The Alchemy of Forever

Peet’s. Instead of the ever-present hoodie, he’s wearing a corduroy blazer, which highlights his broad shoulders..
    “That’s a nice dress, honey,” says Mrs. Morgan. “You should wear it more often.”
    “Yeah, you look pretty,” says Noah, and I feel the first tingles of heat on my cheeks. He holds out the cup.
    “Th-thanks,” I stammer, accepting the coffee from him and taking a sip.
    “Morning, Noah,” booms Mr. Morgan, folding his newspaper under his arm and shaking Noah’s hand.
    “We should go,” I say.
    Mr. and Mrs. Morgan follow us out the door and stand on the porch watching as we get into the car. Noah opens the passenger side door for me, and I start giggling. “You don’t have to do that,” I tell him.
    “Right. You’re one of those independent girls.” He sits in the driver’s seat and turns on the engine.
    “Have fun at school!” calls Mr. Morgan, sporting a knowing smile.
    “Drive,” I tell Noah urgently, under my breath. “This is seventeen different flavors of awkward!”
    We peel away and burst out laughing together. He glances over. “You are so red right now.” This just makes it worse. He pushes play on his iPod, and music fills the car and the silence. I feel wound up and nervous, but in a good way. This is definitely new territory.
    We get to school and climb out of the car, and I realize I’m expecting him to run off to class by himself like he usually does. But he’s waiting for me. We walk a few steps when he takes my hand in his. His fingers are warm and dry and strong. At first we’re out of step, but we relax into each other’s pace.
    “Good morning, Kailey and Noah,” Leyla chirps with obvious delight, taking in the sight of the two of us holding hands.
    Noah nods, a big smile on his face. The bell rings, so we don’t stop walking, but I turn around to look at her. Her eyebrows are raised, but she looks happy for me. Nice, she mouths silently.
    We pass Madison and Chantal, both of them beaming at us. I hear them erupt into discussion as we walk away.
    Nicole spots us and glares, shaking her head. But not even her barbed comments or icy looks can penetrate my happiness. Noah isn’t in love with her. He likes me.
    We walk into the biology classroom and I stop in my tracks. I feel the blood draining from my face and my heart thudding thickly in my ears. I drop Noah’s hand, feeling a cold sweat break out on my forehead, my chest.
    There’s a figure standing at the front of the room, his back to us. A familiar silhouette and platinum hair I’d recognize anywhere. He’s writing something on the whiteboard.
    No. It can’t be.
    The man turns around, and I feel my veins turn to ice. I am a butterfly, right at the moment it flies into a net. He straightens his tie and brushes off the forearm of his immaculate black suit. “Good morning, class,” he says, with a brilliant smile. “I’m Mr. Shaw, your substitute teacher.”
    That smile, those eyes watching all of us, that sweep over me, calculating, watching, missing nothing. A smile I never thought I’d see again.
    It’s Cyrus.

twenty-three
     
    Somehow, I make it to my seat. Despite my shock, my hands aren’t shaking as they dutifully unzip my backpack and pull out my notes and textbook.
    Cyrus waits patiently for the class to settle down, for papers to stop rustling, before he clasps his hands together and begins to speak. “The lesson plan for today is a discussion of the human brain.” Students are opening their books to the corresponding chapter. Dazed, I thumb through my textbook, but none of the words make sense.
    “Close the books, please,” says Cyrus. “They are of no use to you today.”
    The students exchange curious glances with one another, but do as he asks. He clears his throat and approaches the whiteboard, where there’s a detailed illustration of the brain, skillfully shaded and textured. “Cerebral cortex,” he says, pointing to the board. “Hypothalamus. Cerebellum. Frontal lobe.”
    He walks away from the board. “You might think of this as a road map to the brain. But, like most road maps, it doesn’t really tell you anything. You can memorize the names of the places and what they’re famous for, but it’s nothing like being there. No matter what those textbooks say, the brain is only partially understood. Some say space is the final frontier. But what about consciousness?”
    He pauses, holding his chin in a cupped hand. “This may sound philosophical, but