IN THE CAFETERIA COURTYARD under a tree, a sulking Owen slumps beside Kass. For September, the sun is a summer replica, bursting at the seams. The short jog from indoors to the bench has him feeling he has a tan burning at his nape. The sun is not nearly as important as his mission.

“I need Parkinson’s number,” he announces.

Kass, munching on a celery stick Owen wouldn’t want near him raise an eyebrow. “What?” 

“Parkinson. I need his number.” He repeats.

“Then ask him.”

“I did. He wouldn’t give it to me.”

Kass eyes him in suspicion. “What did you do?”

“What makes you think I did anything?” Owen protests.

“He’s tutoring you, right? Use tutoring—”

 He interjects, frustrated. “I did. He refused.”

A hand slaps him over the head. 

“Move,” Laurel commands 

“Be nice to me or I might woo your girlfriend,” he says despite making space. 

Laurel ignores his empty threat as she settles between them. “What you two talking about?”

“Parkinson.” Kass says simply.

A knowing smile spreads on her face. “How is it? Getting tutored by your crush?”

“Pretty okay,” he shrugs, playing it cool. Laurel isn’t having that. She slaps him over the head again.

“Don’t acr cool with me.”

“Okay, fine,” he drags on even as a genuine smile breaks through. “It’s awesome. Mind-blowing. So much as if my heart will burst out of my chest.”

Yet, he isn’t as anxious as his thundering heart tells. When they’re together, when they’re so close Owen can see Parkinson’s pulse, what he feels in the pit of his stomach is calm.

“What is he like?” Laurel’s blue eyes sparkles in interest. “I hear he’s a robot.”

His smile strains, his voice taking a defensive tone. “Who said that? Parkinson isn’t a robot. He’s serious and smart and…” Pretty, he trails off, recalling how open and beautiful his smile had been. Brief as it was, Owen is certain the real thing will be devastatingly magnificent.

“Do you have his number?” he asks instead, concentrating on the mission at hand.

“No. Why would I?”

Owen groans. “No one has his number.”

“Ms. Sterling should have it,” Kass suggests, “And the teachers.”

Owen perks up, snapping his fingers. “You’re right. Ms. Sterling will have his number.”

“She won't give it to you just because you asked for it,” Laurel warns.

Over her head, he and Kass shares conspiratorial look, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Laurel. She hits Owen again. “Don't even think about it.”

“Stop hitting me,” Owen whines, rubbing his arm.

“You want to steal his number? What are you, a thief?”

“Desperate,” Lass sing-songs, “And in love,”

“Don’t be stupid. There ware other ways.” Laurel says.

“Like what?”

“He could have a social. All we have to do is find it. What’s his name?"

“Parkinson.”

“Parkinson what?”

“Parkinson?”

Laurel shot him an exasperated look. “Don't be daft. I can’t type that. There are thousands of Parkinson online.”

“In America?” Jane interrupts, joining the conversation as she and Andy sits across them.

“Isn’t that like the disease?” Andy asks.

“It's also a name,” Kass points out.

“I don't know any Parkinson. So maybe it’s 

not thousands.”

Noah appears, sliding beside Andy. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Parkinson,” the group chorused.

“Oh. I heard he's going to Finland this winter,” Noah says casually.

“Who?” Laurel sighs at Andy’s question.

“Parkinson,” Noah clarifies, “You know, for the science-y winter thing?”

Jane rolls her eyes. “We heard. Everyone heard, Noah. It was literally announced on the PA.”

“I’ve never been to Finland,” Noah mused, biting into his peanut butter sandwich, “It must be exciting traveling outside the country.”

“Oh, it is.” Andy nods. “I went to Monaco this summer and I didn’t want to leave. For Christmas, my family and I are going to a resort in Switzerland. I think I’ll never come back.”

“Last year’s competition was fierce. They almost lost,” Jane comments.

“They came second place,” Owen corrects, “Second isn’t losing.”

“Hah,” Noah laughs, wiping his mouth with a finger before licking the peanut butter off. “Didn’t you watch the competition freshman year? When the Chinese took second with the Indians and they literally refused the award.”

The Math and Science competition usually collides with Owen’s basketball games. And before he had a crush on Parkinson, he barely paid attention to it. 

“You know Lucas?” Noah continues. “The vice president of the robotics club? He discards any medals or awards that isn’t first place. To him, anything is other than number one is losing.”

“That’s a bit harsh,” Owen says, frowning.

Noah shrugs. “I bet Parkinson think so too. They only accept perfection.”

Parkinson’s FAULURE IS NOT AN OPTION and the second tragic message puts a dampener on Owen’s mood. Unwilling to dwell on that, redirects the conversation to his mission.

“Do you have Lucas’ number?”

Noah’s confused. “No. Why?”

Owen’s lie is as smooth as butter. “I’m trying to have all the smart people’s numbers.”

“Isn’t Parkinson tutoring you?” Jane pipes up.

Owen sighs at the question. “He is—”

“Is he making you feel dumb?” Jane pressed on. “I hear that’s what he does. Teaches by condescension.”

Where’s she getting all this supposed facts from? But he bristles, nonetheless. “He doesn’t. That’s a lie.”

“Then what do you need Lucas's number for?” she fires at him.

“To have a backup plan. He tutors for two days. I want a second tutor.”

That seems to mollify her. She backs off.

“I don’t have Lucas’ number. Do you?” Noah questions Andy.

“I do. His mom and my mom are friends. They’re in the same book club or something.”

“Great. Do you have Parkinson’s number too?” he asks, hopeful again.

“Nah. Do you, Noah?”

“Nope.” Noah shakes his head.

“Think Gina will have it?” Laurel suggests. 

“I talk to Gina on Facebook,” Jane says. “Most of them don’t give out their numbers. Don’t know what’s so special about it but…”

From the corner of his eye, Owen sees Noah try and fail to act nonchalant at the mention of Gina’s name. 

“Parkinson’s on Facebook?”

“I don’t know.” Jane whips out her phone. “Check the school’s page. The school posted information about the upcoming competition.”

Opening Facebook, Owen is immediately bombarded with notifications. He doesn’t use the app much, hence the turned off notifications.

“What’s the username?”

“William Jameson underscore PS (WJ_PS). Five participants. Gina isn’t listed. That’s strange,” Noah leans towards Jane screen, “Lucas is here though. A Plus and Parkinson.”

Clicking on what he guess to be Parkinson’s username, he’s taken to a page full of academic achievements, mostly resposted from the school’s page. Club activities, competitions, and awards he had won. The last post was from this morning. The one before that was about two months ago. Owen has a feeling that even if he messaged, Parkinson wouldn’t see it.

“Oh. The school’s on Instagram. Why does Lucas look so fine here?” Jane shows her phone to the group. It’s Lucas and the five participants crammed into one photo, Lucas the focus.

“Filter,” Kass says dismissively.

Owen rush to Instagram, quickly finding Parkinson’s profile. The page is a mix of English and Korean, and his last post was five days ago — a picture of he and A plus making silly faces at the canera. Owen is struck by how handsome Parkinson looks. He can’t help but smile.

“What are you smiling at?” Laurel asks, peering over.

“Park,” Owen grins. “He's handsome.”

“Filter,” that' s Jane, presumably looking at what he' s looking at, “He doesn’t look this good in real life. This is someone you can approach. Parkinson is definitely not that.”

Owen gulps down snapping at her. “Parkinson is approachable. You have to know him.”

Everyone at the table skeptically eyes him. 

“You know what? I’ll prove it.”

Standing, he quickly scans the courtyard targeting the two friends to the eastern side. Bracing himself, he jogs over to where they’re sitting, making sure not to blow up dust inside the food of those sitting on picnic baskets

“Hey. Parkinson. Uh... and Miss Parkinson’s friend.”

A Plus cocks a brow at the clumsy greeting. Back turned, Parkinson doesn’t lift his head.

“Sorry to bother you but would you like to join our table?” Owen points. “My friends and I—”

“No,” Parkinson cuts him off flatly.

Owen persists. “Miss is welcome too. If you—”

“Not interested,” Parkinson interrupts again.

Desperate, Owen turns to A Plus. “What about the lady?”

She narrows her eyes. “If you don't know my name, why do you want me there?”

Owen flounders. Because I want Parkinson there isn’t a sound argument. Easily, he admits, “You might be right.”

“I am.” She replies coolly.

Owen tries one last time. “But I want to get to know you two better. Parkinson?”

“It’s a no. I’m busy. As you can see," Parkinson says, gesturing to the textbooks in front of him.

For the first time, Owen notices the textbooks — two and a notebook — spreads out in front of Parkinson, his eyes widening slightly when he realize they are written in Korean. He also notice that while A Plus is eating, Parkinson isn’t 

“Right. I’ll leave you two. Ciao,” Owen waves, backing away.

Ciao? Ciao? Fuck his life. 

Pointedly, he ignores the cackling as he returns to his seat. 

“Shut up,” he half-heartedly shoots, his face burning with embarrassment, “He’s busy.”

“Sure,’’ the group drawls, Kass tossing a celery stick at him. 

Propping a hand on the table, cheek in his palm, Owen pulls out his phone and distracts himself by stalking Parkinson’s profile, amused by how similar yet different Parkinson pictures are to the boy in reality.