We Exist in Theories

By Kuhu Mahajan

Theories of their disappearance stain the air…

The most important thing for highly-opinionated, sharp-witted and physics-loving Kay is her family.
What’s left of it, anyway.
So, when the family bonds she has tried so hard to keep together are on the verge of fracturing for good, she has to do everything in her power to restore them before it’s too late.
All while trying to stay alive.
And when the boy she asks for help flips her world on its axis with his contradictory thoughts and seemingly insensitive words, it’s not so easy to hide the truth about her family’s past from the charming green-eyed jerk.
Aris challenges all that Kay has ever known in her seventeen years of living—her opinions, her beliefs—just by simply being himself.
Time is ticking, first-time relationships are forming, and it forces Kay to acknowledge that there may be more to life than being a fugitive.

Stuck between surrender and survival, love and endings, this is a story of contradictions, consequences and of course, chaos.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Release date: Apr 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9781543750614

Kuhu Mahajan

Kuhu (yes, that is the name on her passport) is a young writer whose hobbies include being dramatic and fantasising plots that have to do with her real life as well as the books she aspires to write. She currently lives in Abu Dhabi with her family and sometimes in the IKEA Restaurant where the perfect coffee is. You can find her on: Instagram — kuhu.mahajan Twitter — @KuhuMahajan www.kuhumahajan.com

Book preview

chapter one

A pregnant pigeon is holding my house hostage.

She’s about the size of a half-inflated toy balloon.

Jace chases her around the living room to drive her out as I watch her grey wings flutter in a hectic blur against the dark red walls.

Quick, Kay! Jace yells. If we focus, we can use our twin telepathic powers to force her out.

He tries sneaking up on her again but falls back as she flies up to the highest point of the ceiling and perches.

I sit on the couch with the book I’m trying to finish, slightly amused, and then shout back to Jace, Fifth grade must’ve been a nightmare for you.

I don’t care about any of your excuses! The inefficiency your company possesses is unacceptable…

Weylin’s voice booms with indignant authority, causing the Pregnant Pigeon to flutter back and forth once again through our living room.

Weylin has that effect. He’s our own personal scarecrow. Any friend I made before moving back here to Merryton was unwilling to come to my house because Weylin’s just a pink version of Shrek.

Jace, a tall, slender combination of elation and mischief, plops down onto the sofa next to me, panting with exhaustion.

Are you having fun? I ask him.

That, he points to the Pregnant Pigeon, was a whole workout.

I turn back to my book, flip a page and say, My chocolate’s missing.

Jace’s eyes widen. I swear, Kay, I swear I didn’t take it.

The last time Jace dared to steal my chocolate, I threw a three-alarm tantrum and threatened to unleash dozens of spiders in his room.

My scorching glare seems enough punishment for now.

So…how are you and Weylin getting along? Jace asks me, obviously trying to change the subject.

I don’t take my eyes off my book as I answer him.

Great. We’re about to play some pop music, dance around a little, and then not speak to each other for at least another decade.

Kay, Jace sighs, we’re back in our hometown. Like, there’s literally no better opportunity than the present to patch things up.

Another new beginning has barely let me get a grip on reality, let alone try to come up with ways to re-establish our sibling bond. The smell of fresh paint on the red walls, the ambiguity in the air around…it’s a new recipe for anxiety à la mode.

I hate having to feel uncomfortable in my own house, he continues with a soft voice. He deliberately and successfully fills me with guilt for the incessant conundrum between Weylin and I ever since Weylin adopted moralities at the very far end of the Decent Human Being Spectrum. Our relationship is akin to a bad television soap opera with no plot except a series of hefty and migraine-inducing fights.

(Also, some very well-practiced dramatic exits.)

I shrug and tell him, I don’t know how, Jace. My words sound nonchalant, a complete contradiction to the rising knots in my stomach. It’s a dead end.

I always thought if I were to lose my family it would be through our fugitive ways. Never once would it be because of our self-inflicted dysfunctional dynamics.

Do you remember that time that you wanted to, like, explain that thing about light or whatever and electrons. That thing that Einstein was working on? Jace urges as he sits up.

I narrow my eyes at him. The universal explanation for their behavior. I still haven’t been able to and obviously I don’t have the equip-.

Okay, but if you’d given up then and written a paper on something else, you’d never have gotten that stupi-he clears his throat-stupendous scholarship.

The fully-funded fees to go to a gifted school (full of snobs, as Jace liked to put it) I had to give up coming here. I try not to crumble from the intensity of his hope that Weylin and I could work out our differences.

If I lose what’s left of my family…

No.

I don’t let my mind wallow in such sickening loneliness

He hates me, I shrug again, He won’t listen to anything I have to say.

When Jace and I turn eighteen, we’ll have no reason to see Weylin again. No amount of arguments or cold shoulders between Weylin and I could prepare me for that.

Jace puts his hand up like a stop sign and shakes his head no. Uh-uh, I don’t have time for this negativity.

I open my mouth to respond, but at that instant, I see Jace lunge for the marble floor. His groans mix with the thrashing of wings; the Pregnant Pigeon escapes once again and circles to the opposite side of the room.

I only wanna be friends, Jace whines at the bird.

In the couple of hours that we’d left Jace alone in our new house, he’d splattered smoothie remains all over the kitchen cabinets and floor. With the brain capacity of a two-year-old, he’d forgotten to put the lid on the blender. And, of course, he left the mess for Weylin and me to clean up.

Weylin clenched his teeth while he thought of vengeance, probably like waxing Jace’s eyebrows in his sleep. So, when he assigned me to trash duty, I didn’t argue.

Hands full with a black bag, I opened the door and went into our backyard. The best thing about moving back to Merryton is its fresh air and not having a wave of pollution hit you in the face as soon as you step out of the house. (Which is a luxury only 0.003 percent of America’s population gets to enjoy.)

I see our garden looking brown and lifeless. Within a few days, Weylin’ll go ballistic in his attempts at trimming, mowing, and growing everything from scratch. His irritation from seeing this garden will drive him crazier than hearing out my opinions on his life choices.

Next door, two boys around my age stand talking to each other. The taller of the two is inspecting a skateboard in his hand. The other boy’s facing him, talking animatedly.

She was so easy, man! All I had to do was tell her she was pretty.

My eyebrows shoot up involuntarily.

Like, her best friend’s a Porsche, and she’s a Toyota, The shorter boy laughs. I mean, seriously, I’ve never met a dumber chick in my life.

My desperation to get out of earshot of these two idiots causes me to turn too quickly and trip over the pavement. The trash bag lands in front of me and bursts open, spilling its contents everywhere.

Crap.

The taller boy turns his head and looks at me. He’s the combination of every nineties romance-comedy love interest. His entire face is sharply sculpted: high cheekbones, an unwavering green-eyed gaze, and curly, sun-streaked, dark brown hair that looks like it belongs in one of those hair restoration commercials aimed at people with hair loss.

The boy talking to him turns towards me as well, but more slowly. His round face matches his square build. His beady blue eyes and the taller boy’s green ones inevitably make me feel jealous compared to my common, brown ones.

Weylin, Jace and I all have brown eyes. It’s one of those annoying, dominant genes our mother had over our father’s. I make eye contact with the taller boy. My mind races as I remember what they’ve said and anxiety swallows my strong-woman-inspiration-quotes, leaving me with an overwhelming urge to run. I know I’ll regret not calling them out on their disgusting language, but my hands start trembling as they look at me.

The green-eyed boy is watching me intently…assessing me.

I grimace and feel so very self-conscious because my skin is a little blotchy and dry-patched in several different shades from my attempt at getting a tan earlier in the week.

Also, I just woke up from a nap so there’s a very high chance of a moustache painted on my face, courtesy of Jace.

I bend over quickly to pick up the trash, pretending I didn’t just have a staring contest with them.

Hey! Do you have a name?

I tie a knot on the bag and make eye contact with the shorter boy who spoke.

You can call me Al, but I prefer Kay, I get out somewhat confidently. The corners of the green-eyed boy’s arc into a small smile and his friend says, Wow, you talk fast.

"One of my many assets. Maybe if you did too, fewer people would have to deal with the fallout from your imbecilic macho rhetoric."

While I was picking up the trash, I rehearsed a whole monologue of what I could say to the two of them but none of it came out of my mouth. My dislike for them stems from the fact that they think it’s acceptable to say such things about women.

I see this same thing happen every other day with Weylin.

He’s disrespectful towards women and has no regard for them. I’ve never understood Weylin’s mistreatment of women and it accounts for fifty percent of the reason Jace and I find him to be such an ass. And the main reason we don’t get along.

Excuse me? The shorter boy finally asks.

Think a little harder, maybe it’ll click.

The boy continues, You don’t even know us.

I didn’t miss the glistening intrigue evident in the green-eyed boy as he cocks his head to the side.

I can never give up on Weylin, no matter what he does, because we’ve all become responsible for each other ever since we practically had to in order to stay alive.

But these guys, I have no obligation to stay here and try to help them see the proverbial light.

Try a little self-evaluation. Figure it out.

I glance at Green Eyes. His expression deepens in confusion as if he doesn’t understand why I’m mad. He stays quiet except I know he wants to say something. I turn to throw the bag in the bin, then I walk over to my door and don’t glance back at them as I close it behind me, finally taking a breath. I have to stretch my arms above my head and close my eyes to feel like I can get some air in.

The Green-Eyed Boy pops in my head; he was beautiful…there’s no other way to describe him.

There was this unusual softness resting underneath the sculpted perfection.

But, I guess, his beguiling aesthetics can never compensate for his degrading mentality.

chapter two

My morning has been a horrible montage of chocolate-deprivation, inflated anxiety, and mind-numbing anticipation. It doesn’t seem to be redeeming itself because our car, all of a sudden, smells like a skunk.

Dude! Weylin’s voice abruptly rises and he turns around from the driver’s seat to glance at Jace.

"That’s so fucking nasty. What the hell did you eat for breakfast?"

He clicks the button to roll all the windows down, pinching his nose shut; I focus on the time to keep myself from gagging.

"Hey! I haven’t been to the gym in three days because of all this travelling. I need to find some way to burn calories and now, Jace holds his hands up proudly, I just burned sixty-seven calories!"

Weylin makes another disgusted sound before backing out of our driveway and Jace grins.

I clear my throat and ask Weylin, How’s university?

Good.

Workload?

Easy.

Have you made any friends?

None of your business.

I take a breath (then instantly regret it) to calm my simmering aggravation. These three questions are the most conversation between Weylin and me this entire month.

The car brakes to a sudden halt; my seat belt catches me as I lurch forward.

Jace’s grinning so wide; it’s a complete contradiction to the anxiety carnival dancing around in my mind.

The butterflies in my stomach turn into bats when I see all the kids who probably already know each other and don’t have to spend their morning memorising names and directions.

Out, Weylin says curtly.

You know, I say like I’m a TV presenter, most older brothers would tell their siblings to be good, learn something. Even throw in a ‘have a great day!’ but I guess you’re an exception.

He peers at me through the rearview mirror.

You know, most younger sisters wouldn’t be responsible for the death of their parents, but I guess you’re an exception.

I’m a piece of glass that’s just been dropped.

Dude! What the hell! I hear Jace exclaim, but I’m out of the car.

Shit, Kay. Do you want a hug? Chocolate? Ugh, ignore Weylin…he doesn’t mean that you know… Jace is at a loss for words but manages, It wasn’t your fault.

His words string together as he stumbles over the response.

Jace has always been good at knowing what goes on in my mind and finding the right way to comfort me, twin-stuff, I guess. But apparently, Weylin’s ability to synthesise into a ball of bitterness at any given moment stumps him as well.

Weylin takes off once we get inside the school.

I can’t even run back home because I have the memory of a peanut, even though the streets of this town were once more familiar to me than the lines of The Godfather.

The inside of the school looks like a Guinness World Record Book with the way the walls have motivational quotes on them as well as certificates of students who’ve done amazing in national competitions. What really strikes me though, is how the reception staff are all in suits, blazers and business attire while the teachers who walk in and out are wearing casual, track-pant type clothing. Jace stops me in the middle of the reception to zip open his bag. He hands me a miniature bag of dark chocolate, just like the one he swore he didn’t take.

Things were looking up. But not for Jace.

My morning got a whole lot better when I was introduced to Atarah, this beautiful, highly energetic girl with flawless ebony skin who volunteered to be my ‘buddy’ for the week.

Initially, I resented the idea because the day had already gone wonkier than I’d hoped and the first few moments in class were spent in dire embarrassment.

This is it, Jace had said, looking up from his orientation map to the classroom door.

I’ll see you at break, have a great first day, kiddo! He whisper-yelled and punched my shoulder playfully. I was too submerged in unflinching nervousness to remind him that he was only fifty seconds older than me and calling me ‘kiddo’ made him sound like a grandpa. I counted to ten in my head and clenched my palms as I scanned the room.

Many looked sleep-deprived, and others looked hyper-energetic; there was no in-between.

One table was surrounded by a group who were laughing at something the girl in the middle had said. There were people in the corner reading, and some were comparing notes. A couple of guys in sports jackets were in an underwear drawing competition, or at least that’s what I thought it was, on the board while some others were passing a football around.

But all their heads snapped to see me.

A few went back to what they were doing but did a double-take when they realised they hadn’t seen me before.

Silence enclosed me in a heavy blanket and before I could contemplate running, my stomach roared, imitating the mating call of a whale.

A very loud, very big whale.

Calling it embarrassing was an understatement: it was like Thin Man himself had construed it.

Atarah, however, either had hearing issues or was just being kind, because she struck up a conversation as soon as I was told to sit next to her. My responses all came as one-worded replies but that didn’t inhibit her enthusiasm. So, eventually, my social skills made a sluggish return and my inability to hold a conversation faded.

You write for the paper? Wow… I was so impressed at all her extracurricular activities it was hard to come up with an all-inclusive word.

Yeah, I started at twelve. I made a diary, then that got old real fast, so I wrote records of what was happening in the world and how I felt about it. One thing kinda led to another and… she said with a shrug like having your life planned out was a casual thing.

Atarah’s an open book from what I’ve gathered, and I wonder what that feels like. She has enough extra credit to fill two pages of a resume, and although I should feel inadequate, there’s just something so sweet and genuine about her that I don’t.

Outside during the lunch break, it’s obvious Jace has basically become best friends with every member of the school in less than four hours. Atarah’s been etching a permanent place in my heart minute by minute. I’m sitting on the grass with her. Jace is a few feet away, engrossed in a conversation with a fan of his. He walks over and plops down in front of us shortly after, and I say, Whoa, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone famous before.

I’m sacrificing emptying my bladder for this.

I’m honoured.

Jace and Atarah grin (also on the best friend path with each other).

So, Weylin called me. My head snaps to Jace.

He asked how everything was going. If we needed anything.

What’d you tell him?

It sounds self-centered to feel bad about him only calling Jace, but I can’t help it.

That we’re good, Jace says with a smile.

I think Atarah feels the sudden shift in my tone because she says, I don’t think I’ve ever actually met twins before. It’s kinda unnerving.

Lemme tell you, Jace claps his hands," those times Kay and I’ve predicted something’s gonna happen and it does. That shit’s unnerving."

Jace continues and Atarah looks pretty interested. They then basically enter a contest of compliments because Atarah loves Jace’s personality and his energy. In return, there’s an array of Jace fan-girling over Atarah’s hobbies and, You love writing? Me too! It goes on until Atarah says, You find any cute boys here?

Jace pauses like he’s just had cold water thrown in his face. He clears his throat, "More into girls,