Chapter Two – Mr. Saito's Neuroscience Club
Recess was a noisy, cluttered storm. The cafeteria was divided loosely into grades; over with the cool, arty twelfth graders sat Dominic and Mallorie, in the scowling pack of eleventh-graders sat Arthur, Eames and Robert, and Ariadne sat with the chipper eighth grade. None of them paid much attention to the other years.
At one point Ariadne glanced up from chatting with her friends and swept her eyes across the cafeteria. There was her cousin Dom, wearing sunglasses and eating lasagna with his arm around his girlfriend Mallorie. In the centre of the eleventh-grade tables was her new next-door neighbor Eames, laughing with the football team. Over in the corner was that geek Fish Face, the one who aced every exam and rarely spoke to anyone but his Dictaphone. At the very edge of the group sat the quiet kid at an otherwise empty table, his hair falling in his eyes, his shoulders hunched over. He was pretty cute. Ariadne waved shyly at him, and he glanced up with a weak smile.
The only connection between the six of them came at the end of recess. One by one, they left their tables and passed the bulletin board. They all paused at the sheet of peppermint-coloured paper in the corner. Neuroscience Club? they all pondered, and wrote their names on the sign-up sheet. Lunch on that same day brought the first meeting.
The lunch bell rang. Arthur made his way to Room 42, wondering what Neuroscience Club actually was. He was quite interested in the brain and how it worked, especially how it functioned while dreaming. He reached the room (number of things thrown at him on the way: six) and opened the door.
Surprisingly, the only ones there were two popular kids and a brunette Year 8 with a cheerful demeanor. Dominic Cobb, practically the leader of the whole school, was reclining in a near-broken chair, and his beautiful yet coldhearted girlfriend Mallorie Suite was inspecting her French-polished nails. The Year 8 bounded up to him. "Hi," she gushed, shaking his hand. "I'm Ariadne Mavitch! What's your name?"
He blinked at her. "Arthur," he stammered. "Hey, you're the kid across the street, right? With the hedge mazes and stuff?"
Her face fell and her shoulders sagged. "Yeah, I guess," she mumbled. Arthur wondered what he had said to make that happen. As usual, everything was his fault.
"Hey, Ari's not a kid!" said Dominic, sauntering over to her. He squeezed her shoulders and she frowned up at him in mock annoyance. "She's a woman now! She has a haaandbaaaag and a traaaiiiining braaaaa and everyth-"
Ariadne slapped a hand up over his mouth to muffle his teasing. "Alright, that's enough, heh heh," she laughed nervously. She blushed at Arthur. "Ignore my cousin. He's a douche."
"Nah, he's cool," said Arthur. "I've heard about you though, Dominic. You're, like, the top authority on neuroscience in this school?"
Dominic removed his sunglasses. "No, that'd be Mr. Saito. He's a genius."
Mallorie flipped her compact open and raised one plucked eyebrow at Arthur. "And you're the gay kid who everybody hates?" she quipped.
Arthur smiled halfheartedly, throwing up his palms. "That'd be me," he admitted, completely oblivious to Ariadne's dropped jaw and tearful eyes.
"Don't worry about the gay thing. Everybody's different, and we're okay with that," said Dominic with a grin. "Aren't we, guys?"
Mallorie mumbled something derogatory but replied, "Yeah."
"Another thing about Mr. Saito; he's a bit weird," warned Dominic. "He has this whole thing about money and world domination, but you get used to it."
Suddenly the door opened and a tall man walked in. He was well-dressed, black hair styled to perfection, Asian features arranged in a scowl. "Speak of the devil," murmured Dominic.
"Welcome to Neuroscience Club," announced Mr. Saito with a thick Japanese accent. "I sure you will enjoy it. Maybe for you it so confusing but I try to make it easy, yeah?" He passed a stack of booklets to Dominic. "Hand these around, will you? And read again three times. Easier to understand."
Mildly amused, Arthur flipped through the booklet. It was mostly about his favourite subject, the subconscious. He underlined a few passages, noting to himself that he had a lot more to learn.
The door opened again, and a familiar voice followed the hooded figure sauntering in. "Sorry I'm late, Mr. S." Arthur froze, feigning extreme interest in the booklet cover. It was that guy from the locker room, the one who had stood up for him. Eames.
"That okay, William," beamed Mr. Saito. "You share Arthur booklet, I only make four copies."
Eames sat down beside Arthur with a smile. "It's you again!" Arthur blinked at him. Wait, had he actually remembered him? "They're still talking about you. But at least they're not beating you up, right?" Yes. He had.
Eames's hand touched Arthur's five times as they read through the booklet in perfect unison. The minutes passed by with the quarterback's body infuriatingly close to his, almost close enough to touch forearms, shoulders, feet. He breathed in his scent: aftershave and sweat. Delicious. The word ran through Arthur's mind before he could stop it. He shook his head and continued reading.
Five minutes before the end of lunch, the door burst open a third time and in rushed Robert Fischer. "Sorry, Mr. Saito, sir," he gabbled. "I was locked in the janitor's closet by some uncouth schoolmates and I couldn't – "
"Shut up, Fish Face," snapped Mr. Saito. "You go share with the girl. You a girl," he said, giggling to himself.
The bell rang and everyone but Eames and Ariadne left the room. Ariadne stood by the window, sighing. "That Arthur guy is so cuuuute," she gushed. "It's such a shame."
Eames froze. "He's not your type," he replied dismissively, flexing his sore muscles.
She rolled her eyes at him. "Eames, something you should know about me is that I like every brown-eyed guy I meet," she said in a patronizing tone. "If he's not my type, then whose type is he?"
Hooking her handbag over her shoulder, she flounced out of the room. She left a strong scent of Impulse and Tic Tacs, but she exited too early to hear Eames' last, almost inaudible word: "Mine."