Page 16 of Reckless Hearts
Even when Eugene messages to say it was great to meet me the other day but he thinks we’re better off as friends, it hardly registers as another failure in my meager dating record.
Because I had sex with Marcus Johnson!
I keep looking out for him around campus, but unfortunately, I never see him. I’m sure that’s due to the rules of probability rather than him actively avoiding me. I’m a first-year doing a science degree. He’s a fourth-year doing law and commerce. Our schedules don’t naturally align, and I can spend only so much time hanging around the law faculty without seeming like a stalker.
At home, I can’t help replaying the encounter between us almost constantly.
Different parts of my room have been reclassified based on my Marcus hookup. It’s like going on a tour of all the spots where your favorite movie was filmed.
This patch of carpet was where I stood when Marcus first kissed me.
That is the pillow my head rested on while Marcus went down on me.
These are the sheets I spent the night on next to Marcus, and the spot in my bed where I now spend lots of quality time with my hand, replaying the whole experience.
Even sitting at the dinner table, I can’t stop thinking about Marcus.
Although tonight it’s because Saskia is here. She’s flatting with friends this year, but she still comes home for dinner every Wednesday night.
Sometimes, I think Saskia only visits because she needs a weekly recharge of my parents’ praise. It’s a power source for her, like the ARC reaction is for Iron Man’s suit.
She happily chats away about her law papers, and my parents lap up every word like it’s cream and they are incredibly thirsty cats.
Our family has always been like this. Saskia is the star attraction, the main act. I’m the supporting role, the barely audible background music.
“And my professor said it was the best analysis of the flaws in the criminal justice system that she’s ever read,” Saskia finishes the story of her latest triumph with a flourish.
My father grins proudly. “That’s my girl.”
“How’s university going for you, Seb?” Saskia asks. She can be generous like this, often redirecting the conversation to me, as though it’s part of her big-sister duty to remind our parents that they actually have two children.
“Good. I’m really enjoying my biology papers. I’m thinking about majoring in zoology.”
I don’t share how this idea was cemented by my Biology of Animals class trip the other day. We went to the Animal Attic of Otago Museum, which was like stepping into a time capsule of Victorian scientific curiosity. There’d been rows of glass cases packed with taxidermied creatures that stared back at me with deadened eyes, like they had seen too many generations of gawking humans.
We were supposed to be looking at mammal morphology, but I’d found myself caught up at a cabinet that displayed the Huia, with its glossy black feathers, bright orange wattle, and ivory bill. The label next to it was like a tombstone:Extinct, 1907.
And there were more ghosts of native birds trapped behind glass in the next cabinet, an awful roll call of not only the dead but the gone forever. All the extinct species that had been wiped off the planet.
That the frenzied Victorian collectors managed to amass such an impressive array of preserved specimens yet failed to preserve the actual species felt like nature’s darkest joke.
While I stood there, it felt like the weight of all those empty skies settled on my shoulders. I’d made a silent vow to do whatever I could for the native birds New Zealand had left so they wouldn’t end up just another dusty exhibit behind glass.
My father frowns at me now, jolting me back from the memory. “I don’t know how zoology is going to lead to a decent job. Surely majoring in physics or chemistry would be a better choice?”
“Leave Seb alone, Daddy,” Saskia says. “He’s got time to figure it out. I had no idea what I was doing the first year either.”
I know she’s trying to back me up, but somehow, her words come across as patronizing.
I’m not a baby. I slept with your best friend.
On second thought, that’s probably not the best line to blurt out at the dinner table. Though it might actually get Dad to stop suggesting alternative career paths.
I stare down at my mashed potatoes instead.
“Marcus and I went to the travel agent today to book our trip to America.”
I jerk my head up at the sound of Marcus’s name.
