Chicken or Egg: A Love Story?

Chicken or Egg: A Love Story?

Copyright © 2020 by Elise Abram

All rights reserved.

Published by EMSA Publishing 2020

Thornhill, Ontario, Canada

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition, including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.

First printing

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental.

PUBLISHED BY EMSA PUBLISHING

http://emsapublishing.com

Chicken or Egg: A Love Story? is printed in Garamond.

Credits: Cover font: Minya Nouvelle by Typodermic Fonts | Dafont.com.

Cover art: Chicken by Tribaliumivanka | Depositphotos.com; Gold vintage watches by gorbovoi81 | Depositphotos.com; Big white egg by Indigofish | Depositphotos.com; under Depositphotos Standard License.

Cover design: Elise Abram

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Luna is Afraid of Storms

ITERATION ONE

1

NIGEL

NIGEL SAT IN FRONT of the Arch, counting down the seconds, giddy with the notion they were about to make history. Danny paced to the point at which Nigel felt he might kill him...literally.

Danny stopped pacing long enough to crouch in front of the camera and say, Any minute now and that tennis ball should roll through the Arch, ending the first phase of this groundbreaking experiment. He punctuated his statement with something that sounded like Ach!

Quit clowning around, Nigel admonished. This is supposed to be a scientific experiment. How professional will it look to the rest of the world if you're fangurling into the camera? Nigel questioned, and not for the first time, how he'd come to be saddled with the likes of a dolt like Danny.

Actually, given Danny's credentials, he was anything but a dolt. On paper, he looked better than the most qualified of scientists, when in reality, he was nothing more than a bored child who cracked smart to pass the time.

The video has to remain pristine, the timer intact. There can't be even a fraction of a second edited out.

So you've said, Danny said. He resumed pacing.

Nigel took a beat. It doesn't bother you that if this works—

When.

"When this works, your antics could brand you a laughing stock?"

My 'antics', as you call them, do nothing but underscore my enthusiasm. If the world finds that funny, then they can laugh with me all the way to the bank.

Nigel's phone beeped. Ten seconds, he said.

The men counted down. When they got to one and nothing happened, Nigel felt his heart skip a beat. Where is it?

What happened to the ball? Danny said.

Maybe cosmic time differs from human time, Nigel suggested.

The Arch works on human time. Maybe your timer's wrong.

Nigel shook his head. "It's keyed into the atomic clock.

I don't know. Nigel sounded panicked. I don't know.

And then the impossible happened: the ball rolled through the Arch. One second there was nothing, and then there was a ball. A plain, yellow tennis ball with their signatures on it. The same ball they'd sent through the Arch five minutes before.

The men were paralysed, able to do nothing but watch as the ball rolled across the room and came to a stop after butting against the far wall.

Danny let out a burst of air. We did it! He raced to retrieve the ball. Catch, he told Nigel, and he threw the ball across the room.

Nigel considered dodging the ball rather than trying to catch it, but then it landed directly in his hand as if guided there by Fate. He went to the camera, held the ball in front of the lens, and squeezed. No decrease in elasticity.

Do you realize what this means? Danny said. He took a beat. The rabbit's next.

Not before we do more tests.

Danny's hand was on the rabbit's cage door. It's a piece of rubber. He left the cage, went over to Nigel, took the ball from him, dropped it on the floor, and caught it on the return. It bounces. It's good.

We can't know for sure, not on a molecular level.

What could you possibly test?

The composition of the exterior, for one. The quality of the air inside, not to mention the colour—

It's yellow.

There could be minute changes. He looked at Danny, reading obvious disappointment in his posture and gaze. The rabbit is a living, breathing being, never mind the costs involved—

Once more, the almighty dollar rears its ugly head.

My grant was finite.

I never thought I'd see it, Nige: you cow-towing to the bottom line—

"Lest we not forget our roles in this experiment—my degree's the one on the line; mine. In case you've forgotten, you're the lab assistant." It was a distinction of which he reminded Danny practically daily. The master's student's enthusiasm was near palpable, a fact that was exhilarating at times, and downright infuriating at others. Still, Nigel was the doctoral candidate and Danny his lab-monkey. If the Arch Project went down in a ball of fire, it would take Nigel's credentials—not to mention his reputation—along with it.

Okay, then, Danny taunted, bottom-line it for me: how much will your testing cost?

Nigel shrugged.

About the same as a new bunny? Danny paused. What's that? What did you say, Bugs? He cupped a hand to his ear and affected a falsetto. Please, Uncle Nigel. I want to travel to the future. Only five minutes, I promise—

Very funny. You're a laugh riot, Alice.

Okay, then, he said in a normal tone. "One minute."

I'm not going to risk it.

What's the worst that could happen?

"You saw Star Trek: The Motion Picture."

Unfortunately, yes.

That transporter accident turned the crew members into a hot mess of unrecognisable flesh.

Nigel gave him a sideways glance. He hoped Danny would take it as a warning.

Come on, dude, Danny said, getting the rabbit from its cage. "Everything with you's about Star Trek. I even let you name the thing the Arch after the one on the holodeck—"

"You let me?"

"Okay, so I let you keep it. Star Trek's fiction; what you and I have just witnessed? Man, that's real!"

Nigel had to admit he was curious to see what might happen when a living, breathing organism went through the Arch, and he agreed against his better judgment. Only a minute, he cautioned.

A single minute, Danny confirmed.

DANNY RESET THE CAMERA so it would straddle the Arch. If the experiment worked, the rabbit would enter the Arch on the right side of the monitor and come out on the left a full minute later. To the naked eye, it would appear the same as the old Laugh-In gag. A camera trick. Like when a person seems to disappear behind a tree only to emerge on the other side after a delay. Only this would be real, uncut, and depict a dilation of time.

Nigel programmed the Arch for a minute. This time, he would take extra care to set the timer on his phone to coincide with the one on the Arch's interface to the nanosecond.

When they were ready, Danny put the rabbit down in front of the Arch. It stayed in place at first, wrinkled its nose, and wiggled its whiskers. For a moment, Nigel considered throwing a carrot to prompt it through the Arch, but then Danny nudged the rabbit through with the tip of his shoe.

The rabbit came through on the other side a minute later to the millisecond, seemingly no worse for the wear. Danny picked it up and put it in its cage where it set to munching on a lettuce leaf. Until that moment, the lab had been silent as the men digested the awe of the scene they'd witnessed. When Nigel went over to inspect the rabbit, Danny took a step back and let out a whoop. Drinks are on me, he said. 

2

NIGEL

THEY WENT TO A JOINT on campus and sat at the bar. Nigel ordered a beer.

Forget that, Danny told him. I'd say Champagne is in order.

I'm good, Nigel told the bartender, whose smile was almost enough to distract him from her breasts as they vied for room in her brassiere.

Whatever he's having, Danny said, resigned. He turned on his barstool until he was facing the crowd on the dance floor. Where's your sense of adventure? My heart's about to leap from my chest. Aren't you excited?

Don't I look excited? Nigel said, purposely droll.

Excited's not exactly the word I'd use.

Nigel didn't ask what, exactly, that word was. It was for the better, he surmised, sure Danny didn't want to know the word—or words—he'd choose to describe him, either.

The bartender brought their drinks. Thanks, sweetheart, Danny said. He took a breath as if to say something more, but the girl walked away.

Please, tell me you weren't about to try to pick up the bartender.

I wasn't—

Doesn't it bother you that you're a walking cliché?

As if a scientist with eyes only for the Nobel and stick up his ass is any less of a cliché.

Have you met me? Nigel asked. He took a swig of his beer. Let me introduce myself: I'm the guy with a say in your earning your degree. Your supervisor, for all intents and purposes—

Don't let the banter fool you—I respect you as a scientist and mentor; I just wish you'd pull the stick out and loosen up a bit.

Flattery will get you everywhere, Nigel said, resigned.

"What we did in that lab today? No one else—and I mean no one—in the history of the world—the entire world—has ever accomplished that before."

That we know of—

Kill joy. Danny looked at Nigel and flashed him a grin.

Nigel felt a pang of envy hit him at the perpendicularity of Danny's teeth, the depth of the dimples in his cheeks, and his angular jaw. Nigel had never thought of himself as being conventionally handsome, but he worried he paled in comparison to the likes of his lab assistant.

We need to wait for the MRI, Nigel reminded him.

MRI, shmem-RI, Danny said with another grin. He gulped the remainder of beer in his bottle and signaled to the bartender to bring him another. I want to go next.

Why you?

You're the code ninja—if something goes wrong, I'm going to need you at the helm.

"The Arch is my project. I should be the first human to go through."

Okay, Danny said. He leaned against the bar and propped his elbows up behind him. But I'm more of a builder than a coder. If there's a glitch in the software, you're on your own.

"No worries, Danny-boy. I'll figure out a way to find you, no matter where—or should I say, when—you are." Now Nigel did grin, sure it looked more wicked than charming as it stretched across his lips.

Danny finished the dregs of his second bottle, put it on the bar, and said, I've got to drain the main vein. When I come back, we're gonna get you lucky.

Nigel had no hope of getting lucky, as Danny had put it. At best, he'd hoped to clear his head with a drink or two and a good night's sleep before delivering the rabbit for its MRI the next morning. He wondered at the possibilities if the MRI came back clear. Nigel cared not for tired time travel tropes such as killing Hitler, nor did he care for Terminator-style tactics, killing progenitors of the famous before they'd made it. If he could change one thing to better the future of mankind—end global warming, feed the world, save the planet from alien domination—his toils would have been worth it.

And now that man-child, Danny, had called dibs on the very thing that would have put Nigel's name in the history books.

That Danny had a point as to why it should be him and not Nigel was negligible.

He spun his stool around to look at the crowd, and that was when he saw her. She seemed forlorn, lost in the throng of dancing, drunk, and drugged party-goers as she sat alone at her table, babysitting her friends' half-drunk drinks and jackets.

Nigel approached her and said, You look lonely. She opened her mouth as if to protest, but he cut her off. May I buy you a drink? He smiled wanly. It felt warmer than the one he'd given Danny earlier. He hoped she'd read it as such.

Thanks, she said, returning the smile, but I don't drink.

He diverted his eyes to the glass she cupped between her hands.

Coke, she explained.

He smiled again and said, Come with me. Nigel took her hand and tugged gently.

My friends—

I believe the whole world understands that a coat on a seat means it's saved.

She glanced at the dance floor. The drinks—

They can buy new ones. He tugged on her hand again. She stood and let him lead her through the maze of tables and back to the bar. Nigel kept looking back at her as if to make sure she was still there. When their eyes met, she smiled demurely, as if embarrassed at allowing herself to be picked up so easily.

Nigel wormed his way through the front line crowding the bar, signalled for the bartender, and placed his order. He looked at the girl, hardly able to believe his luck. Do you trust me? he asked.

She looked up at him from beneath thick eyelashes. Seeing as we just met, and I don't even know your name yet—

The name's Nigel, my lady. He held a hand out for her to shake. Nigel Trumble. Ph.D. candidate in Physics.

Paula Carson, she said. Undergrad. Cultural Anthropology. She took his hand and shook it.

The bartender placed four open bottles of beer on the bar and two glasses. Nigel smiled at the bartender salaciously, winked, and nodded; the bartender blushed.

Nigel felt on fire. One girl sitting with him, the other blushing at his advances after having rejected Danny's—rather than question it, he went with the flow.

I don't drink, Paula repeated.

I think you do, but you haven't found your poison yet.

Paula shrugged. At any rate, I can't drink tonight: designated driver.

For yourself?

She shook her head. The girls making fools of themselves on the dance floor.

A taste, then? For future reference. He stared her down, seeing his reflection in her eyes, surprised at its clarity.

Maybe a taste, she said shyly.

Nigel poured a quarter of a glass from the first bottle and nudged it toward her. Go on, he said.

What is it?

I thought you trusted me.

I never said that.

I believed it to be implicit.

Paula smiled and took a sip from the first glass.

Good beer is meant to be gulped, Miss Carson.

She looked at him over the rim of the glass, lips poised a fraction of a second from drinking.

Go on, he said. Down with it.

She finished the contents of the glass in a single swallow.

Nigel took a swig himself, tasting the yeasty sourness of the beer mingled with the aftertaste of raspberries tempering the astringency. Good? Nigel asked.

Different, Paula said, stifling a burp.

He poured from the second bottle.

Once more, he said. All at once.

The person on the stool beside her left his post, and Nigel motioned for her to sit before drinking the second glass. This time, it was strawberry.

I should stop, she said.

Tell me you're not finally enjoying yourself.

"I was enjoying myself. Before."

You weren't.

Were you watching me, Mr. Trumble?

I noticed you: a pretty girl sitting alone at an empty table, waiting for her friends. He leaned his elbow on the bar and rested his head in his hand. You captivate me.

She looked at him sideways as if trying to sniff out his agenda.

Nigel wondered if she felt flattered at his admission or put-off. He hoped he wasn't coming across as creepy.

Go on then, drink up, he said, nudging the glass toward her once more.

Designated driver, remember?

And who do we have here? Danny said, having returned from the washroom.

Paula Carson, Danny Parsons, Nigel introduced.

While the cat's away, huh? Danny took Paula's hand between both of his. "Enchanter," he said.

Do you speak French? Paula asked.

Speak the language of love? No...but my body does. He laughed something that sounded more like a growl.

What was worse than Danny flirting with the girl was that she giggled as if flirting back.

If you don't mind, Danny, me and Paula were in the middle of something, here. He didn't want to come off as petty, but he didn't want Danny cock-blocking him either. As far as Nigel was concerned, if Danny didn't exeunt and soon, he might as well call it a night. In his mind, Nigel simply didn't stack up to his lab-ass. Given Danny's over six-foot-tall frame, his linebacker shoulder girth, and debonair swagger, Nigel needed to get rid of him before Paula started taking stock.

Paula doesn't mind the extra company—do you, Paula?

Umm... she glanced at Nigel before continuing. No...I guess.

See, Nige? Paula doesn't mind.

It's getting late, Danny-boy. If you're going to conduct the experiment we talked about, you must be sure to get your sleep.

You're saying I can go first?

Yes, but you should be going now.

Right. He gave Nigel an exaggerated wink before stepping away. Have fun, you two. Danny took Paula's hand and shook it. Paula, it's been fun. He clapped Nigel on the back. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, he said before leaving.

The two of them watched him go. When Nigel was sure he'd really left, he turned back to Paula and said, Now, where were we?

Paula! There you are, a girl with a sweaty face and smudged makeup shouted over the music as she approached. "I love this song!" She grabbed Paula by the wrist and pulled her toward the dance floor.

Sorry, Paula mouthed. She locked eyes with Nigel while walking backward as if debating whether her friend's intervention constituted being saved or interrupted.

Paula turned to glance back over her shoulder once more. Nigel tipped his pilsner glass toward her from his seat at the bar, winked, and grinned. He was astonished when Paula grinned back.

Alone at the bar once more, Nigel finished his drink and paid and tipped the bartender.

LATER THAT EVENING, Nigel spotted Paula and her friends readying to leave. He waved from a distance. She returned the wave, which he took as an invitation to approach to say goodbye. Not too tipsy to drive, I hope, he said.

She smiled; the stars in Nigel's mind wept. We called an Uber.

Seriously?

Paula giggled. She jangled what he surmised to be her car keys in front of his face, and Nigel heard angels' harps.

Let me get my jacket. I'll walk you out.

Paula nodded, but when Nigel returned, she and her friends had gone.

Dejected, Nigel went outside to look for Danny who, to his indignation, he found on the street, talking to Paula. Nigel watched as they appeared to shake hands, and she turned to leave.

Danny turned back to Nigel, waving the contact card she'd slipped him when they'd shook hands.

You got her number? Nigel asked, disappointed.

Oh...I got her number, Danny said. He removed his wallet from his back pocket, brought the card to his lips, kissed it, slipped it into his wallet, and returned the wallet to his pocket.

Nigel seethed. He wanted nothing more than to pulverise Danny's smarmy grin from his face, but he said nothing. Nigel knew her name and department, and she knew the same of him.

He was confident it wouldn’t be the last time they'd meet.

3

NIGEL

WHEN DANNY ARRIVED at work the next day, Nigel was busy running simulations for a trip into the past. Time travel to the past was impossible at worst and difficult at best. One never knew what paradoxes might occur. The Butterfly Effect was an aspect of Chaos Theory in which mathematician Edward Lorenz posited that even the smallest of changes in a system could result in huge differences at a later point in time. In it, he supposed that something as small as the flap of a butterfly's wings could have devastating ripple effects for weather conditions somewhere down the road in another part of the world.

No one knew for sure what might happen if someone travelled back in time to meet himself because no one had done it yet. The Fermi Paradox, named for physicist Enrico Fermi, indicated as much when it suggested backward time travel—or time travel of any kind, for that matter—didn't exist because no one had come forward with evidence they had actually travelled back in time. If Nigel had already travelled back in time, why hadn't he made contact with himself to let him know? Then again, didn't there have to be a first time for everything? Even causal loops had to have an origin iteration at some point, he reasoned.

Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure came to mind when Nigel thought of causal loops. Also called boot-strap paradoxes, the term referred to a self-starting process. For example, if Nigel ever recovered a tennis ball sent through the Arch he hadn't sent, he would have to remember to do it at some point in time to maintain the causal loop. If, in any iteration, a random ball came back in time, then it stood to reason the event hadn't happened because backward time travel was no longer a possibility.

Then there was the Consistency Paradox, which stated that time travellers could only do that which had already been done. If Nigel travelled back in time to meet a young JFK and told him to stay out of Dallas on November 22, 1963, chances were Kennedy would eventually be killed elsewhere to set history back on track.

Doing something that hadn't already been done in the past might pose a temporal paradox. There was no telling how the universe might react to a temporal paradox as there had never been one before.

Forward time travel seemed safer because the future hadn't happened yet.

The thought of it all made Nigel's head ache.

Danny closed the door behind him, took an exaggerated breath, and said, Today is a good day to travel in time, Nigel, don't you think?

Forget about paradoxes—having to share a lab with that snake, Danny, was most likely the cause of his headache.

"It was before you got here," Nigel chided.

I love you, too, Nige.

He sat on a stool near Nigel's computer console and said, What's on the agenda for today? See the Sphinx in all its splendour? Take in a Beatles concert? Nail rinkside seats to see the Leafs win the cup?

If you shut up long enough to let me think, we might be able to send a ball back in time.

Or that, Danny said.

Danny was quiet all of about ten seconds. Paula's nice, right?

I wouldn't know. I'm too busy crunching code.

I mean, she seems nice. She's attractive, I'll give her that.

Nigel sighed and took his fingers from his keyboard. She's beautiful, smart, and funny.

I know, right? Danny took a beat. I should call her.

"I should be the one calling her." Nigel hadn't intended to say anything. He was sure he'd eventually forget about Paula. There'd be plenty of time for girls after he'd earned his doctorate, besides. Though it would've killed him to see that oaf with her, Nigel was sure it wouldn't last. Someone like Paula was far too sophisticated for the likes of an ogre like Danny. He was smart—Nigel could admit that much—but his tall, broad stature made him more of a caveman. Nigel represented something further along the evolutionary scale. What he lacked in brawn, he made up for in brain, and future iterations of humankind were more likely to prize intellectualism over muscle.

Danny looked at Nigel, stunned.

Don't act as if you didn't notice me chatting her up at the bar while you drained your weasel, as you so eloquently put it.

I said, drain the main vein. And I saw you talking to her. I just didn't realize you held pre-emptive rights to her affections—

She's a person, Danny, not a thing. Contrary to your popular beliefs, I can't hold claim to anything that's hers.

The men exchanged glances while Nigel seethed inside. Anyone with eyes could've plainly seen that he and Paula had a vibe going between them. For Danny to have negated what he'd felt made Nigel feel stupid. Like he'd misjudged the entire scenario. Nigel hated being forced to second-guess.

Wow! You really have it bad for her, Danny said. I was obviously too caught up in myself to have read the scene. He paused for a moment then broke the silence by hitting the counter in front of him. Tell you what I'm gonna do. Danny took his wallet from his back pocket and handed Nigel the card Paula had given him.

Though he knew full well what it was, he asked, What's that?

Paula's card.

Nigel contemplated taking the card but thought better of it. Is this some kind of a joke?

No joke. You saw her first; you should call her first.

Nigel had to stop his hand from pouncing on the card. She gave it to you.

Did you ask her for her number?

No, but—

How do you know she wouldn't have given it to you if you'd asked?

"Did you ask her for it?" Nigel thought he saw Danny wince. It was enough for him to know Danny hadn't needed to ask.

Just take the damn card, Danny said. He pitched it on the counter with a spin as if it were a hockey card.

Nigel looked at the card for a moment before picking it up. Thank you, Daniel. I appreciate the gesture.

You called me Daniel—that must've been sincere.

Fuck off, Nigel told him.

Danny chuckled. There's the Nigel I know and love.

A great weight lifted from Nigel's heart. He had Paula's number, which, in and of itself, meant nothing until he used it, and she agreed to see him again. Nigel hoped she wouldn't be angry at the bait and switch.

Now, he said, slipping the card into his back pocket, if you'd be so kind as to shut up and let me get on with my work, we might send a ball into the past before the day's over.

THE SUN HAD BEGUN TO set by the time Nigel's code was ready to compile. He looked at the bags of fast food and stale, cold hamburgers, fries, and subs littering the lab. Danny was a pig. The least he could've done was chuck the leftover shit in the garbage. Nigel sighed, vowing to make another pass at Danny's academic record. Too bad they didn’t record personality flaws in addition to grades.

Danny finally returned, carrying a pressed-paper tray holding two Iced-Capps and a box of fifty Timbits. Nigel's program was only thirty-five percent compiled, which meant he'd have to spend the better part of the next hour making small talk with the guy.

You're sure your code will work? Danny asked.

We'll know after it compiles.

What if it has errors?

It won't have errors.

How do you know?

I ran a simulation. The code should work.

Danny popped a Timbit into his mouth and washed it down with a long draw from his Iced-Capp. Brain freeze! he exclaimed. He squinted his eyes and bowed his head.

It must've subsided a few moments later because Danny raised his head, wiped a tear from his eye, and said, A ball hasn't come through yet.

That's probably because I'd planned to send it a minute into the past, and the program's got a good half-hour left to compile.

I'm just saying... Danny said. He popped another Timbit and chewed thoughtfully. 'Cause causality—

I plan to send a ball through as soon as the program compiles. I am well aware there are any number of reasons why the ball hasn't come through yet, including a glitch in the simulation software—

Or it's just impossible to travel to the past—

Including that.

Nigel watched the timer bar indicating the amount of time left for the program to compile the machine language software the Arch needed to function.

A yellow tennis ball rolled through the Arch at the exact time the program was ready. Though his brain felt as if it might explode, he had the presence of mind to mark the exact hour, minute, and second it came through to avoid a causality paradox.

4

NIGEL

NIGEL HELD PAULA'S calling card in his hand. His fingers caressed the raised lettering on its front as if it were the curve of her cheek. He should call her.

What if she didn't answer?

She had given her number to Danny, after all. She'd be expecting him to call. She might not remember Nigel and send his call to voicemail or, even worse, block his number entirely.

He could send her a text introducing himself, but there was still the chance she might not respond.

Nigel called the registrar's office and asked for Irum—a grad student in his Psychology of Time Travel class—who worked there. I've been trying to track down a student who's expressed interest in one of my courses, he told her. I need her schedule.

She must've believed his request within the realm of possibility, because she said, No problem.

He planned to intercept Paula as she left her Cyberspace and Cultural Entanglement class, held in one of the meeting rooms in the Faculty of Arts and Science building on St. George Street. Though there were two entrances to the classroom—one at the front and one at the back—the room was small enough that if he perched himself in the corridor adjacent to the room, he'd see her as she exited. The idea was to bump into her as she left the room and invite her for a cup of coffee at the kiosk in the lobby.

Nigel arrived thirty minutes before the lecture was over in case the professor had let them out early. He sat in the chairs in the hallway across from the classroom doors, watching. He could see her through the open door, alternately typing notes on her laptop keyboard or cupping her chin in her palms, elbows resting on the table in front of her. Her eyes took the occasional long blink, and he wondered if she were bored with the lecture, or simply pensive. At one point, she laughed. Nigel tried to block out the laughter of the other students and