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“Aw, Mary!”
“That’s for tickling me on patrol, as Junior!” She grabbed his arms and tugged them lightly behind his back, playful as one of Mrs. Bromfield’s newborn kittens (Freddy would feed them milk on his stays over there). Mary had allowed Freddy to pick two from the litter, so he’d adopted “Kitty” Freeman and Jacob—the lousy tomcat was currently drooling on top of Freddy’s bed.
How he got into these sorts of positions, it was hard to say. Note to self: Never underestimate a playful Mary. That’s when she meant business, alright.
“Mercy!! I give! You would attack a poor, defenseless cripple?”
Mary grimaced at that word, and responded not a little harshly: “You shouldn’t say stuff like that,” a frown, a charged glance—“Not even as a joke.”
There was silence on his end. It might have filled the room, tendrils curling—awkwardness, invasive ‘n’ icky. Like having to sit through her mother introducing her as her “Sweet, darling Mary,” praises ringing. Being paraded around like a package, a parcel on strangers’ doorsteps. Well, Mary wasn’t disabled; but she knew what being objectified was like.
Staunchly, she turned back to what was at hand. Freddy seemed ashamed.
“Don’t lecture me about it, don’t lecture—I know.” We’ve talked about it…
It’s not my place to tell you what you can and can’t say. “So long as you know, Freddy.” – Mary perked up, trying to ease the atmosphere. Not so easily deterred. “Anyways,” she continued. Fishing something out of her backpack (but what was it? what was? Freddy floundered, sightlessly).
“I brought a present for you.”
Being face-down, Freddy Freeman was a hapless victim. His single crutch had been tossed alongside the girl’s sack during their little scuffle, and at present Freddy was groping for information. Finally, Mary’s fingers found their way into Freddy’s hands—but when they did, he gasped! And practically jolted, as though struck by lightning.
(Nay, a bolt hand-thrown from Olympia by Zeus himself would have administered less of a shock. That, he was used to, but Mary--? There was absolutely no telling with her, none at all. She was a wildcard.)
“Ooh… Whazzthat!”
It felt like she’d poured water on his hands, but when he squeezed, the substance felt surprisingly solid. Freddy’d travelled space without having encountered a stranger texture.
“You’ll just have to guess!” Mary giggled, devious.
Now inquisitive. “Hmm… Riddle me this: what’s viscosity?”
Freddy started quoting an excerpt from one of Professor Edgewise’s journals: “Viscosity is the magnitude of internal friction, as measured by the force per unit area resisting a flow in which parallel layers unit distance apart have unit speed relative to one another.”
Mary’s eyed widened.
“I guess you learn a lot living in the same housing as him! Can you explain what that means, in simpler terms?”
Freddy’s eyebrows furrowed. “I’ve got what they call a ‘photographic’ memory, but… That doesn’t mean I understand everything,” he confessed. Sure, he enjoyed watching the prof at work, but his participation was limited. Fawcett’s Child Labor laws weren’t lax.
“Cool. What state of matter do you think it is?”
“Uhm… Either a liquid or a solid?”
Eager to demonstrate her knowledge, Mary took over: “We made cornstarch gloo in Chem class today. It’s a polymer. What you’re holding is a non-Newtonian fluid!”
Freddy balked. “A…what?”
If the boy had turned around, he’d have been able to spot Mary’s pout. She placed her hands upon her hip. “You mean to tell me that Mister Edgewise has never used that term in any academic papers of his before?”
“He’s a bit of a purist, I admit.”
Mary Bromfield laughed. The very idea seemed absurd to her. Why, scientists were always debunking previously held theories in place of newer ones! That’s just progress. “Strange man!”
“Yeah, I guess so!” Now it was Freddy’s turn to laugh. “Unhand me?”
“Of course, Freddy… Here, let me help you up too.” She placed the goo back into her bag, which she then slung over her shoulder. “Well?”
Freddy grasped hold of her arm, outstretched. She heaved him up, and did not relent as she led them across the room; picked up his crutch, and transferred it to him. He shook his head, but smiled. I can always trust you to treat me as anybody else.
“Let’s go! Don’t want to be late for that podcast Billy invited us to, courtesy of Amalgamated Broadcasts.”
Freddy hummed. “They’re professional. We’re just a couple of whiz kids, y’know. Guests.”
“Maybe so, but I’m hopeful. It’s a chance. My brother started out young, too. You know…”
Mary reached the door before him. “One day you’ll have to say goodbye to this boarding home, ‘cause we’ll be proper reporters at some high-ranking paper company.” Her feet touched down on some other substance—“Yuck! This isn’t… It’s alcohol?”
Freddy gave her a sympathetic look. “Sorry, Mary. Glories of living in a boarding home. You know!” He hopped over the mess, taking one more glance at his room. It wasn’t luxurious by any stretch of the imagination, but he’d miss the place once he left it. He had made friends here, even in the alcoholics. He just wanted them to reform.
“What was that you were saying about the future my paper company?”
If Freddy’s fellow lodgers were paying any attention that afternoon, they would have heard laughter—dimmed by thin walls, but audibly jubilant. Big dreams emitted from little people in littler cities. Unbeknownst to all, such dreamers were in fact the world’s mightiest at heart: but deep down, mortals as them all. With aspirations.
They might have heard two thunderbolts as well.