Chapter Four: Isn't that kind of like velocity?

"We're in a class that has everything to do with nature."

Content warning: queer questioning, emotional tension, internalized anxiety, parental dynamics.

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The sound of my alarm drags me out of a dream I can't remember. Most days, I spring up fast enough to avoid anyone barging in to check I'm still breathing, but not this time. The buzz drones on until I finally slap the snooze button and sink into the silence.

I haul myself to the shower, letting the heat soak the thoughts from my head, and dry off in the fogged mirror. It's a routine I know like muscle memory, but something feels off. I can't tell what. I slip on my Ember River sweater vest and fidget with the knot in my tie until it sits just right. That's when my phone pings.

A new selfie from Christian.

He's grinning in a New England Revolution jersey, a black fedora tilted just enough to be ironic, blue sunglasses reflecting the sky. There's this cocky little smile tucked into the corner of his mouth that radiates a kind of effortless confidence I can't name without sounding like I'm admiring him too much.

I stare longer than I mean to.

Media always makes queerness a neon sign—loud, bright, unmistakable. But Christian is quieter than that. Still, I feel it in him. Or maybe I feel it in myself.

In the kitchen, I hear my parents talking about something mundane—groceries or weather or bills. I don't ask Christian or Dryden for a ride. I just leave. I'd rather walk than explain anything to anyone this morning.

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Christian greets me by my locker like he's always been there.

"What are you doing tonight?" he asks, just as I'm pulling out Lord of the Flies.

"Time travel. Netflix. Probably finishing Cobra Kai. Robbie's entire arc deserves an Emmy," I mutter, stuffing books into my bag. He squints at me like he expected something different.

"You're something else," he says with this amused little laugh, and we start walking to class. Every step feels like a beat skipped in a song I don't quite know the lyrics to.

I want to tell him. Something. Anything. That I like the way he says my name. That I think he might be the first person who actually sees me. But how do you even say that to someone who hasn't asked?

"That your return outfit from last night's study sesh?" I ask, nodding at his polo and messy hair.

He doesn't answer. We slide into our bench seats in physics class, and the air shifts. Something about the silence between us is louder than our conversation.

Mr. Olsten drones on about energy conservation and pendulums. I pretend to take notes. Christian actually takes them. Like, highlighters and diagrams and everything. I draw half a free-body diagram, then spiral it into a doodle. Then another. When he nudges my elbow, I pretend to be focused.

After class, a notification buzzes in my pocket. I don't have to check it. I know it's him. The selfie from earlier still lingers in my mind. I didn't reply.

I consider texting back in art class, but I just stare at my phone and draw a single curved line across the paper. No meaning. No shape. Just movement.

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I spot Dryden across the lot talking to someone from the football team. I should probably say something, but I don't.

Instead, I make my way toward Christian's Jeep.

"Can I get a ride home?" I ask.

He doesn't hesitate. He already has the vest tossed in the backseat, his sleeves rolled, his Vans half-tied.

"C'mon," he says, opening the door. "I won't leave you stranded."

A cassette tape clicks into place, filling the Jeep with retro guitar riffs. He taps the wheel with the beat, casual and smooth, like he's got nowhere to be but here.

"Thanks," I say.

"You need to learn how to vibe more," he says, glancing over. "You're all gears and formulas."

"I don't need to chill. I need..." I trail off. What do I need?

"To breathe," he finishes.

The song switches to The Fray, something soft and cinematic. Outside, the road curves into places I don't recognize. The houses thin. Trees lean into the wind.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

He grins. "Just wait."

We end up at a quiet field on the town's edge. Golden wheat sways beneath a sky of soft pinks and deepening blue. Pine trees border the horizon. It's surreal.

"This place is unreal," I whisper.

"It's just a field. But it feels like a different world, right?" He lifts his phone to take a picture, but doesn't post it. "And science. It's all science. Air. Light. Us."

"None of that's in the physics material," I say, brushing my hand through the stalks.

"That's where you're wrong, Jedi apprentice," he smirks.

"That's not even the right side of the Force," I shoot back.

We sit back-to-back in the middle of the field. The sun dips lower, setting the field ablaze in amber. I feel his shoulder press into mine.

"We're in a free fall. That's life," he says.

"Isn't that velocity? Or acceleration? I should know this."

"It's both. Falling's just movement with no resistance."

I glance over my shoulder at him. "You memorized three hundred pages just to sound poetic."

"You're catching on."

He leans back, head tipped to the sky. His hair flutters in the breeze. I memorize the moment without meaning to.

"Science and judgment exist side by side. Doesn't matter if you get the equation right. People still make assumptions."

"That's your deep thought of the day?"

"Hey," I say. "It took effort."

He grins. "I'm proud of you."

"You don't sound like it."

"I'll work on my delivery."

We stay until the sun dips beneath the trees, golden light giving way to shadow. Then we head back to his Jeep.

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By the time we pull into my driveway, High School Musical is playing softly from the cassette.

He parks. I grab my bag from the back.

"See you tomorrow," I say.

"Later, Hemsworth."

He winks.

Inside, Dryden is waiting in the den.

"Where were you?"

"With a friend."

"A guy?"

"Yeah. From class."

He crosses his arms. "You could've told me. I waited."

"I didn't know you were waiting. I didn't plan it."

He frowns but doesn't push.

"Next time, let me know."

"Okay. I will."

He heads to the back garden without another word. The door slams behind him.

Mom barely glances up from the stove. "You're home."

"Yeah. Homework."

Upstairs, I settle into my bed with my physics book and earbuds.

Ping.

It's a photo. Christian had taken it in the field—my silhouette backlit by the sun. The caption: Edge of Physics.

Me: That's not how physics works, remember?

Christian: No way. I thought it was 😉😉

Me: I was attempting another study session 😁😏

Christian: See you tomorrow at your locker, Hemsworth. 🌄🧠

Christian: I've got two tests to study for tomorrow and you might be a problem.

I read the texts over again, a small grin tugging at my mouth.

I might be a problem.

That's... fine by me.

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