sweet to make a million dollars off a math problem.â
â
Just leave it
.â
No, he wasnât always the friendliest dude. He got moody like this, and sometimes heâd just kick Smiles right out of his apartment. Ben had mentioned once that he was a borderline Aspergerâs caseâwhich as far as Smiles understood meant you were, like, actually medically diagnosed as a nerdâand he chalked up most of his strange behavior to the mental disease thing. Smiles knew that Ben didnât mean to be harsh; he was just too wrapped up in his brainy projects. Feisty and wise: He wasnât a cat, he was like a modern-day Yoda.
âDonât get all pissy.â Smiles carried the flier over to the desk and swiveled the notebook toward him. âAre you working on it now?â
Ben tugged the notebook back. He sighed again, much heavier this time, staring at a blank spot on the desk while he spoke. âIf I promise to gamble with you,â he said, âwill you let me work?â
Smiles threw up his hands. âSay no more. Work away. Tomorrow we ride!â
Smiles went across to his apartment, happy as heâd been all day.
13
AT EIGHT OâCLOCK on the nose, Melanie appeared at his door holding a huge plastic container filled with water. Something dark was coiled at the bottom. Smiles recognized it immediately.
âOh my God, Mel.â
It was the best birthday gift he had ever gotten.
Five minutes later, the dragon eel slipped into Smilesâs 120-gallon tank, which had been sitting vacant since Virgil the barracuda bit it two weeks ago. The dragon eel had these fearsome little horns, and black and orange stripes across its body that a tattoo artist couldnât have drawn any better. The thing was a genuine beast, more than a foot long. It squirmed and settled around some fake coral.
âHeâll be shy for a while,â Smiles said, âuntil he gets used to it.â
Melanie watched, her green eyes transfixed. Smiles understoodâsometimes he just stared at his fish for hours before he realized a whole afternoon had passed. But now, he couldnât help staring at Melanie.
She didnât have freckles anymore, but you could still see the tomboy. In a month she would have a tan from cross-country practice. Her face was all elegant linesâsharp cheekbones, defined lips, the long curve of her eyebrows. Melanie was smokinâ and she didnât even know it.
âOh, look,â she whispered. The eel stirred along the bottom, churning the fluorescent pebbles like flakes in a snow globe.
Smiles watched her watching the eel, and his chest caved a little. They were leaning in so close he could smell her. Clean sheets and spring mornings. Maybe it was just her shampoo. Who caredâthe familiar scent lit up his brain receptors like the Fourth of July.
They made eye contact, and all of a sudden he was just doing it: dipping his head and drawing toward her. Kissing her. Tender but intense, soft but electric.
After a while, Melanie broke it off. âUmm, wow . . . Look . . . I donât knowââ
âOh . . . no, Iâm sorry . . . I just . . .â
Melanie had made it clear that they werenât together at the moment, and it looked like she was hitting about 9.5 on the freak-o-meter right now.
âWell, guess I did all right with the present,â Melanie said perkily, trying to laugh it away.
Then, âDonât worry about it, itâs okay.â
And then, after a long minute of staring at the eel together, âWhat was that text about anyway?â
His text. About the letter.
Smiles wasnât sure he wanted to talk about it anymore. Maybe Mr. Hunt was rightâthe letter was toast, and it might be best to give up on it.
âOh, I donât know.â It was already inching its way out of his mind, carting itself off to the trash heap of failed ventures heâd tossed