Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe (Aristotle and Dante, #1)

by Benjamin Alire Sáenz

As far as I was concerned, the sun could have melted the blue right off the sky. Then the sky could be as miserable as I was.

“Fifteen-year-olds don’t qualify as people.” My mom laughed. She was a high school teacher. I knew she half agreed with me.

Yeah, I had all kinds of tragic reasons for feeling sorry for myself. Being fifteen didn’t help. Sometimes I thought that being fifteen was the worst tragedy of all.

A girl is like a tree? Yeah, and a guy is about as smart as a piece of dead wood infested with termites.

“What are you allergic to?” “The air,” he said. That made me laugh. “My name’s Dante,” he said. That made me laugh harder. “Sorry,” I said. “It’s okay. People laugh at my name.” “No, no,” I said. “See, it’s just that my name’s Aristotle.” His eyes lit up. I mean, the guy was ready to listen to every word I said.

Maybe I was a little superior. But I don’t think I was superior. I just didn’t understand how to talk to them, how to be myself around them. Being around other guys didn’t make me feel smarter. Being around guys made me feel stupid and inadequate.

In order to be wildly popular you had to make people believe that you were fun and interesting. I just wasn’t that much of a con artist.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Quintana.” I’d heard that phrase, nice to meet you, a thousand times. When Dante had said it to me, he’d sounded real. But when I said it, I felt stupid and unoriginal. I wanted to hide somewhere. “You can call me Sam,” he said. “I can’t,” I said. God, I wanted to hide.

“Do you always analyze your parents?” “They analyze us, don’t they?” “That’s their job, Dante.” “Tell me you don’t analyze your mom and dad.” “Guess I do. Doesn’t do me any good. I haven’t figured them out yet.”

As Dante was watching me search the sky through the lens of a telescope, he whispered, “Someday, I’m going to discover all the secrets of the universe.”

One time, I sat with him at Mass. He untied his shoelaces and took off his shoes right there in the pew. I sort of gave him this look. He rolled his eyes and pointed at the crucifix and whispered, “Jesus isn’t wearing shoes.”

“Did anybody ever tell you that sometimes you talk like a lunatic who speaks perfect English?”

“I’m going to make you stop,” he said. “How?” “By kicking your skinny little asses all the way to the Mexican border,” I said. I guess I was just afraid these guys were going to hurt Dante. I just said what I felt I had to say. They weren’t big guys and they weren’t smart either. They were mean and stupid boys and I’d seen what mean and stupid boys could do. Maybe Dante wasn’t mean enough for a fight. But I was. And I’d never felt bad for punching out a guy who needed punching out.

I had a philosopher’s name. What was my answer? Why didn’t I have an answer?

And why was it that some guys had tears in them and some had no tears at all? Different boys lived by different rules.

There were so many ghosts in our house—the ghost of my brother, the ghosts of my father’s war, the ghosts of my sister’s voices. And I thought that maybe there were ghosts inside of me that I hadn’t even met yet. They were there. Lying in wait.

“Did anybody ever tell you that you weren’t normal?” “Is that something I should aspire to?”

“I have a different theory.” “Of course you do—you’re an adult.” He laughed. “What do you have against adults?” “They too have many ideas about who we are. Or who we should be.”

“I’ll miss him too,” I said. I was sorry I’d said that. It was true, okay, but I didn’t have to say it.

Dante had this look on his face. He looked like an angel. And all I wanted to do was put my fist through his jaw. I couldn’t stand my own cruelty.

Gina was getting mad. The last time I’d seen that look on her face, she’d thrown a rock at me.

Brand-new teacher, fresh out of education school, all smiles and enthusiasm. He still thought high school students were nice.

Those three, they were always asking me lots of questions. Questions I didn’t want to answer. They wanted to get to know me. Yeah, well, I wasn’t interested in being known. I wanted to buy a T-shirt that read: I AM UNKNOWABLE. But that would have only made Gina Navarro ask more questions.

Sometimes parents loved their sons so much that they made a romance out of their lives. They thought our youth could help us overcome everything. Maybe moms and dads forgot about this one small fact: being on the verge of seventeen could be harsh and painful and confusing. Being on the verge of seventeen could really suck.

“Bullshit, Ari. You have the harder rule to follow? Buffalo shit. Coyote shit. All you have to do is be loyal to the most brilliant guy you’ve ever met—which is like walking barefoot through the park. I, on the other hand, have to refrain from kissing the greatest guy in the universe—which is like walking barefoot on hot coals.”

“You can’t make anyone be an adult. Especially an adult.”

People I didn’t know walked up to me. “Ari?” they would ask. “Yes, I’m Ari.” “Your aunt adored you.” I was so ashamed. For having kept her on the margins of my memory. I was so ashamed.

When I woke, I wanted to touch myself. “Shaking hands with your best friend.” That was Dante’s euphemism.

“There are worse things in the world than a boy who likes to kiss other boys.”

Sometimes, you do things and you do them not because you’re thinking but because you’re feeling. Because you’re feeling too much. And you can’t always control the things you do when you’re feeling too much.

I knew I’d gone crazy but I couldn’t explain it to myself. Maybe that’s what happens when you go crazy. You just can’t explain it. Not to yourself. Not to anyone. And the worst part about going crazy is that when you’re not crazy anymore, you just don’t know what to think of yourself.

The day he came home from the hospital, he cried. I held him. I thought he would never stop. I knew that a part of him would never be the same. They cracked more than his ribs.

“Daniel doesn’t care about you.” “He was scared.” “So what? We’re all scared.” “You’re not, Ari. You’re not scared of anything.” “That’s not true. But I wouldn’t have let them do that to you.” “Maybe you just like to fight, Ari.” “Maybe.”

“Can I tell you a secret, Ari?” “Can I stop you?” “You don’t like knowing my secrets.” “Sometimes your secrets scare me.”

I thought of that look on my mother’s face when I’d told her I was ashamed. I thought of that look of love and compassion that she wore as she looked at me. “Ashamed? Of loving Dante?” I took Dante’s hand and held it. How could I have ever been ashamed of loving Dante Quintana?