Three Plus i (Part 2/2)

The rest of the event passed peacefully, and as we left the room, I overheard murmurs about Polster’s Lake possibly bringing the biggest upset in math competition history. I didn’t know what an upset was, but I knew Marcos and Dan had been amazing.

My dad led us all to the gym, where rows of plastic bleachers were pulled out onto the floor. Already, most of the seats were taken, and we found ourselves on the edge of the front row, right by the emergency exit.

We waited for a long time in that gym, quietly observing the louder, more exuberant schools. All around us sat kids in green t-shirts that read “I ate some pie” in math symbols. I watched as one of them in particular repeatedly solved a Rubik’s cube for his friends’ entertainment.

He’d finished the cube for the twentieth time when a pudgy man strode to the center of the gym floor. His assistants straggled behind him, each weighed down by speakers, bins of paper, and boxes of trophies, ribbons, and plaques.

It took a few minutes of awkward standing, but eventually the gym was set up for announcements. The man tapped on his microphone, sending thumps through the floor. A loud squeal grinded my ears, and I shut my eyes until the man started talking.

“Well, uh, thank you everyone for being here tonight,” he said. I did not like how squeaky he sounded, and his glasses reflected too much light.

“We’re going to start off with the individual awards for division two, and then individuals for division one, and then go in the same order for teams, okay?” He fumbled for a paper on the table behind him and unfolded it, the crinkling noises echoing through the microphone.

“And uh, please come up when we call your names.” The man cleared his throat. “In tenth place, with a score of forty-two, we have Andrew Nordsen from Mustang Middle School.” He waited a few seconds until a boy stood up from a crowd of yellow shirts and pumped his fists in the air. Then the man called another name, and another and another.

I knew none of the kids and recognized none of their schools either. As the line of kids dispersed, the man began on division one. Our division.

Tenth place earned forty points even, but the curve was sharp. Number nine had had a score of forty-five, and eighth place had forty-nine. I paid little attention to the building line of competitors with their increasingly large trophies and instead opted to watch the man’s assistants jostle each other.

“In second place, with a score of seventy-five, we have Marcos Gonzalez, from Polster’s Lake Middle School.”

My head flicked up, and my eyes turned to saucers as Marcos stood and walked to the table. His gait was confident and long, but I’d seen his face before he left. He’d been more surprised than me.

Marcos’s trophy was a tall, green column that sparkled every time he moved. As he stood with the other placers, he shifted his weight from side to side and looked at the floor. I wondered how someone could look so nervous after winning.

The gym quieted after that, and some school started stomping their feet on the ground, trying to build up a drumroll for the first place winner. They didn’t succeed.

“And last but certainly not least, we have our first place winner. Also from Polster’s Lake, and with a perfect eighty points, is Daniel Weston!”

My dad bolted upright, clapping so hard and so fast I could barely see his hands. Applause thundered through the gym and bombarded my ears, and I wanted to cover my ears, despite how rude it might be. I watched as Dan shuffled to the table and meekly accepted his trophy. And while I’d been about to smile, I saw him bite his lips and frown. Something watery seemed to glaze over his eyes.

Ashamed, I looked down at the seat in front of me.

I think I screamed then. It was hard to tell with all the whistling and shouting.

A girl I’d never seen before stood by Dan’s empty chair. She wore her brown hair in two short braids, and jumped up and down wildly, alternating between clapping and waving and cheering. Her clothes were wrinkled, and even from the back, I could tell that she’d been injured somewhere; she seemed like she couldn’t stand straight. Her torso was crooked, and her shoulders never lined up quite right.

Then I realized I could see the floorboards through her white dress shirt. I looked at Dan, who was poking at the angel atop his trophy.

The girl. Dan.

Melinda.

The announcer sent the winners back to their seats and began building up for the team scores. As Dan and Marcos neared our seats, Melinda dissipated into the air, leaving a small piece of notebook paper in her place.

I snatched it and took a glance.

Two equations, x^2-6x+10=0 and x^2-6x+9=0, were written on the note in blue pen, and the second was circled in light pencil.

I knew how to solve the second equation. X equaled three. The first one though, I had to write out. As the announcer began listing off team places for division two, I pulled out a sheet of scratch paper and scribbled possible factors. When none of those solved, I plugged the constants into the quadratic equation.

The announcer made it to the second place division one team when I finally gave up. Every time I tried, I ended up with a negative under the radical, and no one had taught me what to do with those yet.

Suddenly, Marcos was pulling me up. I stumbled over the bleachers, my paper and pencil scattering as I stood. The notebook paper fluttered onto Dan’s seat, but Marcos tugged me along before I could grab it again.

“Were you two paying any attention?” Marcos asked, and I noticed that he was dragging Dan too. “We won! We really did it! Our parents will be so proud!”

The shiny gym floor pounded under my feet, vibrating with the noise of a thousand cheering people. I didn’t understand why they would be so loud; they didn’t know us. As I shook hands with the announcer and accepted a blue, satin ribbon from one of his assistants, I stared at the lines swirling and criss-crossing the floor and tried to keep my stomach from revolting. I didn’t like the attention, and the pizza clearly did not like it either.

My dad followed us up to accept a shiny, engraved plaque glued to a piece of wood painted to look like granite. It wasn’t a personal one– no school or team name adorned its front– but for my dad, it was an award all the same. With crooked teeth, he beamed at the announcer and thanked him profusely.

Official procedure required winning teams and coaches to stand for pictures after receiving their awards. As the announcer and his assistants began packing up their table, my dad herded me and Dan after Marcos, who was already waiting for us in front of a space on the wall left uncovered by fitness posters.

Since my stomach had settled a bit, I was able to smile for the student who peered at us through her camera lens. My dad stood behind me and my teammates, his arms stretched protectively around the three of us. Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Dan fidget and curl one side of his mouth up. He wasn’t looking at the camera, and instead chose to glance at the bleachers.

Marcos, on the other hand, shone with genuine pride and happiness. His trophy he displayed before his chest, its golden angel puffing up and raising her arms in triumph.

I wasn’t paying attention when the student took our picture, and I barely registered her dismissing us. Instead, I watched our seats and wondered if Dan had seen Melinda cheering for him. I considered showing him the note, but Marcos waved for me to catch up to him and dad before I could think very hard.

The crowd began to filter onto the gym floor, and I scurried towards my team so I wouldn’t get lost. Maybe I looked odd, fast-walking in mild panic when no one else was in that area of the gym yet, or maybe something else had happened, but I know I heard someone giggle.

When I looked towards our seats, Melinda sat in Dan’s spot, her hands folded daintily in her lap, and her head tilted. She stared straight at me, smiling as though she was a proud guard dog protecting the belongings we’d left there.

I didn’t understand why we didn’t just go back to the seats first, but soon enough, I caught sight of a thick, tan folder tucked under my dad’s arm. From the bright lines of color, I knew it was full of our tests.

There were more people on the gym floor by then, so I had to dodge and swerve my way back to our seats. I nearly bumped into the green-suit lady from the college bowl, but she pushed past without a glance, and I knew she didn’t recognize me. Maybe she wasn’t even bitter about the question I’d answered. As I considered this possibility and wondered if my initial impression of her was wrong, I slowed down. My gaze turned to the floor, and I lost track of the people I knew.

And then someone screamed.

My head snapped up, and I wondered if someone else had seen Melinda. Silence, aside from the long, screeching note, crashed down on the gym, and all of its occupants froze in place. Collectively, a thousand pairs of eyes turned towards the seats at the bottom corner of the bleachers.

I jumped up, trying to see what everyone was looking at. The scream faded into the background, its length lessening the impact, and a slow rumble of whispers began rustling through the crowd. Suddenly, the lights in the gym were too bright, and the people were too close. My breathing quickened, and I suddenly shoved myself through a cluster of kids in neon yellow shirts.

When I emerged, I saw three people: my dad, Marcos, and Dan. All three stood apart from each other, sort of in a line. Marcos was on the left, eyes wide, and his trophy threatening to slip from his grasp. My dad stood on the left, half bent over, with two jackets gathered in his arms. Dan was in the middle, a small slip of paper in his hands. He shook terribly, and his mouth hung open, bottom lip curled in like he was about to cry. It was a rather striking tableau.

One of the green-shirt kids behind me shifted on her feet, and I realized that several quiet seconds had passed already. Despite my quivering, I took a step towards my teammates.

Dan bolted.

He left his trophy behind on the floor, and Marcos scrambled to shove his things onto a seat before giving chase. My dad stood up, jackets still bundled in his grip, and awkwardly stepped over the bleachers before following suit. Feeling left out and confused, I gave a little whine and glanced at the people around me before racing after them.

The crowds parted eagerly for the four of us, though I occasionally ran into someone who, wanting to keep watching the commotion, had stepped into the path. As I neared the main doors, I noticed how incredibly dark it was outside. Pitch black seemed to be the only thing beyond the windows and doors, as though the school existed in its own, empty universe.

Before I knew it, I was pushing open doors, and the damp, night air whammed against me. There were no stars in this city, just like in the heart of Polster’s Lake, and the white pavement was dulled to a dark grey. Everything was dark except for the burning lights of the few cars that had started before Dan’s commotion.

I hadn’t paid attention to the color of Dan’s shirt for the entire day, but I will never forget that it was deep forest green. All the white surrounding him, from the flash of headlights to the folds of Melinda’s sleeves, has seared the color into my brain.

I heard a squeal and a thump, and then human sounds like Marcos shrieking and my dad gasping. In the dimness, I could just barely see a man leap out of the car and run to its front. The bright screen of his phone was a beacon that showed me the way to the disaster.

Marcos and my dad stopped at the end of the sidewalk, and I joined them there, watching as the man spoke in low, urgent tones on his phone. When the man was finished, he asked my dad if they could talk. From a distance, Marcos and I watched the men speak. They seemed calm, too calm. But then again, so were we.

We were like that until the ambulance came and spirited Dan to the hospital. Then, people finally began streaming out of the school building, their faces somber. Even the Murray cram school kids were quiet as they walked alongside us. As Marcos and I huddled near my dad, I felt pity, or maybe sympathy, floating in the air, rising off the crowds that surrounded our little group.

My dad cracked when he fell into the driver’s seat of his car. He fumbled with his keys while Marcos and I buckled up in the back, and as I traced patterns in the fuzzy cushions, he turned to face us. His face was a mask of nothingness.

“I’d still like to compete at state,” he said.

I glanced at Marcos, who shrugged and offered a weak smile.

After a few seconds, my dad continued. “You two, do you want to go?”

I looked away, out the window, where a long line of cars waited to turn out of the parking lot. For a long while, everyone was quiet.

“I want to,” Marcos said finally. He even raised his hand a little, but then dropped it back to his lap when he remembered we were in a car.

My dad turned to me. “Autumn?”

Curling in, I shook my head.

“Wo xiang–”

I cut him off. “Wo bu yao.” It didn’t matter what he thought; I didn’t want to compete in the first place, and I certainly wasn’t going to compete again.

My dad sighed, his shoulders heaving hugely. Then he twisted the key, and the car bubbled to life.

We were able to visit Dan later that weekend. When Marcos and I first walked in, we took a few seconds to just stare. Cabinets encircled the room, and the counters were so high that I would’ve had trouble working at one of them. Speckled tiles covered the floor, and our shoes squeaked whenever we stepped.

On a circular table on the door side of a pastel blue curtain, a small piece of notebook paper had been left for us. I let Marcos take it, and after glancing over the letters, he set a tall, gleaming trophy in its place.

“Three plus or minus ‘i’ and three, huh?” he murmured. Oh, so that was what the unsolvable one was. It had imaginary numbers on it.

Marcos turned to me, his mouth set in a grim frown. “Did you write this, or was it…” He trailed off, clearly having reached his own conclusion. As he turned back to the curtain, I noticed his breath catch and his eyes widen. He mouthed something a lot like “Melinda.”

“It wasn’t a hallucination then. I really did see her.” His gaze slid towards me, but I ignored him and walked around the curtain.

Then I saw Dan. He lay on a bed near the window side of the room, propped up a little by a slight angle in the mattress. Somehow, the whiteness of the hospital sheets brought out dark bags under his eyes, and the shadows of his cheek bones seemed all the more prominent. He was asleep too, chest rising and falling in slow, even counts.

Marcos joined me a moment later. “Do you think he saw her too?” he asked. It was not a question aimed at me, or at anyone really, but I said I didn’t know.

“I hope he wakes up soon.” He paused for a moment. “Listen, Autumn. I know you told your dad you didn’t want to go to state, but if Dan wakes up before then, I-I’d really like to go.” Marcos’s eyes were glossy, and his voice had risen so much I hardly recognized it. “It-it means a lot to me, and my family finally thinks I can succeed, that their work over all the time they’ve been here has finally paid off. And w-when your dad called to ask if I wanted to come, h-he told me that you were one challenge question away from placing tenth. If you’d answered number thirty-four instead of thirty-three, you would have gotten a trophy.”

I stared at the foot of Dan’s bed. Had I really been so close? Marcos and Dan were so far ahead that I had no hope of catching up; as far as I’d known, I was awful at math.

Well, we’d made it so far already. Trying to appear nonchalant, I shrugged and muttered that I might keep going just for them.

Now, I still stare at the foot of Dan’s bed. But rather than use it as a way to avoid looking at Marcos, I watch in hope that someday soon, Dan’s feet might stir with slow awakening.

A tear rolls down my cheek as I stuff Melinda’s notebook paper back in my pocket, and for a long time, Marcos and I just stand in that darkened hospital room. Eventually, I hear Marcos make a choking noise. He is crying too, and he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I just wish he’d realized it,” Marcos hiccupped, “realized what Melinda was telling him with those equations.”

I nod slowly, my eyes still glued to Dan.

“He had every right to be happy,” Marcos continues. “Like Melinda said, it was all him! She circled the equation where x equaled three, not the one with an imaginary number added on, so why didn’t Dan understand that he was really that good, that he really deserved his prize?” Marcos is wiping his eyes furiously now, and I want to stop him so he doesn’t rub dirt into his eyes.

“Just wake up and realize it already!” Marcos shouted. “Wake up and hold your trophy and be proud of yourself. You’re better than you think you are, Dan, so please!”

I want to add that we miss him, and we look forward to competing with him again, but when I open my mouth and run the sentences through my mind again, I sound selfish. So instead, I close my eyes and make a wish.

Dan, I think, I hope that someday, you can see a score you earned yourself and be proud of the work you put in. Be happy, and have confidence.

I open my eyes.

Dan does not wake up.