Page 104 of Cross + Catherine: The Companion

She was gone a second later.

Cross waited until the front door of their Newport home closed shut before he went in search of the only possible explanation for the strange young female in his house. He soon found eighteen-year-old Nazio in his bedroom doing chin-ups on the bar that hung in the doorway of Naz’s connecting bathroom.

On the TV, news played.

The stereo—heavy metal.

On the white board above the head of Naz’s bed—well, to Cross it looked like a bunch of jumbled, nonsensical numbers and symbols, but he knew just by seeing them enough times from Naz that it was a physics theory of some sort.

And no, not high school level shit.

Genius level physics.

All of this shit played on in Naz’s room as he finished his chin-up set. The eighteen year old dropped to the floor without barely making a sound—six foot six, and two-hundred and thirty pounds of solid muscle.

Yeah, where Naz had once seemed like all long arms and legs was now a very filled out young man. A good two hours of every day for Naz was dedicated to fitness whether it be weight training, or hard cardio. Not because he was vain about his body, but because his body needed to be able to keep up with him.

He still liked his beanie, though.

That reminded Cross of when his boy was young, and still little. Before all this genius stuff had come along to make Naz a little chaotic in his life.

“Hey,” Naz said as he grabbed the black marker from his nightstand. “The weather is going to be good for that gun run to Kenya.”

That was what was playing on the TV.

Naz scribbled more shit Cross couldn’t even begin to attempt to understand on the whiteboard, and stepped back as the TV and radio blared on in the background. The young man surveyed his formula like he was satisfied—sort of.

Cross was overwhelmed just standing there. It was too many things happening all at once, and too much noise to get his thoughts in order. Far too much movement, and everything else, too.

He couldn’t keep up.

This was Naz, though.

This was Naz’s everyday life.

His mind.

Chaotic.

Intense.

So full.

Non-stop.

“Naz,” Cross said, “give me five.”

Naz clapped once, and the TV shut off, Then, he snapped his fingers, and the music quieted to a dull roar in the background—much better than before.

“You want more lights on for this, or …?” his son asked.

“Whatever, son.”

Naz clapped twice, and the lights brightened. A whole set up Naz had hooked up himself. Like everything else in this damn bedroom.

Cross did not understand how he had ended up with a child that was a literal genius.

But here Naz was.