Bonnies Story - A Blondes Guide to Mathematics

By Janis Hill

Meet Bonnie and the new man in her life, Rogan; and discover what happens when hard maths meets a rolled up newspaper.

When Bonnie encounters Rogan taking a photograph of the street sign outside her house, she is plunged into a world she couldn't have expected. A world where she visits the Moon, watches life begin, and learns the true depth of a mathematics that allows Rogan and his friends to travel instantly across the world using nothing more than their mobile phones. But now Bonnie has bigger problems than a boyfriend who can walk through walls - she's running for her life, and if she's caught…

• Language: English
• Publisher: HaguePublishing
• Release date: Sep 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9780987265241

Janis Hill

Janis grew up in and around Darwin and its rural surrounds. As a child, she spent a lot of time around 'science geeks' at the Darwin University, where her father was a lecturer for many years. It took her a long time to realise that not everyone got to grow up like that, or could relate to all the Science Labs scenes in the old Doctor Who. Janis now lives in the Adelaide Hills with her husband and 3 children, lovingly referred to as the 'Demonic Hordes'. She is a semi-retired ICT Support Officer who, when not writing, takes pride in her work as a Haus Frau while dabbling in the art of translating century old cookery books into modern recipes to experiment on her family with.

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Bonnie's Story:

A Blonde’s Guide to Mathematics

Janis Hill

Bonnie’s Story: A Blonde’s Guide to Mathematics

The moral rights of Janis Hill to be identified as the author of this work have been asserted.

Copyright 2013 Hague Publishing

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher

Hague Publishing

PO Box 451

Bassendean Western Australia 6934

Web: www.HaguePublishing.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN 978-0-9872652-4-1

Cover Art: Bonnie’s Story by Dean Harkness

Dedication

DEDICATED, with much appreciation, to my Editor, first fan of this book and person who kept nagging me to get it done and find a publisher. Thank you Tania. You may now name drop.

Table of Contents

Title

Titlepiece

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

About The Author

Hague Publishing

Chapter 1

THE first time I met Rogan, he was wandering down my street taking pictures of the street signs with his phone. His name wasn't really Rogan, it was Josh, but due to the crowd he hung around with and the quirky sense of humour science geek types have, he'd become Rogan Josh. Rogan for short.

Still, this wasn't something I learned until a lot later. Since meeting him, I've not just learnt this little soliloquy; I've visited the Moon, watched life begin, and discovered the true depth of mathematics. I can tell you now; maths really isn't as boring as you'd have thought.

Until I met Rogan, it had been a reasonably quiet week. Then again, my entire life before meeting Rogan could pretty much be classified as quiet. But that's me getting ahead of myself and there's no point in not sticking to the plot in a succinct order. You can tell I've been treading water in the deep end of the gene pool lately, can't you?

First though, my world came to an end.

***

It was a reasonably warm and sunny day for September, when a scruffy, tall and lean individual, whose age, clothes, short but shaggy brown hair and general demeanour screamed 'eternal uni student', came wandering down my street. His phone hand was extended, taking casual shots of the street signs. He'd just captured mine, Cleeves Street. Yes, admittedly 'nerd' was the first word that sprang to mind at this point and then, in my typical trusting nature for all human kind, it was followed with 'break and enter' and 'should I be going inside to tip off the police?'

However, before my thoughts could be turned into actions, he wandered over and, eyeing me up and down, took a picture of me with a cheeky grin before continuing on his way.

Oi! I called after him, as there is a time and place for unsolicited photo ops and this had not been it. "A guy has to be a lot cuter or richer to get away with something like that! Delete it now and shuffle your low grade uni student butt off my street before I call the cops!" His eyes clouded for a moment, before he shrugged and, with another cheeky smirk, sauntered back.

My mistake. He grinned while studying me curiously, and then made an obvious show of deleting the photo of me. But I thought any gorgeous blonde standing in the street in their satin sexy kitten pyjamas and fluffy bunny slippers was fair game.

"I was just retrieving my paper, I retorted angrily, waving the plastic-wrapped local rag at him, when I noticed a seedy character acting suspiciously." He actually looked cuter than I thought, unshaven and rumpled as he was, when he gave me a mock hurt look.

Seedy? Come on, Bunny Slippers, I was hoping for 'mysterious' at least! And how is taking photos of street signs suspicious?

"Don't call me that! And, hello? What part of taking photos of street signs isn't suspicious?"

I was thinking it's better than Sexy Kitten, but if the pyjamas fit … Yeah, definitely cute with that grin.

The name is Bonnie. B.O.N.N.I.E. No rabbits or cats involved, I replied, trying to look fiercer than my name, blonde hair and fluffy slippers would indicate. Casing the signs to come and steal later, are we? Ooh, I touched a nerve with that one as anger flared in those cute dark brown eyes.

Okay, Bunny, he started, correcting himself when threatened with a whack from my paper. Bonnie. I'm known as Rogan. And despite your obvious dislike for the unshaven, but well on the way to being educated masses, I am not a thief. Was that a slight accent showing now I'd touched a nerve? "Not that it's any of your business but taking pictures of street signs is not a crime. I checked. I happen to be making a log of reference points."

To come back later, with some thuggish mates, and retrieve during a thieving spree? I sneered angrily. It came out a little harsher than I had meant; I'd been going more for scornful cynicism.

If you must know, it's to make reference points that allow my algorithmic calculations, based on a quantum level of physics, to activate the final destination quadrant of said algorithms so that they manifest into a successful conjunction, giving me the desired result.

I shrugged. It sounded like a good enough 'I am so smart, I used big words for no reason' excuse to me. Nerds, what could I say?

Fair enough. That summed it up for me as I turned on my heel and headed back indoors.

Oh, as if the likes of you understood what I just said! Yup, definitely an accent now I had him angry. French, maybe? Did I use too many syllables for Bunny's brain to cope with?

The thwack of the newspaper sounded good. I guess those stupid tennis lessons in high school did pay off. Thanks Mum!

Didn't your mother ever teach you to not judge a person by the shade of their skin? I asked crossly, standing before him again with my arms crossed in front of me. That same rule applies to the varying shade of tints, highlights and permanents in one's hair, I'll have you know.

Rubbing the spot on the side of his head where I'd got him with my paper, the anger in his expression was again replaced by that cute cheeky grin.

Okay then. What did I say? Surprise me.

You think that, through some mumbled mathematic code and a picture of a street sign, you can produce a combination of effects that give you what you're after. My look should have turned him to stone.

How … ? Yeah, that's the expression I like to see when the brunette discovers a blonde has some smarts.

Father: Bio-electric engineer. Mother: Bio-organic chemist. Both have PhDs and are heads of their fields. Brother: Chemical Engineer with a Master's. I preened at his expression. I may not have inherited their smarts, but growing up in a house full of such babble, a girl learns to pick out the important bits and discard the non-essential stuff. Dumbfounded suited him, brought amber flecks to his brown eyes.

Want me to show you how it works? he finally managed, after his expression moved through the various shades of surprise, and returned to amused.

Oh please, is that the best pick up line you've got? I eyed him over. Scratch that, it obviously is! I turned to go back inside, satisfied that he really was just some harmless eternal student pretending to work on some outrageous thesis that'd keep him in university forever, so he could play online war games for the rest of his life. Then there was a sound, not unlike burning paper, from behind me and a wave of goose bumps spread over me from front to back.

Turning to ask what he was doing now, I found him standing in the middle of a light blue cloud of … numbers? It was like some sort of expensive cigarette smoke, but instead of forming smoke rings, it shimmered and swirled around him in algorithmic jargon.

What the …? I know, Mum; I said I'd given up swearing.

He grinned, though it was obvious he also had to concentrate on what he was doing.

I call it 'Maths That Stays'. He preened, holding his phone up to an obvious hole in the formula, and started flipping through the photos on it. Like me to show you how it works.

Oh the things you forget about when you're shown something new, bizarre, and able to pique your interest in such a way you can't say no. Like the fact I was in my favourite slinky satin pyjamas and fluffy slippers?

Sure, I said uncertainly. How?

Come hold my hand. He proffered his free hand through the smoky numbers and ignored my snort of contempt. I'm serious! Step through the Maths, you can't damage it. Take my hand quickly before it fades. As it was already showing signs of doing this, I thought, why not? I had the day off work as it was, and nothing planned but lounging about in said bunny slippers. I reached through the mist of numbers and took his hand; not clammy or sticky in any way, always a good start. He pulled me into the circle of signs and squiggles. The tingling sensation I'd been feeling since he'd created them intensified, he then finished selecting a picture. With the pinkie finger of the same hand he held the phone in, he made a sort of squiggle, like the '@' symbol, in the air. It was then that my world came to an end.

Nothing too dramatic, just a sucking 'pop', and all I can surmise was left in the street was slowly dispersing smoke from his used Maths.

Chapter 2

THERE were no streaking stars or swirling vortexes, like science fiction shows tend to indicate. It was more like bright sunlight being suddenly hidden by a cloud and then, as it brightened up again, you got one mighty headache as your brain tried to re-focus on surroundings that weren't the same ones you'd been looking at a second before. If you were lucky, your ears would then pop and everything in your head would settle down. I don't think you're ever lucky on your first trip.

Oh dear Lord, I'm about to be sick! was the best I could manage before going cross-eyed and finding a great need to sit heavily on the ground beneath me.

You'd be amazed how often I hear that on a first date, was smirk-faced nerd boy's reply. He appeared unfazed and still upright.

Removing my head from between my knees, when my ears finally did pop and my brain caught up with my eyes, I glared at the dear so-and-so.

Firstly, that doesn't surprise me. Secondly, as if this is a first date!

He simply smiled in that smug little way smart people do, but not as arrogantly as most I know, and offered me a hand up. I took it, heaved myself up in the most ungracious manner, and stared about me.

We were on a dusty orange brown hillside. Scattered about us were rocks and rather sad little bushes that showed life was hard here, but still possible. The sky was a dazzling, cloudless blue and the horizon held nothing but mountains in a heat haze in one direction and heat haze that could possibly have been the ocean in the other. We were standing on slightly smoother ground that I wouldn't have known was a road if it hadn't been for the bedraggled, faded street sign a few metres away. The name had been eroded off the ancient wood over time, but a reference point was still a reference point. Even I recognised that.

Okay, nerd boy, so your thesis is going to see you pass. Now where the heck are we?

"As I said, my friends call me Rogan. And yes I do have friends. This last was obviously in response to the look I gave him. And this, if I got it right and I assure you I always do, should be Tuscany."

Tuscany? O-kay. To snort with contempt would be one thing. But that wouldn't explain the sunny, green springtime suburban street of Adelaide being replaced with a sparse, barren waste-land and orange dust on my fluffy slippers. No matter what certain people may say, they are not similar places at all!

And you brought me here because ...? Better to avoid the praise he was so obviously seeking just yet, as I wasn't too keen on how smug, said smug expression was getting.

I'm told it's a romantic place. And, first date and all … I rolled my eyes and did actually snort this time. In a ladylike manner, I promise, Mum!

If your idea of romantic is dust, blazing sun and - I swear - forty degree heat, I am so glad this isn't a date.

He actually laughed at this. That was even cuter than the cheeky grins. It was really heartfelt and from deep down.

You know, I'd pictured you either screaming with hysteria right now, or fawning all over me for being such a genius, he said with another grin. I gave him another snort.

"Firstly, you're an idiot to stereotype a girl like that. Secondly, and think very carefully about this as you'll notice I still have the newspaper in my hand, can you get me back to my home without us having to trudge several kilometres to civilisation and arrange our own deportation?" Surely a face should start to ache from having such a smug expression on it for so long.

I bet you're glad I was taking those photos of the street signs now, aren't you? he said with that grin, only marred slightly by the flinch caused by the threatening wave of my dependable, rolled newspaper.

To show I'm truly not a bully, I will warn you now there is only so much smugness I can cope with before my second cup of coffee and the Sudoku found in my trusty weapon here. I warned as, cute as that expression might be, there is a limit to a nerd being smug in forty degree heat while my best satin jammies were getting sweaty. "So how about you smoke up some of that 'Staying Maths' of yours and mosey us both home, there's a