" . . . and I'm so confused now. I mean, I don't dislike Gretchen or anything but I know she's gotta crush on me, and I really hate that I'm just using her to get Mom off my case. It makes me sick Zim, she deserves better than that - but I can't cancel on her ether, cos then she'd be really upset. And of course that wouldn't help calm the air with Mom . . . Ah! What am I gonna do?!" Dib pulled despairingly at the brittle locks of his fringe. With Ros in the shower his words were drowned out, and thus he could safely talk aloud without arousing suspicion.
It seems to me, said Zim flatly, that you've dug yourself a very deep hold here.
"You're telling me." He released his protesting hair and Dib fell backwards onto his bed, where he pulled Mr Alien into his arms.
Zim sighed. Cancelling is out of the question, Dib-worm, as that'd anger both your mother-unit and the female. You could say nothing to this dirt-child Gretchen, and leave her to frolic away in her blissful ignorance, or you could tell her the true reason why you agreed to meet with her. Yes, she'll most likely throw a massive temper tantrum and run away, but surely that's got to be better than leaving yourself to drown in guilt, yes?
A warm hue of pink tinted beneath Dib's skin and set his face aglow with so many emotions; he worked hard to bury the adoration away before Zim noticed it. "Yeah, you're right." He reached down and stroked the PAK's surface, as he longed to caress Zim's warm skin. "Thanks Zim. Where would I be without you?"
Zim snorted. In the corner crying, probably, he scoffed, moments before they disconnected, leaving Dib alone with only his thoughts for company.
As predicted, Ros was enthralled to learn that Dib had a date. "Geez Mom, it's not a date," protested Dib, his cheeks burning embarrassment. "I'm just helping a girl out with some maths work - I barely know her." But despite his protesting he could not help but smile at his mother's excitement, and when Ros offered to drive him to meet with Gretchen he graciously accepted. "Be a damn sight better than relying on public transport," he commented, and sighed. "I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier Mom. College is really stressing me out and stuff but . . ." He sighed again. "That's no excuse, I know."
Ros expression melted into a sorrowful smile. "Oh Dib, it's okay, I just wish you'd take care of yourself more." She opened out her broad arms and Dib fell into his mother's embrace; he buried his nose into Ros's neck, reviling in the warm scent of comfort - Ros's body butter and coconut shampoo. "Still, meeting with this friend is a good start; it'll be good for you to spend some time enjoying yourself." Ros pressed a kiss to Dib's temple and hugged him tight, and just like Gretchen, she was blissfully ignorant of Dib's woes.
"Yeah. I guess . . ." Dib could only smile in sad guilt and cling to his mother's warmth.
The following morning passed Dib by briskly enough; free of the constraints of the college timetable he was able to study as he pleased, devoting himself entirely to the subject of Zim's body. It was a strange sensation, to be liberated from the restrictions laid down by college and Membrane's Labs, but ultimately pleasing. But as the clock struck the fifteenth hour, ticking closer to his planned date, time slowed and Dib felt himself growing increasingly ill.
Oh God . . . What am I gonna do? This was a bad idea! Dib clutched at his belly churning with butterflies and tried his utmost to remain calm before Ros; she herself seemed brimming with glee, grinning from ear to ear from the moment they left her apartment, and all throughout the drive. "I need to go to the grocery store anyway so I'll drop you off on my way. You're meeting her on Maple, right? Are you home for dinner?"
"I expect so. Thanks for the ride, Mom," The car pulled to a halt at the end of the block and Dib flashed his mother a gracious smile, he leaned across the seats to press a kiss to her cheek, where he felt her lips curve into a smile beneath the kiss.
"It's no problem. Have a good time, text me when you want picking up."
Bag in hand and filled with his study things, Dib watched his mother drive from sight. School hours were at an end and already the mall flooded with ecstatic students brimming with delight, recklessly waving money and buying unnecessary snacks, clothes and games. Sighing, it took Dib a while to suss out which of the two McMeaties Gretchen wanted to meet at. "Freaking stupid. Why's there two McMeaties on one block?" Dib shook his head in disbelief, his eyes buried behind study notes. The smell of the greasy fast food set his belly aching both in disgust and hunger. Damn. Of all the times to forget my insulin . . .
"Dib! Hi!"
Behind his glasses his eyes shot up, and the moment Gretchen came into view Dib felt engulfed by stigma. From what little he could recall of her, at college Gretchen dressed in simple, practical clothes that bore no hazard to any practical session they might take part in – skinny jeans or leggings, plain blouses or thick sweaters that kept her warm, her hair always tied back – but today of all days Gretchen had taken great care with her appearance. A short black skirt hugged her waist over the top of purple leggings. Her blouse clung to the effeminate curves of her body, accentuating her feminine glory without making her look cheap. Her hair swept past her shoulders, brushed until shining like crystallised amethyst. She even wore make-up. If Dib had not been a man consumed by his studies and love for Zim, he might have lost his breath at the very sight of her.
God help me. I'm such a douche.
"Hi Dib!" Gretchen drew to a halt; even with her high heeled shoes she remained a good half foot shorter than Dib. "Sorry I'm late, the bus was slow as hell. I hope you've not been waiting long! Are you feeling better after yesterda-"
"No, I'm not." His tongue moved without permission; all her could hear was Zim's advice roaring through his head and the instant he began to speak, Dib couldn't stop. "I'm so sorry Gretchen. The reason I agreed to meet with you is 'cos my mom's constantly on my back, she keeps nagging on about my lifestyle, thinking that I'm ill and worrying that I don't get out enough. So I thought . . ." He took a deep breath. "I thought that if I arranged to meet with you it might get her off my back a bit. I know it's really cruel for me to use you like that, but please, trust me when I say I've felt terrible about it ever since. I amreally sorry, I get that you're angry and you've every right to be, but if there's anything at all I can do to make it up to you, just say the word."
The moment his words dried up a great weight seemed lifted from Dib's shoulders; no longer did he feel crushed by shame but even so, he could not bring himself to meet Gretchen's gaze. Her eyes were wide, he noted briefly, swollen with shock and rage, and brimming betrayal. Not that I blame her, she's got every right to be, Dib thought bitterly. "I'm really, really sorry," he muttered again. Maybe I should just go . . .
" . . . Well, you could buy me a coffee. That'd be a good start."
What? Dib looked up, his heart elated. Arms folded and her lips set down in displeasure, but Gretchen's eyes sparkled sweetly, forgiving, understanding, and that alone gave birth to the curving of Dib's own lips.
"S-sure . . . I guess that's the least I owe you." With an awkward smile Dib led her into the restaurant. The after-school crowd surged around the counter but most took their purchases outside, leaving plenty of free tables to choose from. Hips casually rolling, Gretchen took a seat in one of the booths in the far corner of the restaurant, for which Dib was grateful. "How d'you take it?" He asked.
"White. No sugar."
"Alright, cool." Dib joined the fast dwindling line to buy them both coffee – white for Gretchen, black for himself – and returned to the table briskly enough. "I'm glad it didn't take long." He placed the drinks down and slid into the booth opposite Gretchen. By now, the girl had calmed down some following Dib's revelation and though her eyes contained much forgiveness, Dib was not ignorant of her anger. "Again, I'm really very sorry . . ." he averted his gaze.
" . . . I'd be lying if I said I wasn't pissed," Gretchen's voice rang out, strong and unwavering. "But I understand why you did it."
Dib blinked hard, the statement a slap in the face. "Y-you do?" he stammered.
Gretchen nodded. "Sure. My parents still treat me like a kid all the time, even though I just turned twenty-two. I get it, you want your mom to start treating you like an adult and not a child. I get it, 'cos I get the same treatment."
Dib bit the inside of his cheek; if Gretchen knew the full story no doubt she wouldn't be so forgiving. "Mmm, yeah . . . That's right . . ." He busied himself taking a sip of coffee, and grimaced. In forgetting to bring any insulin Dib was unable to flavour his drink with sugar, as he normally liked, and whilst he could tolerate the taste of unsweetened black coffee, the first sip was always a shock to his tongue. He took another drink and this time managed to refrain from flinching. "So, let's have a look at your maths stuff then. If you still want help, that is."
Gretchen drew her large purse onto the table; Dib could only assume she had come straight from college because as she dove to retrieve her maths he spotted a selection of college textbooks, alongside a grocery bag containing what appeared to be her ordinary clothes. She withdrew a selection of printed sheets littered with sums and her own notes, and Gretchen hesitated. "Promise you won't laugh?"
Dib placed his palm over his tattoo. "I won't laugh. Hand on heart."
Almost reluctantly, Gretchen surrendered the worksheets and on sight, Dib understood her struggling. Ratios. A very key maths skill to own when studying biology and chemistry, and not the easiest concept to grasp - of this even Dib had experienced. High school level ratio work had been simple, but the transition to college level had been a challenge for even him to learn; it was no surprise therefore that Gretchen was struggling. He lowered the papers. "What methods have you tried before?"
"All that the lecturer has shown us," replied Gretchen.
"Have you used the division method?"
Gretchen shook her head. Well, that simplifies things, Dib thought, smiling, as he took the proffered pencil from Gretchen. He flipped the sheet over and paused. "D'you mind if I write on this?"
"Nah, be my guest."
Using the first sum as his example Dib lay is calculations out for Gretchen to see, explaining each step as he went along so she might grasp the meanings. It was a pleasant thing, Dib soon realised with a shock, to tutor somebody else. His sister Gaz was at least as intelligent as Dib himself and had never needed tutoring. Truly, it gave him such delight to see Gretchen's understanding dawn at his assistance. He completed the sum and said, "Shall I explain again, or d'you think you could do it now?"
". . . I think I could give it a go," said Gretchen, the confidence in her voice apparent enough to make Dib smile. She took the pencil and papers back and solved the next problem solo, frown lines carved into her forehead; concentration, and a yearning desire to impress Dib. Biting her lip she passed her answer across for Dib to check, and her heart soared as he smiled praisingly.
"Yup, that's exactly right," he grinned, taking a sip of coffee. "Skip ahead to question ten, 'cos they get harder from there. It'll be good practice." He paused. Gretchen lowered her head to work, clearly eager to please her tutor. "D'you mind if I study whilst you're doing that?
Gretchen shook her head. "Go for it."
From his own bag Dib extracted his notebook, crammed not with college work, but the calculations to which he had devoted his life so he might revive Zim. He flipped through the book to his latest workings and head down, he began again. Silence fell upon the booth, filled only by the occasional sipping of coffee and the rough scratchings of pencils on paper. But it was a comforting silence, Dib soon realised; Gretchen's presence was oddly soothing. He knew she was there, and whilst his heart held no love for her, her companionship was very welcome.
"Damn, you weren't kidding." Gretchen broke the silence quite suddenly. "These questions are a bitch. Can you explain agai- . . . Jesus Christ, that is not college work."
It wasn't a question; when Dib glanced up he noticed how Gretchen stared at his work, her jaw agape in total awe. "No, it's not," he tittered. "It's stuff for my placement at Dad's lab." It wasn't a total lie; Dib did, after all, perform most of his work for Zim at his father's lab.
"Oh cool." Gretchen was evidently impressed. "You're working on that big cloning project, right?" Anyone who studied a field of science knew all about the great cloning project taking place at Membrane's Lab; articles in every magazine and textbook praised it. Even the local news spoke about little else.
"Eh . . . Kind of . . ." Deep lines marred between Dib's eyes as he sort for the corrects words. "Like, we've actually succeeded in the cloning part, but what we're working on now is a bit different . . . but it's all part of the same project."
Her impressive gaze quickly mutated into fascination. "Oh? How so, if you don't mind my asking."
Dib hesitated. He was in no way condescending of Gretchen; he knew that she was an intelligent young woman, but he was also fully aware that, as Gretchen had struggled to grasp the concept of ratios, the work he performed at his Dad's lab would be way beyond her comprehension. Any previous hope that she might give some insight into ageing Zim's cloned embryos had vanished shortly upon their meeting. But even still, Dib could not help but wonder, what harm could there be to tell her?
"Okay . . ." Dib thought hard, grasping ahold of the first example he could think of. "The project we're working on is all for cloning common mammalian pets – so dogs, cats, rabbits, horses . . . Things like that, so ultimately we'd be able to clone humans. Let's say a family – and this is just hypothetical – a family have a puppy that died when it was . . . I don't know, five months old -" A shudder ran through Dib's skin, one that neither Gretchen nor Dib appeared to notice. " - and they want a clone of that puppy. At the moment, our technology would be able to clone the animal, but the result would be an embryo of said puppy, and of course the owners don't want their pet in the embryonic stage, they want it as the five month old puppy they lost." Dib paused briefly to gather his thoughts. "So, at the lab we're attempting to construct a chemical which would . . . in simple terms, it would age the embryo to the point we want so we could give our hypothetical family their five month old puppy back. We've developed several prototypes, but the problem we're finding is we can't stop the process. The chemical will keep on ageing the embryo until it dies. It's been proving quite a challenge for several years now . . ." A weak smile became Dib's expression. The story was not a lie; but ageing an Earth animal's body and an alien body were two very different concepts, and Professor Membrane was mere days away from completing the formula to age the cloned bodies of Earth mammals. But, of course, such a drug would only be detrimental to Zim's Irken embryo.
Something had appeared in the corner of Dib's eye. When Gretchen opened her mouth to speak, it was gone.
"Damn . . . that sounds really difficult. You must be so smart and patient to work on that, Dib. God knows I could never do it!"
That weak smile became so very sad then. "Yeah, I guess . . ." Dib sighed, and tried not to let his disappointment show. I knew she wouldn't have a clue. So why do I feel so disappointed? "We'll get there eventually." He took a huge swallow of black coffee, now lukewarm.
"No," Gretchen cut in firmly. "What'll happen is you'll give up, and instead make the technology to talk to the dogs, and that's when you'll realise that dogs are the most intelligent creatures in the world, and have already made cloning possible."
She spoke with such seriousness that it took Dib aback. He blinked, and burst out laughing. "Haha, yeah! I'd like to see what 'dog technology' looks like. Idiot," he added fondly.
Oh my God, I made Dib laugh! Confidence swelled within her breast. "Yeah, that would be funny! Dogs using 'dog technology' to clone dogs! It'd be like something from those shitty films where the dogs can all talk!" She laughed again; high on the delight Gretchen didn't even notice how Dib had frozen in place. His eyes saw something she could never see, something that had consumed his life since childhood.
And now, so suddenly, his fingertips brushed the light at the end of the tunnel.
Zim . . . His PAK . . . Dog technology to clone other dogs . . .
. . . No way.
" . . . Gretchen, you're a fucking genius!" Dib lurched to his feet and pressed a moist kiss to Gretchen's forehead. Then he turned and sprinted from the restaurant, leaving Gretchen alone, giddy, and utterly confused.
Confused? Not to worry, my dear readers, all shall be explained very soon! Please fave and review ;p