Chapter 74
[Rose's POV]
Alexander's arm tightened around me, his body a shield against the chaos. He pushed forward with surprising strength for someone his age, using his shoulder to force open a path. "Move! Get back!"
A phone flashed in my face again. The spots in my vision expanded, overlapping. Through the haze I could see Rachel, her carefully constructed media smile cracking as the crowd pressed in from all sides. Someone was pulling at her designer jacket. Another person had grabbed Ethan's arm.
"Please, everyone, just—" Rachel's voice rose higher, tinged with real panic now.
Alexander pulled me sideways, toward the brick wall of a building. His movements were deliberate, almost military in their efficiency. Another body slammed into us—I felt his grip on me tighten reflexively—but he didn't stop. Just kept moving, kept pushing, until suddenly the pressure eased.
We broke free of the crowd. Alexander half-carried, half-guided me to the wall, positioning me against the cold brick. The solid surface behind me helped. Something real, something steady. I leaned back and tried to remember how to breathe.
"Rose." Alexander's face appeared in front of mine, blocking out the chaos behind him. His eyes were wide, worried. "Stay with me. Look at me."
I focused on him. On the blue in his hair that caught the streetlight. On the three silver earrings in his left ear. On the way his chest was heaving from exertion.
"Breathe," Alexander said. His voice had dropped to something almost gentle. "In and out. Like this."
He demonstrated, exaggerating the motion. I tried to follow. My hands were shaking violently. I pressed them flat against the wall.
Behind Alexander, the crowd had fully engulfed Rachel and Ethan. Security from a nearby store was trying to intervene, but there were too many people. Phones still flashing. Voices still screaming. But it was distant now, muffled, like hearing things underwater.
"Excuse me?"
The voice was so soft I almost didn't hear it. A girl, maybe fifteen, stood a few feet away. She had braces and was clutching a spiral-bound notebook to her chest. Her eyes darted nervously between Alexander and me.
"Yes?" I managed. My voice sounded strange, thin.
"I'm sorry to bother you." The girl took a hesitant step closer. "Are you Rose Evans? The one who solved the MIT problem?"
Alexander made an impatient gesture. "Not now, kid—"
"It's fine." I straightened slightly, forcing my breathing to stabilize. The question had pulled me back, given me something concrete to focus on. "Yes, I'm Rose."
The girl's face lit up. "Oh my God. I mean—sorry, I don't mean to freak out. It's just, I read about what you did in the physics competition. The quantum gravity stuff?" She clutched her notebook tighter. "That was incredible."
"Thank you." I studied her. She wore a Boston Latin School hoodie. Honor roll pin on the strap of her backpack. Her notebook was covered in mathematical equations written in careful, neat handwriting.
"Could I—" She glanced at Alexander, then back to me. "Could I maybe get your autograph? I know that's weird. It's just, you're like, the coolest person I've ever seen do actual science. Not just talk about it, but really do it."
I looked at Alexander. He shrugged, but his expression had softened slightly.
"Of course." I held out my hand for the notebook.
She handed it over quickly, fumbling slightly. "My name's Emma. I'm in ninth grade. I want to study physics, but I'm not, like, super great at math yet." She was talking fast, nervous. "Everyone says you have to be a genius to do real physics, and I'm just... okay, you know?"
I opened her notebook. Pages of calculus practice problems. Competition-level work. Mistakes crossed out neatly, corrections written beside them in different colored ink. The work of someone who cared deeply about getting things right.
"What pen?" I asked.
"Oh!" Emma dug in her backpack and produced a blue ballpoint.
I wrote my name carefully on the inside cover, then added a line underneath: Intelligence isn't about being the best. It's about being curious. Keep asking questions. —R.E.
I handed it back. "You're not 'just okay,' Emma. You're doing ninth-grade competition math. That's not okay, that's excellent."
Her eyes went wide as she read what I'd written. "Thank you. Oh my God, thank you."
"Where do you go to school?" I asked.
"Boston Latin."
"I'm at Boston College Prep. If you ever want to talk about physics or need help with a problem, you can reach me through the school." I paused. "I'm still learning too. Every day. The people who say you have to be a genius—they're wrong. You just have to care enough to keep trying."
Emma's eyes were shining now. She clutched the notebook to her chest like it was precious. "Thank you so much. This means everything."
She hurried away, glancing back twice with a huge smile before disappearing around the corner.
Alexander was staring at me. "That was nice."
"She's a good student." I leaned back against the wall, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline was fading, leaving me hollow. "She deserves encouragement."
"The crowd's thinning out." Alexander nodded toward the scene. Security had finally managed to create some space. Rachel was being escorted toward a waiting car, her hair disheveled, one shoe missing. Ethan limped beside her, looking shell-shocked. "We should get you home."
I let him guide me back to the car. My legs felt weak, unsteady. The Aston Martin's interior was blessedly quiet when the door closed behind me. I sank into the leather seat and let my eyes fall shut.
Alexander started the engine but didn't pull out immediately. "Are you okay?"
"I will be." I opened my eyes. Looked at him. "Thank you, Alexander. I didn't expect to lose control like that."
"You didn't lose control." His voice was firm. "You had a panic attack. There's a difference."
"A panic attack brought on by losing control."
He pulled out into traffic, his movements smooth despite the tension still visible in his shoulders. "Rose, you're like, the smartest person I know. But that doesn't mean you have to handle everything alone. What happened back there—that could overwhelm anyone."
I watched the city lights stream past the window. "In my time, crowds weren't like that. People didn't swarm celebrities with phones and cameras. They didn't create those kinds of mobs."
"Yeah, well, welcome to 2024." Alexander glanced at me. "Social media makes people crazy. They see someone they recognize, and it's like they stop being rational humans."
"Even if I were a full-grown woman, that would have been dangerous."
"Exactly." He accelerated through a yellow light. "Having a genius brain doesn't help predict social media chaos. That's not physics."
I found myself almost smiling. "No. It certainly isn't."
"And for the record," Alexander continued, his tone lighter now, "even if you'd been like, an adult adult, I still would have gotten you out of there. That's what family does."
"You're right," I said quietly. "Modern society isn't a battlefield I need to conquer alone."
"Now you sound like you're learning." He flashed me a quick grin. "Character development."
"Don't push your luck."
"That's not physics either—that's chaos theory." His grin widened. "Which, ironically, you could probably explain better than anyone."
I did smile then. A small one, but real. The first genuine smile since the panic had hit.
We drove in silence for a few minutes. The October night was clear, stars barely visible through Boston's light pollution. I thought about Emma's notebook. About her careful corrections and determined practice. About the way her face had lit up when I told her she was doing well.
"Alexander," I said.
"Yeah?"
"If you ever need someone..." I hesitated, choosing words carefully. "I know I'm technically your great-great-grandmother, which is absurd. But if you need someone to talk to, someone who won't judge you—I'm here."
He was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was softer than I'd ever heard it. "That means a lot, Rose. Really."
"You've proven yourself trustworthy." I glanced at him. "Earlier, when Rachel and Ethan appeared, you were angry. You wanted to defend yourself, to fight back. But the moment that crowd became dangerous, you put me first. Without hesitation."
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Of course I did. You're family."
"You're a good great-great-grandson, Alexander." The words felt strange but also somehow right. "I'm starting to think highly of you."
"Don't tell Grandpa James." He tried for his usual cocky tone, but it came out gentler than usual. "I still have a reputation as the family screw-up to maintain."
"Your reputation is changing. Whether you like it or not."
He laughed. "Yeah, I'm noticing that."