1.3 - Zenith

Nova didn’t know how to dress for a date. Sirena had told her that “stinky gym shorts” were “out of the question,” but there wasn’t much else in her closet. So she turned to Sirena’s.

“I like that one,” Sirena remarked.

“It feels really tight,” Nova pulled at her neck.

“I think you’re just not used to wearing real clothes,” Sirena laughed.

“Shorts are real clothes,” Nova muttered.

“Are you excited?” Sirena asked

Nova frowned as she flopped on the bed. “No. Just nervous.”

“What’s there to be nervous about?”

Nova gestured vaguely at herself. “Me. I’m going to mess this up. Oh Maker, Sirena. What will I even talk about? The gym? He’ll hate me!”

Sirena laughed. “First off, no one can hate you. Second, you don’t have to talk. Just ask questions. He’ll love it.”

“How do you know?”

“Sweetie, look at his bio. He’s full of himself.”

“That's exactly why I’m nervous. He went to Académie Le Tour. Meanwhile, I don’t even remember Simnation history.”

“Don’t be mean to yourself. He probably doesn’t remember Simnation history either. Isn’t he a tech bro or something?” 

“True."

"So you got this."

"Fine. I got this," Nova slid off the bed, “do I look stupid?”

Sirena smiled. “Every day, babe.”

Nova insisted on selecting the location of the date, and Carwin–a gentleman–acquiesced readily. She chose a small, run down coffee house a short walk from her house. Even in autumn, it was ungodly hot. Nova pulled at her turtle neck as she walked, cursing Sirena for convincing her to abandon her breezy gymwear.

Don’t ever let a man pay, and make sure you can get home by yourself, a voice suddenly rang in her head. Her mother’s–advice she had apparently remembered subconsciously. She patted her back pocket–her phone and debit card were securely in place.

Carwin was waiting at a small table by a bright, open window. He stood as she approached. 

“Nova?” He asked as he extended a hand.

“Yes,” she accepted it, “And you’re Carwin.”

“In the flesh,” he smiled, “I ordered you a boba tea. I hope that’s okay.”

Nova tried to maintain a blank face. “Yeah. Perfect.”

They sat in awkward silence. Nova took a sip of the boba, gagging when she accidentally sucked up a tapioca pearl.

“So,” Carwin said, “Nova Lore. That’s an interesting name.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’d say the same about Carwin Blythe.”

“I always thought it made me sound like a hellfire and brimstone Jacoban preacher myself.”

“Nah, Blythe is definitely Peteran,” she smiled. He chuckled. She would learn this about him, that he laughed hardest when she caught him off guard.

Carwin leaned back in his chair. “So what do you do for fun, Nova Lore, when you aren’t on terribly awkward first dates?”

Awkward? She hadn’t thought it was that bad. “Well,” she shifted uncomfortably, “I really like working out.”

“I noticed,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. Silence overtook the table.

Her face grew hot. She couldn’t stand the quiet, or his deep, dark eyes. She wondered if her gaze was as off-putting as his. “Um, thanks. Yeah, I spend most mornings at the gym–the one on Kalahari Crossing. I really like, you know, working up a sweat, like an ungodly amount of sweat, and then sitting under the air conditioner. It’s,” she paused, “nice. Oh Maker, I’m sorry.” She forced herself to drink some tea, just so she would shut up.

Carwin nodded, his eyes wide. “Well, I suppose that’s what sweat is for, isn’t it?”

Nova wanted to die.

She was losing. Time to reassess, to orient herself to her original plan. Just. Ask. Questions, she told herself. 

“Do you have any siblings?” Carwin asked.

“One,” Nova lied, “you?”

“None. I–”

“Where’d you grow up?” Her words sliced through his.

“Twinbrook. How about–”

“Did you play any sports in high school?”

“I ran track,” he said, “what sports–”

“So you went to Académie Le Tour, huh?”

“Yes, I–”

She raised her voice. “What was your major?”

He raised his eyebrow in turn. “Business. I thought you knew that.”

“So do you walk to work or drive or what?”

“Nova,” Carwin reached out and put his hand on hers, “is there a reason for the interrogation?”

She laughed nervously. “Interrogation? I’m just getting to know you,” she paused as she searched for a way to punctuate the sentence, “brochacho.” She winced.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you seem a little nervous. I thought we really connected the other night, Nova. You don’t have to worry about impressing me,” Carwin smiled warmly.

Nova could feel pressure building behind her eyes. She never really cried–at least, she thought she never really cried–but at this moment she didn’t know what to do. Why was she here? She didn’t have anything to offer. She blinked heavily, forcing the pressure to dissipate. 

“I lied,” she blurted out.

“Excuse me?”

“I lied,” she repeated herself, “I don’t have a sibling. I don’t know if I have any siblings–I mean I know I had a family, but I don’t remember them. I don’t know where I’m from, I don’t know what sports I played in high school, I don’t know why I’m in Lucky Palms. I was in an accident, and now I don’t remember any of that. And I don’t know why I came on this date, knowing that you would ask me about family and high school and where I came from.”

“I see,” Carwin said slowly, “that’s…a lot to not remember.”

Nova inhaled sharply. “So if you just want to end this date now, I totally get it. I’m a potato.”

Carwin chuckled. “You’re hardly a potato.”

“I don’t like being laughed at,” she said crossly.

“I’m sorry,” he tried to hide a smile. “Thank you for sharing with me, Nova. It can’t be easy for you. If you don’t mind me asking–”

“I do,” she said, “whatever question you’re going to ask, I don’t know the answer. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a bitch. I probably shouldn’t have come here. You know what, I know I shouldn’t have come here. I'm sorry. I wasted your time.” She started to stand up.

“Nova, please,” Carwin rose to match her, “don’t leave. You are the only other alien I’ve ever met. I’m sorry for laughing. You’re quick, and witty, and you’re not a potato. Far from it. I’m sorry–for everything you’re going through. Please, sit. Talk with me.”

Nova lowered to her chair. “About what?”

“Whatever you do remember,” he smiled, “or, if you don’t mind, I can ask you some general questions?”

She nodded.

“How have you been enjoying Lucky Palms?”

“It’s okay. Hot. Everyone seems a little weird. Distant, if that makes sense. I’ve tried introducing myself to a few people, but no one has been…nice.”

Carwin nodded, “I know what you mean. Twinbrook is a lot more rural, smaller. It’s a little backwards, but it’s the kind of place where every person who passes you on the street says hi.”

“That sounds nice,” Nova said dreamily. “And people aren’t weird about, well, you know–you being an alien?” She lowered her voice.

“I’m not sure we exactly stood out. We weren’t the only green folks in Twinbrook. I think that’s why my parents settled there.”

“Interesting,” she said, “I wonder why my parents picked Bridgeport.”

“Bridgeport? I thought you said you didn’t know where you’re from.”

“Sirena–my friend, the one I live with–told me I’m from Bridgeport. I just don’t remember it.”

“Bridgeport has a pretty live performance scene. You said you’re a contortionist, right?”

“Acrobat,” Nova smiled, “hey, I’m actually performing at Panem Park tomorrow. You should come.”

“I’d love to,” Carwin smiled in return.

***

“Did you notice how everyone in there was staring?” Carwin said as they strolled out of the cafe.

Nova nodded with an awkward laugh. “So the last time I went for coffee at that place, the barista wrote ‘berry sim’ on my cup,” she cringed as she told Carwin, “I mean, what the fuck.”

“Jeez,” Carwin grimaced, “Did you complain?”

“What’s the point?” she said, “At least they spelled it correctly.” 

“Still, what a jackass. That reminds me of a time in college when a girl in my dorm building asked why I wasn’t named after a fruit.”

“Ew,” Nova laughed, “I mean, thank the Maker that people are so naive they think we’re berries, but still. How ignorant.”

“I mean, I’ve had a few people figure out I'm an alien, but I just wipe their memories,” he shrugged.

Nova stopped. “You fuckin’ what now?”

Carwin slowly turned to her. “Nova–you don’t remember that, do you?”

“Carwin! Remember what? You’re going to have to be more specific!”

He lowered his voice. “Nova, it’s not just our eyes and skin that are different. You know that, right?”

Nova nodded. “I barely sleep. And I feel, sometimes, like I…feel other people’s minds. Like I know when Sirena is home from work before she walks in the door.”

“I hope you don’t find this too forward, but how about we go somewhere more private?”

Again, she nodded.

Carwin’s house was sparsely decorated, with no wall art and a dearth of knick knacks. Nova couldn’t decide if his walls were white out of intention or laziness. Either way, she was disappointed. She assumed he would be at least a little prouder of his surroundings.

“I just moved in,” he said, “that’s why it’s so bare.”

Nova scrunched her nose. “Can you read minds?”

“Not yours, no. I can just read your face,” he smirked, “make yourself comfortable. I’m going to make some coffee.”

Nova perched on the edge of the couch, plainly uncomfortable. Carwin returned a moment later and placed two mugs on the coffee table.

“Well. Shall we?”

Nova blinked. “I’m sorry, what are we going to do?”

“Right. I guess I should explain.”

Nova listened impatiently as Carwin explained the difference between human and alien neurology. “Humans have six lobed brains, but we have a seventh lobe–an asymmetry that isn’t usually found in nature. It accounts for our psychic abilities.” His face fell when he noticed her glazed-over eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she blinked, “I’m more of a hands-on learner.”

“Got it. Lean back,” he instructed her, “and close your eyes.”

With doubt, Nova followed his directions. Carwin ordered her to deepen her breathing, and then imagine a golden light on her forehead widening. “Think of something you want to remember,” he said, “maybe your family?”

She breathed in and out, imagining that golden light. And then, it came: a rush of a memory, her as a child. Her hand was on a ballet barre, her feet bound in tight flats. Next to her was a boy, oddly colored with insect eyes. They were demi-plieing, or at least attempting to.

“Oh my Maker,” Nova gasped as she lurched forward. Then she started cackling.

“Are you okay?” Carwin asked.

“Zenith,” she laughed, “he looked so stupid in his costume.”

“Who’s Zenith?”

Her laughter ceased and she turned to Carwin, eyes wide. “Zenith is my twin brother. I remember him now. I remember my brother.” 

Nova stood up, her hands on chest. Her breath was even, deep, slow, but her muscles were on fire, her skin pulsating with unparalleled energy.

She lunged forward, grabbed Carwin by his hands, and pulled him up to her. She pressed her lips against his. He returned the kiss with vigor.

Nova wouldn’t return home until well into the following morning.

***

Author's Note: I don't know anything about brains.