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For a moment, Ramón looks bewildered, but the smile soon reappears. “Well, I’ve always wanted one.”

I can’t help but laugh. “I’ll see what I can do.”

David walks me outside to the car. He doesn’t say anything until we reach it.

“I hope you don’t mind my Tio,” he says, the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. “He—uh—he’s in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. One of the reasons I live with him. It’s not too bad yet, but I like to keep an eye on him, you know?”

“Sure,” I reply. I can’t help but think about Gaudium and how Papa keeps saying its next big advancement will be the cure for Alzheimer’s. Maybe someday it will help Ramón.

We stand looking at each other for a few seconds. I decide to take a chance and tell him the real reason why I’ve come.

“David, I need to talk to you,” I take a deep breath, pulling nervously at my sleeve. And the rest of the words just come tumbling out. “I’m sorry about the other day. I really am. But I found this picture in my father’s desk, and something’s just not right about it, and I don’t have anyone else I can talk to, but then I realized I had your cell phone, and—”

“Whoa. Hold on a second,” he says. “Slow down. You found a picture?”

“Yes, of my father and another woman, but…” I stop talking and squeeze my eyes shut. What am I doing? I take another deep, calming breath. I need to be rational about this or else I might scare David off again. “I just wondered if you could spare some time to talk with me about it. But I’d totally understand if you’re busy—or you don’t want to.”

David opens my car door for me. I take his silence as a ‘no’. Embarrassed, I quickly climb in behind the steering wheel. But then David is leaning over, smiling at me.

“Mira, I’m glad you came today.”

“You are?”

“Yeah. I acted like a real jerk at the hospital. It was just, you know, kind of a shock.” He squats down so his face is level with mine. “What I mean to say is that, I’m sorry. I like you, I really do, and I don’t want whatever you’re dealing with to come between us.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. “All right,” I say numbly.

His smile grows wider. “Good. Now, I’ve got to run my uncle to the store, but I’ll come by your house afterwards so we can talk, okay?”

I nod a little too enthusiastically. He closes my door, and I start the engine. When I catch a glimpse of my watch a jolt of panic shoots through me. I’ve got ten minutes to beat Helen home.

“Bye!” I shout through the window. “See you later!”

Releasing the parking brake I shift into gear, jerking Mama’s VW forward. As I drive off, I look in my rearview. David’s watching me, a perplexed but happy expression on his face.

D
avid arrives at the mansion
about an hour later, and while Helen prepares breakfast for both of us, I tell him about how I came across the photo of Papa and Jackie Beitner.

“I’m not sure what I should do.” I drag an absentminded finger down the side of my juice glass. A trickle of condensation forms a little pool on the table. “Maybe I should try to find her, talk to her. What do you think?”

“Would you mind passing the syrup?”

I unscrew the little red cap and hand David the bottle. Then I watch in awe as he smothers his pancakes with the viscous brown liquid.

“This stuff is really good,” he says. “Better than any syrup I’ve ever had.”

“At twenty bucks a bottle, it better be,” I tell him. “It’s real maple syrup, not that sugary junk they sell at the market. Papa orders it from Vermont. Now, would you mind turning a little attention away from your food and focusing it on me?”

He takes a rather large bite of dripping pancake, and chases it down with a few gulps of freshly squeezed orange juice.

“All right,” David mumbles, setting down his glass and wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I’m all ears.”

“Really? For the last few minutes I could swear you were all mouth,” I say with a hint of playful sarcasm.

David grins before taking one last triumphant bite of his breakfast. “There. My plate is now clean. You have my undivided attention.”

“Finally,” I say, tossing my unused napkin at him. “I’m just wondering where to start? All I know about Jackie Beitner is that she worked for Papa while he was at Rawley, but she was a temp and didn’t work there very long.”

“Let me see that photo again.” He pushes his plate out of the way. I pass the picture across the table and watch as he studies the image on the front for a minute before turning it over. “This definitely seems odd. Since when do temps get so buddy-buddy with their bosses?”

“That’s what I think, too.” I take the photo back. “He claims he hardly knew her.”

“What does your mom think about her?”

“What?”

“When you see your mom’s thoughts, I mean. Does she have any suspicions?”

His question startles me, and I’m not exactly sure how to respond. “Not about Jackie. She actually liked her, though she did wonder about her and Gregory Stark, that researcher who conducted those tests. But Mama never had any reason to think Papa and Jackie were—involved.”

Just then the door to the kitchen opens and Helen comes in to clear the table. “How was it then?” she asks, collecting David’s plate and the empty hotcake platter.

David proceeds to gush over the meal, telling her how much he enjoyed every bite. His compliments are sincere, and Helen blushes from them all. When she takes my plate, she gives me a chastising look.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I guess I wasn’t that hungry.”

“I’ll let it slide this time.” She offers me a slight look of disapproval before sending David an almost flirtatious smile. “You’ve got a nice beau here, Mira. Hope you’ll bring him around more often.”

I feel my face flush. “He’s just a friend,” I say quickly, but Helen doesn’t buy it. She raises her eyebrows and hums a little on her way out.

“I’m sorry about that,” I tell David once we’re alone. Glancing at him, I realize that he’s studying me. He doesn’t say anything, and I wonder what he’s thinking.

“David, I need to explain—about the other day.” I recall how he walked out of Mama’s room, how upset he was thinking that I had blown him off. But then I think of his hand on my knee and the tender way he looked at me just then. Maybe he could believe me if I give him a chance.

David sets both elbows on the table and folds his arms, listening intently.

“I told you the truth—about me,” I continue. “And about Mama. There’s something wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing
wrong
with you, Mira,” he says quickly. “I’m sorry I reacted the way I did. I just didn’t understand, that’s all. But I want to.”

He leans close to me until we are only inches apart. He’s so near I can smell the musk and vanilla of his cologne. “How did this happen to you?”

“I’m not sure,” I answer honestly. “I think I was born with it, but it didn’t hit full force until recently—after I got immunized.”

“You mean this is a reaction to Happy Juice?”

I grin at hearing Gaudium’s nickname. “Maybe.”

“But I thought it didn’t have any side effects. The perfect cure, right?”

“So they say.”

“Jeesh, I’m glad I didn’t get it.”

“You didn’t?”

“Not yet. The regulations for immunizing at sixteen went into effect late last year. I’m eighteen. I have to wait for the new batches along with the rest of the
grown-ups
.”

I hadn’t considered the fact that David hasn’t been given Gaudium, nor have any other adults. Just us teens. I wonder how the Rawley scandal will affect the drug’s future? Until those deaths became public there was little, if any, opposition to it eventually going mainstream.

“You know,” David continues, “I never understood how you can cure things like Bipolar Disorder and Autism, but we still can’t cure the common cold.”

“That’s simple, actually,” I explain. “The cold, the flu, things like that are caused by viruses. Viruses mutate, so every time we’re exposed it’s like getting a whole new illness. There are vaccines, of course, and some diseases have been completely eradicated, like small pox and polio. But for other things like the flu, you have to get immunized every year.”

“And Gaudium is different how?”

“Mental illnesses and even some developmental disorders are caused by chemical deficiencies or imbalances in the brain. Gaudium repairs the damage that causes those deficiencies. Except it didn’t quite work right with me for some reason.”

David leans back in his chair, thinking out loud. “So, this thing about Jackie Beitner could be solved pretty easily. If you just touch your Dad once, you’d save yourself a lot of trouble.”

“Well, in theory, yes. But in actuality—no.”

“But I thought you said when you touch someone—”

“Except my dad. For some reason it doesn’t work with him. I have no idea why.”

“He’s the
only
exception?”

“The only one so far.”

David nods, contemplating all this. “So, what’s it like, this mind hacking thing?”

Mind hacking?
I flinch at the distasteful term.

I take a deep breath and let it out in a measured stream. “Have you ever been burned?”

“Sure. The worst, I think, was when I burned my finger on my mom’s iron.” He sucks in some air through his teeth. “Man, it hurt for a week.”

“Okay,” I tell him. “Now imagine that burn all over your body, inside
and
out.”

His eyes become more focused. He’s concentrating on me, wondering.

“And the pain?” I continue, leaning in for emphasis. “Triple it.”

David stares at me with such seriousness that I can’t help but crack a smile. It seems to set him at ease a little.

“But that’s not the worst part of it. Getting a life’s worth of pain and sorrow, joy and fear, dreams and nightmares dumped all at once into my brain, which has more than its own fair share of all that—it’s horrible.”

“So your mom, when you visit her, you touch her to—”

“To reassure myself that she’s still in there somewhere.” I realize that David looks sad, almost depressed. What I’ve told him is more than he expected to hear. He needs time to—as he says—process.

“So, back to Jackie Beitner,” I say, hoping to get his mind back on track.

“Right. Right.” David sighs, his trance broken. “Let’s see. If Jackie was a temp, then she probably was a local, but in L.A. local could mean one of dozens of towns within an hour radius.”

“Actually, she was from Bakersfield, a couple hours north of here. Mama remembers Jackie mentioning that she planned to go back there when she stopped working for Rawley.”

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to look for her there. Why don’t we start by checking the internet for listings?”

He pulls his phone from his pocket.

“Why don’t we use my computer?” I suggest. “The screen’s bigger.”

David follows me up to my room. I feel incredibly grateful for Helen who has picked up after me. There’s no trace of my pajamas or the wet bath towel I left on the floor this morning.

I sit down at my desk, a relic from my childhood paat. Painted bright green to match my lime and Pepto-Bismol walls, it’s an eyesore as well as an embarrassment.

“I just have to turn the computer on.” I see David in the oval mirror above my desk. He stands so close behind me I feel his chest lightly brush up against the back of my head. “It takes a sec to warm up.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he’s looking at me again. I can’t help but look at him, too. It seems safer to look at each other in the mirror, as if it were a magic barrier shielding me from getting too close. I let my eyes study his face, something I haven’t allowed myself to spend much time doing before. Right now his expression is conflicted. I watch as he slowly raises his hand behind me. He hesitates before resting it on my right shoulder. I feel his warmth through my hoodie.

“This is all right, isn’t it?” he asks. “No skin.”

“Sure. I’m good,” though my heart’s thumping so fast I can hardly bear it. Then his hand shifts, and his fingers stroke my hair. It’s just the lightest of touches but sends pleasant shivers down my neck.

“And this?” His voice is as gentle as his touch. His fingers burrow deeper into my hair, careful to avoid contact with my scalp. I close my eyes, leaning my head back a little. My mother used to run her fingers through my hair but hadn’t done it since my problem got too strong for me to handle. David’s hand leaves my hair and slides down my shoulder to my back, massaging in small circles just below my shoulder blade. It feels so nice. I open my eyes to look at him again, and I’m startled by the desire that stares back at me. He wants to touch me as much as I don’t want him to.

The computer emits a loud beep.

“It’s ready.” I try to keep my voice from trembling. David’s hand drops to his side. The magic between us evaporates. “There’s a chair in the corner,” I tell him.

I mean for him to bring the chair close so we can both look at the computer screen. Instead, he walks over and drops down on it. He looks dejected.

Trying to ignore the empty feeling sprouting in my stomach, I Google Jackie Beitner— Bakersfield, California.

“Nothing.”

David stretches out his legs and arms in front of him. “Is she on Facebook?”

I log onto my Facebook account and type in her name and several variations of it. “I don’t see a single one.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Lots of people don’t have Facebook accounts. Let’s look up the Yellow Pages.”

“David, there’s no guarantee she still lives there after sixteen years. She could be anywhere by now.”

I stare at the computer screen, tempted to just shut it off. So I found a picture of my father and some woman. So maybe he cheated on my mom. Aren’t all politicians the same? Should I have expected better of him? What am I trying to prove by digging in his dirt? Mama accepted Papa for who he is. Why can’t I?

“What are we doing?” I glance at David sitting by the window. He looks amazing with those eyes and strong shoulders. And when he smiles, those dimples of his send little zings through me. Refocusing on the computer, I silently hope he didn’t notice me staring at him.

“I don’t know, Mira,” he replies. “What
are
we doing?”

“So Papa keeps an old photo of her hidden away,” I say out loud, as if giving voice to my concerns will make them vanish. “It might not mean anything.” I realize my tone
is defensive, a little angry even. But I’m not angry at David. I’m angry at myself for letting my imagination get the better of me, and for butting into my father’s business.

“What are you going to do?” David asks.