Counting to D

Chapter 1

Numbers danced in the back of my mind. They piled high, providing safety and structure to the confusing world that surrounded me. 829, 839, 853… I hugged my knees tight against my chest and gasped for air between choking sobs. I was lost, alone, and counting. 947, 953, 967… I heard a rapping sound and opened my eyes.

The knock came again, louder. I expected it to be knuckles on wood — my mom, come to give me some hollow motherly words of wisdom. I had nothing to say to that woman. But the sound was knuckles on glass. I turned and saw Arden crouched on the fire escape outside. Her family lived in the apartment directly above ours, and I loved her more than I would a sister. I crawled out of bed and rushed over to unlock the window.

I had this crazy Spidey sense that you were in trouble. Sam, what’s wrong?

I’m fine. I returned to my bed as Arden climbed through the window.

She picked up a brush from my bedside table and removed the scrunchie from my tangled brown ponytail. Liar. She pulled the brush through my hair in a soothing, rhythmical motion.

Arden knew me so well — way better than my stupid mother did. The gentle touch of the brush and the knowledge that she was nearby calmed me. I gulped for air and brushed the back of my hand under the bottom of my glasses, lifting them off my nose so I could wipe the tears from my eyes.

What number are you on?

Twelve thirty-seven.

Arden set down the brush and twisted her fingers into my hair, pulling the strands into a french braid. That’s prime. Indivisible. Talk to me, Sam. What’s tearing you apart right now?

My mom got a job.

I know you’ll miss having her around all the time. But even if your mom is the workaholic of the century, having her focus all her attention on something other than you won’t be that bad. I mean, in general, having employed parents is considered a good thing.

I hadn’t even thought about how little I’d seen my mom when she’d had her last job. I’d become so used to her constant, nearly manic attention. A little space would probably be nice. It’s not that. It’s just…she’s the new senior architect for Willamette Designs.

Willamette? Never heard of it.

It’s a river in Oregon.

Arden’s fingers stopped moving. Your mom’s new job isn’t in San Diego?

Hence the prime numbers.

Arden inhaled audibly, and I knew she was giving herself some kind of internal pep talk before calming me. She had to hate the idea of me leaving just as much as I did, but she’d always been stronger than me. She tugged on my scalp and continued braiding.

My mom was a good architect. But with houses foreclosing all over town, even great architects were living on unemployment. She’d been unemployed for eighteen months. At one point, she’d asked me if I’d care if she started looking for jobs in other cities. Mom had always been loving and supportive of me. Once she hit the one-year mark, I figured it was my duty to be loving and supportive of her. But I thought out of town meant LA or something, so if we moved, my friends would be an hour away. I never dreamed she’d make us move to Oregon.

When do you leave?

Our rent’s paid until the end of the month, so we’re going to leave on the thirty-first.

It’s January twenty-second. Arden wrapped the scrunchie around the end of my braid and transferred her nervous energy to fiddling with the edge of my bedspread.

Yep.

Nine days. Arden’s voice cracked, and I knew she was struggling to keep herself from bursting into tears.

Want to count by prime numbers with me?

She laughed a beautiful Arden laugh that sounded like a bird. Samantha Wilson, you do realize you’re the only fifteen year old on the planet who finds mental math relaxing, don’t you?

I looked at the book resting on the windowsill where Arden had entered. A book I’d lose in a little more than a week. Will you read me a bedtime story?

That would be the reason I came. She slid off my bed and retrieved her book. She sniffled while her back was to me, and I knew she was trying to hold herself together for my sake. Are you up for steampunk tonight? If you want, I can head back upstairs and get something lighter.

No, I need to escape. Zeppelins and zombies sound perfect.

I crawled under my covers. Arden sat down next to me, her back resting against the wall. She began to read, and I let my mind drift away on her words.

I was somewhere between sleep and waking when I felt Arden climb over me on her way back to the window. Arden, how am I going to sleep when you live a thousand miles away?

She shrugged. Full Cast Audio?

I yawned. You aren’t just an audiobook — you’re my best friend. I’m really going to miss you.

She nodded, and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. I know. I’m going to miss you too.

When nine days had dwindled to three, Arden and my other best friend, Gabby, came over to help me pack. Gabby stood in my closet, tearing down hangers and folding clothes into duffel bags. Are you excited to start over?

How can you even ask that? I love my life here. I don’t want to leave at all.

Arden pulled open a desk drawer and scooped pens and rubber bands into a box. I still don’t understand why you even have to leave. You practically live at my house anyway. My parents said you could stay with us until the end of the school year. Have you asked your mom yet?

I pulled photos of me with Arden and Gabby off the corkboard that hung on my wall. I didn’t just ask — I begged and pleaded.

She said no? Arden’s voice cracked.

Yeah. She spouted some garbage about how much she loves me and how we need to stick together as a family.

Sorry. Arden dropped her box on the floor as she crawled under my desk to unplug my computer and pack the cords. At least we tried.

I think you’re looking at this all wrong, Gabby called from my closet. Maybe this move will be good.

How can my moving a thousand miles away possibly be good?

Sure, San Diego has great beaches and the world’s best burrito cart. She was so not helping. But it also has a ton of drama that you get to escape. In Oregon, you can forget about the last fifteen years of crap you’ve gone through. You can stop hiding inside that crazy head of yours. You can stop pretending to be a normal girl and actually, you know, be one.

Gabby, I’m not normal.

You’re better than normal, Arden said from under my desk.

I know that. Arden and I love you and all your insanity. But last time I checked, we weren’t the only students at Washington High. The other girls at our school are serious bitches. If they aren’t making fun of you for being lysdexic, they’re teasing you about being an übernerd. Gabby stumbled from my closet carrying an overflowing duffel bag.

Personally, I love having an illiterate math genius for a best friend, but in these parts, I’m not exactly normal either. Of course, I’m going to miss you something crazy after you leave. I just think, maybe this move won’t be so bad, you know? Maybe there will be more than three decent human beings at your new school. Maybe your new life in Portland will be even better than the one you have here.

It won’t be. I walked across the room and put my arms around Gabby. Arden came at me from the other side, squeezing all three of us together. You guys more than make up for a school full of bitches. I know I’ll never find friends I love more anywhere else.

Don’t replace us. Gabby hugged me tighter. Just don’t be scared either. You’re amazing, Sam, and I know everyone in Portland is going to love you. I just know it.

I wanted to believe her, to start my life over and magically have more than two friends. But changing addresses wouldn’t change who I was. I’d still be me. And I’d still be saying goodbye to the only two people who had ever understood me. Could I really start over? Be a normal teenager? Of course, I wanted to be just like everyone else, but I wasn’t. Gabby and Arden kept me grounded. They made me whole. Without them, I’d never be able to pass as normal. It was a stupid thing to hope for.

I’d met Gabby in kindergarten. I was hiding under the slide on the playground during recess and moving the bark chips into patterns as I mumbled to myself in my secret language of numbers.

Gabby showed up, wearing a pink jumper and two long black braids tied with pink ribbons. Who are you hiding from?

I looked up at her. I’m not hiding. I like it here.

She sat down next to me, and I went back to my mumblings. One hundred twenty-eight, two hundred fifty-six, five hundred twelve…

What do those numbers mean? She started adding bark chips to my piles, totally messing up my system.

I’m doubling. You know, two, four, eight, sixteen… It’s fun.

She scrunched up her nose. I can count to one hundred. You wanna hear?

I shrugged, and she rattled off a hundred numbers in rapid succession. How high can you count?

I thought about it for a second. Nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine. I’m not sure what number comes after that.

Her eyes grew wide. I don’t know either. We could go ask a teacher.

Gabby took my hand and led me out from under the slide toward the teacher on playground duty. She wasn’t my classroom teacher, and I was scared to talk to her. Gabby did the talking instead. My friend has a question for you.

The teacher glanced down, still keeping one eye on the rest of the kids. Yes?

Gabby bumped me with her elbow. I focused on my shoes and asked, What comes after nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine?

The teacher’s voice sounded kind as she answered, Ten thousand.

I found the courage to look up at her. Her lips were slightly parted, and the corners of her mouth curled upward, revealing a band of straight white teeth. There was a glint of laughter in her eyes. I didn’t have to be afraid of her. I swallowed hard. Does one hundred thousand come after ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine?

Yes, it does. She wasn’t paying any attention to the other kids now.

So what’s after nine hundred ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine? A thousand thousand?

She laughed, but not in a mean way, and knelt down in front of me. Her hazel eyes locked on mine. No, a thousand thousand is called a million.

Wow. Gabby jumped up and down. You can count to a million?

I glanced at my bubbly new friend for a fraction of a second before turning back toward the teacher. What’s a thousand million?

A billion.

I turned back to Gabby, who was still awestruck at the idea of counting to a million. "I can’t just count to a million, I can count to nine hundred ninety-nine billion nine hundred ninety-nine million nine hundred ninety-

nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine."

Gabby looked from me to the teacher, her face twisted like she couldn’t decide if she should laugh or scowl. Is that a real number?

Yes.

What comes next? My mind was spinning with excitement.

A trillion.

Gabby seemed over the thrill of counting to infinity. She took my hand and dragged me toward a swing set.

The teacher stood up and watched us leave. Hey, kid, she called after me. How old are you?

I raised one hand in the air and waggled my five fingers. I’m this many.

From that very first day on the playground, Gabby was my best friend. She rarely understood the wanderings of my mind, but she never made fun of me like the other kids did. Instead, it became her personal mission to make sure I had a childhood.

Arden moved to our school at the beginning of first grade. She had her nose permanently stuck in a book and was the only six year old in town obsessed with The Chronicles of Narnia. Arden needed Gabby as much as I did, and our twosome quickly turned into a threesome.

None of us was exactly normal. I traveled to Washington, DC, for a national math competition in junior high — and won. Arden developed an unhealthy obsession for books about vampires. And Gabby made it her mission to expose us to less academic pursuits — even if she rarely succeeded.

Now I was being pushed from the nest. Gabby believed in me. She thought I could do it. I could be a regular teenager. I wanted to believe her, but my chest felt tight and my head filled with numbers.

Chapter 2

I gave Arden and Gabby each a final hug goodbye and climbed into the moving truck. My mom patted my knee and gave me a sympathetic smile. Then she put the truck in gear and pulled away from the curb. I watched my best friends slowly disappear in the side-view mirror. We were really doing it. We were really moving to Oregon. As we pulled onto I-5, I stared out the window and watched my world drift farther and farther into the distance. Mom, what am I going to do about school in Portland? I mean, what classes am I gonna have to take?

She speaks. Does this mean I’m forgiven? Her voice was high and light, like dragging me a thousand miles from my friends was nothing.

I was still pissed that she hadn’t let me stay with Arden, but there was nothing I could do about it. No, but since you insist on dragging me to the land of rainclouds, I guess we can talk about school.

She sighed and answered in a more even voice. You’re enrolled at Kennedy High School in Portland. Your guidance counselor from Washington High already sent them all your transcripts and explained your academic needs.

My academic needs? That was a loaded phrase if I’d ever heard one. In San Diego, I’d been tested and tracked ad nauseam. I liked Gabby’s plan to try for normal, but if I had academic needs, maybe that wouldn’t even be possible. Apparently, I’d already been cast as the dyslexic math genius at Kennedy High.

My mom shifted her attention away from the road long enough to roll her eyes at me. Sam, you’re a smart kid. What did you want me to do, enroll you in geometry? Introductory biology? Maybe a study hall?

Geometry, I guessed that was what most sophomores took. In San Diego, I’d been in calculus. So the people at Kennedy know all about me?

They’re excited to have you. My mom regarded me like I was a prize racehorse or something. They’re transferring all your classes perfectly. I think your new principal’s words were, ‘Meeting Sam will help Kennedy’s top students expand their understanding of the world.’

Great, I was an example before I even got there. Passing for normal was definitely out.

You didn’t happen to learn from this overenthused new principal what textbooks I’d be using, did you?

You’ve got different texts for calculus, physics, and art history. In English you’ll be reading novels. And I’m not sure what will happen with your Spanish textbook, but history and chemistry both use the same books you had in San Diego.

We’d basically covered the school topic, at least to the point I wanted to cover it. And I couldn’t bring myself to talk to my mom about anything more personal. Still, I didn’t want to spend a thousand-mile road trip stewing in my own misery either. I fished in my backpack between my feet and pulled out an MP3 player. I scrolled through the index and pulled up the next chapter in my history textbook, then plugged it into the stereo jack in the dashboard. You’ve got a thousand miles of driving ahead of you. Do you want to learn about the Civil War in the process?

My mom took her eyes off the road for a second to study me. I hadn’t forgiven her, but she smiled anyway, like everything was suddenly okay. A history lesson sounds great.

My stomach flip-flopped as I walked into Kennedy High. In San Diego the school had been open, with lots of portable buildings and outside corridors. Portland was gray and rainy, and the fully enclosed brick building they called a high school had matching gray industrial carpeting.

I found my first-period class — AP US History — and slumped into a seat in the back row. Thanks to Mom’s and my listening marathon in the moving truck, I was good to go all the way up to the Wilson Administration. When Ms. Johnson started lecturing on the Reconstruction Era, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. I was four chapters ahead of the syllabus. Maybe passing my classes wouldn’t be completely impossible. I spent the period stressing about my lack of a social life instead.

I’d never been even remotely popular. Gabby and Arden accepted me, but nobody else in San Diego had. I wondered if I’d make any friends at all here. I couldn’t imagine who would want to be friends with me. I wasn’t a jock or a musician. Mom’s eighteen months of unemployment meant I didn’t have the most fashionable clothes. I was a world-class math nerd, but I seriously doubted advertising that would help me make friends.

Next up was AP Calculus. I didn’t want to run out and captain the mathletes again, but I still loved the consistency of numbers. Instead of paying attention to the lecture, I spent the hour studying the other kids. There were forty-two students in the room — quite a crowd. Either Kennedy High had an exceptional math program or there was only one unit of calc. I recognized a lot of people from my history class, and a few even nodded at me, but nobody said anything. They were all too busy taking notes — like math lectures were something to actually listen to.

When I walked into AP Physics, I vowed to put an end to my mute status. This class was a lot smaller than calc, only nineteen students, and by now all the faces looked familiar. Having the same students in all my classes had to be a good thing. These kids were all smart. They’d want to be my friends, right?

Students leaned against black lab tables, talking and scribbling in notebooks. A handful of geeky-looking guys clustered near the door discussing Fortran. I slid past them and headed for a girl sitting alone at one of the lab tables. She wore tattered jeans and a bright orange T-shirt that said KEEP PORTLAND WEIRD. Blond hair streaked with blue hung over her face, which was buried in a book with a planetary scene on the cover. In normal situations, blue hair would have intimidated the crap out of me, but she was one of only four girls in AP