Age 13
Stephen tugged the zipper on his duffel until it caught, then pulled it again, harder, until it ran clean to the corner. The bag looked too small for a semester, but he had folded everything into tight squares and stacked it the way he stacked problems, with no wasted space.
Students crowded the lobby in waves. Boxes sat by the wall. A few doors upstairs stayed propped open while people yelled goodbyes down the stairwell like the building was a stadium.
Stephen stood by the front window with his coat half-buttoned and his bag at his feet. Parents filled the parking lot in slow, awkward turns, the kind of driving that happened when nobody wanted to hit a student crossing with a mattress strapped to their back.
Paige came down the last steps two at a time, her own bag dragging behind her. She stopped beside him and dropped it with a thud.
"We officially survived college without combusting."
Stephen kept watching the lot. "Speak for yourself. My patience ran out three theorems ago."
Paige shifted closer, shoulder nearly touching his arm. "You would complain about oxygen if it did not have an equation."
"I already have one."
"Of course you do."
Elevator doors opened.
Ben, their RA, stepped out with a clipboard and a Santa hat jammed on his head like he had lost a bet. He scanned the lobby, saw them, and walked over.
"You two finally heading out?" Ben looked down at his list. "I was starting to think I would be stuck with you all break."
Paige lifted her chin. "We are irreplaceable."
Ben marked their names. "Sure. Irreplaceable. Have a good Christmas, geniuses."
He walked off toward a pair of freshmen arguing about who lost the key to their room.
Paige angled back toward the window. Two cars rolled into the lot and parked side by side, one dark blue, one green. Paige's attention went straight to the green one.
"There they are," she said.
Her parents climbed out first. Mrs. Swanson waved like Paige could not possibly miss it. Mr. Swanson pointed at something in the distance and started talking before he even shut his door. A second later, Stephen's parents stepped out of their car. Mary pulled her coat tighter and lifted a hand in greeting. George Sr. nodded once, then walked around the hood like he owned the asphalt.
Both sets of parents met between the cars and started talking at the same time. Mothers folded into conversation like they had left it paused last time. Fathers shook hands and did the short, stiff smile men did when they respected each other but did not know what to say about it.
Paige nudged Stephen with her elbow. "Ready for family interrogation, round two?"
"I prepared answers."
"Of course you did."
While the adults kept talking, Paige reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small wrapped package. She held it out fast, before anyone could look over and ask questions.
"Merry Christmas," she said.
"You know giving gifts before Christmas is statistically unlucky."
Paige tipped her head. "Open it."
Stephen took it and unwrapped it with careful fingers. A rubber keychain sat in his palm, black and smooth, shaped like the symbol for pi.
He looked up at her. "This is accurate."
Paige stared at him until he fixed it.
"Thank you," he said.
Stephen reached into his own bag and pulled out a small square wrapped in graph paper. He handed it to her.
Paige unwrapped it and paused at what she saw. A pack of floppy-disk stickers, the colored kind she kept losing in the lab.
"This is so nerdy," she said, then shoved it into her pocket like it mattered enough to hide.
"It is functional," Stephen said.
Paige made a sound in her throat that was not quite a laugh and not quite an argument. "Functional. That is your love language."
Stephen did not answer. He felt heat hit his ears anyway.
Their parents started moving toward them, conversation switching to trunks and directions.
"Stephen, honey," Mary said, hand already reaching for his bag. "Let me get that."
"I have it," Stephen said, and lifted it before she could. He did not like being treated like he was breakable. Mary acted like the campus air might crack him if she did not cover him with her hands.
George Sr. took one look at Stephen's coat. "Button that."
Stephen buttoned it.
Mrs. Swanson leaned in toward Paige. "Did you eat this week?"
Paige shrugged. "I ate."
"That is not an answer," Mrs. Swanson said, and grabbed Paige's shoulder like she could feel malnutrition through fabric.
Mr. Swanson clapped Stephen lightly on the back. "You ready to get off campus?"
Stephen nodded. That was true. He wanted walls that did not have exam schedules taped to them.
They loaded bags, hugged quickly, and started driving out of Austin in a two-car line that stayed together through the first few merges.
They stopped at a diner about an hour down the highway. The place had paper snowflakes in the windows and a fake garland taped crooked over the register. Grease and coffee sat in the air. Stephen's shoes stuck to the floor near the soda machine.
All of them slid into a booth that felt made for four people, not six. Menus clung to the table like the laminate was tired.
The Swansons ordered pancakes. Mary ordered a sandwich and asked the waitress what kind of soup they had. George Sr. ordered the same sandwich without asking questions.
Stephen ordered toast and orange juice.
Both mothers looked at him like he had admitted a crime.
Mary leaned closer. "Stephen."
"It is breakfast," he said.
"It is bread," Mrs. Swanson said, like that solved it.
Paige kicked his foot under the table, hard enough to get his attention.
"You cannot live off toast forever," she said.
"I am not living off toast," Stephen said. "I am eating toast."
Paige turned to her father. "He does this on purpose."
Mr. Swanson looked like he was trying not to smile. "Stephen, you ever eat eggs?"
"Yes," he said.
George Sr. set his elbows on the table. "Listen. You got a brain like a computer, but that does not mean you skip food."
Stephen glanced at Mary. She had her lips pressed together, the look she got when she wanted to fuss but did not want to embarrass him in public.
Paige leaned in toward Stephen, voice lower. "Just order one normal thing, so my mom stops looking like she is going to adopt you."
Stephen turned one page of the menu without reading it. "Fine."
He added eggs.
Paige sat back like she had won a small war.
Conversation drifted around them. Mrs. Swanson talked about Christmas plans and insisted Paige would not spend the whole break "in her room with those machines." Mary talked about church and asked if they wanted to attend Christmas Eve service. George Sr. said, "We will see," which meant no, but not in front of company. Mr. Swanson told a story about Paige as a kid trying to take apart a radio and putting it back together wrong, then blaming the radio for "not cooperating."
Paige shot him a look. "I was five."
"You were determined," her father said.
The food arrived and they ate.
When the check came, George Sr. reached for it at the same time Mr. Swanson did. Their hands hit the folder together and neither man moved.
"I got it," Mr. Swanson said.
George Sr. did not let go. "We are fine."
Mary leaned in. "George."
Mrs. Swanson set her hand flat on the table between them. "Split it."
Both men paused, then did what they were told without admitting they were told.
Outside, the cold hit Stephen's face and made his ears sting. Paige walked beside him toward the cars. Her breath showed and vanished.
"Guess that is it until January," Paige said.
Paige stared at him. "Do not count the days."
"I already did."
She watched him for a second like she was deciding whether to be annoyed. She did not commit. "Try to rest."
"I will try
Mrs. Swanson called, "Paige, honey, come on."
Paige stepped closer and wrapped her arms around Stephen in a quick hug that ended before anyone could comment on it. Her coat scratched his chin. Then she moved away like it was nothing.
"See you soon," she said.
"Count on it," Stephen said.
Paige got into her parents' car. Mr. Swanson waved out the window as they pulled away. Stephen watched the green car merge into traffic until it became one shape among many.
Mary touched Stephen's shoulder. "Ready to go home, honey?"
Stephen nodded.
The road back to Medford stretched long and flat. Mary hummed along with the radio when Christmas songs came on. George Sr. drove with both hands on the wheel and talked more than usual, maybe because the car was a small space and he wanted Stephen to fill it with something other than silence.
"Remember that year Georgie tried to deep-fry a turkey?" George Sr. said.
Mary made a sound like she had tasted something bitter. "Do not remind me."
George Sr. kept going anyway. "He dropped that frozen thing right into the oil. Almost burnt the back yard, the whole thing smelled like burnt feathers.
Stephen looked out the window at the passing lights and gas stations. "Turkey does not have feathers at that point."
George Sr. glanced at him. "You know what I mean."
Mary reached up and rubbed her temple, then stopped when she realized she was doing it. "It was a miracle the house did not burn down, Lord have mercy."
George Sr. snorted. "Miracle and dumb luck."
Stephen leaned his head against the cold window glass. The vibration of the road came through the door and into his shoulder.
Mary looked back at him. "You are okay?"
Stephen answered without thinking too hard. "I am tired."
George Sr. nodded. "That is fine. Means you worked."
Medford came up the way it always did, familiar turns, familiar dark stretches, the last mile where Stephen could name every mailbox even at night.
Porch light was on.
Through the front window Stephen saw movement, Missy cutting across the living room and Sheldon standing near the tree with a piece of paper held upright like it was evidence.
Mary opened the door.
Missy hit Stephen at full speed and wrapped her arms around his middle. "You are finally home."
Stephen steadied himself with one hand on the doorframe. "Hi, Missy."
Georgie leaned against the hallway wall with his arms crossed, smirk already loaded. "Look who thinks he is a big-shot college kid now."
Stephen looked him over. Georgie had gotten taller. His shoulders filled more of the doorway than Stephen remembered.
"Just a student," Stephen said. "You are still taller."
Georgie pointed at him. "For now."
Sheldon stepped closer, paper still in his hands. "Stephen, I have prepared a list of topics we need to discuss regarding your curriculum."
Missy made a face. "Nobody asked for your list."
Sheldon ignored her. "First, I would like to know why your dormitory allows students to consume Mountain Dew at breakfast."
Stephen took off his coat. "Sheldon."
Meemaw sat on the couch with a mug in her hand, legs tucked under her like she lived there and owned it. She squinted at Stephen. "Well. If it is not my little Einstein."
Georgie pointed again. "Told you."
Meemaw kept her eyes on Stephen. "You look taller. Or maybe you just look smugger."
Stephen set his bag near the stairs. "Hi, Meemaw."
She lifted her mug. "Welcome home, sugar."
The house smelled like cinnamon and something roasting in the oven. Mary moved straight into kitchen mode, checking pots and telling Missy to wash her hands. George Sr. disappeared for a minute and came back with a beer, the hiss of the can small in the room.
Dinner filled the table fast. Missy talked over everybody. Georgie tried to tell a story and got interrupted three times. Sheldon corrected Georgie's math when Georgie was not doing math at all. Meemaw sat back and watched, letting the mess happen.
Halfway through, Mary's voice cut through the noise.
"We heard about that awful fire in Austin," she said. "That was not near your dorm, was it?"
Stephen set his fork down. "No, ma'am."
Mary nodded, lips tight. "Good."
George Sr. cleared his throat. "All right." He looked around the table. "Christmas movies. What are we watchin' tomorrow night?"
"Die Hard," Georgie said immediately.
Sheldon stiffened. "It is not a Christmas movie."
Missy grabbed a roll and threw it. It hit Georgie in the shoulder, bounced, and landed in Sheldon's lap.
Sheldon stared at it like it was a personal attack.
Meemaw took a sip from her mug. "Y'all are gonna be loud no matter what movie is on."
After dinner Stephen carried plates to the sink because Mary was already reaching for them and he wanted her hands to stop moving for a minute. She watched him rinse a dish and narrowed her eyes.
"You have been living on your own too long," she said.
Mary reached up and ruffled his hair. Stephen leaned away.
Christmas morning came.
Georgie was downstairs first. Missy followed. Wrapping paper tore and piled. Toys started arguments inside of ten minutes. Sheldon tried to organize the mess and failed.
George Sr. handed Stephen a small box. "Open it."
Stephen opened it. A silver wristwatch sat inside, plain and clean, no extra shine.
"So you wont be lossen no time," George Sr. said.
Stephen turned it over in his hands, then looked up. "Thank you."
Mary handed him a book next, logic puzzles. "Something that does not need grading," she said.
Stephen nodded. "Thanks, Mom."
Meemaw shoved a wrapped box into his lap like she was dropping off evidence at a police station. "Open that one, sugar."
Stephen opened it. A small cast-iron pan, heavy for its size.
"For your fancy cookin'," Meemaw said. "Thought you could use somethin' real."
Stephen ran his thumb along the rim. "Perfect."
"Damn right," Meemaw said.
Later, when the house settled into that post-gift chaos, Stephen slipped outside with his coat on. The porch boards were cold under his shoes. He stood near the railing where he could see the road and the dark fields beyond it.
Stephen pulled the pi keychain from his pocket and turned it once between his fingers. Light from the living room window hit the rubber edge and then slipped off.
The screen door opened behind him.
Missy stepped out, barefoot, then remembered it was cold and stepped back in. "You are being weird."
"I am standing," Stephen said.
Missy squinted at his hands. "What is that?"
"A keychain," Stephen said.
Missy leaned in, then pulled back fast. "Nerd."
She shut the door.
Stephen stayed out another minute, then headed back inside.
Thanks for reading, feel free to write a comment, leave a review, and Power Stones are always appreciated.