oh, good.”
I was glad that Mom found Dr. Hyde comforting, because he’d seemed imposing to me the times I’d dropped Mom off at his office. He was tall like Tristen. And his voice was an older, even deeper version of his son’s. They shared the same angular cheekbones and full lower lip. But Dr. Hyde was dark while Tristen was fair. Like his mother?
And what else did Dr. Hyde and Tristen share? That corrupted gene, or broken synapse, or whatever it was that Tristen was afraid lurked inside himself?
“You’re sure he’s helping?” I asked again.
“Yes.” Mom crawled deeper under the covers. “Enough that I’m going to the hospital this week. I called and asked to work a day shift.”
“Mom, don’t rush
