Author: Mahati Vaidyanathan

Maahi hated the scientists.

*I’m sorry,* Mahath transmitted through their link for the thirtieth time that morning. The buzz of his nervous caffeine sizzled across her mind. But nothing could change the fact that Maahi was on a plane to the other side of the planet surrounded by cold scientists while Mahath got to sit huddled together with sweet Mumma in the safety of home.

“What did he say?” asked the blue-haired scientist next to her. She held the TV remote looking device connected to the itchy monitoring patch that dug into Maahi’s skull.

“He apologized again,” Maahi grunted. The scientist across from her recorded the data with a flourish.

*Get me out of here,* Maahi transmitted back. Instead, her twin responded with a flurry of images of his own scientists, sitting in an arc around the worn couch she loved.

*You’re still luckier than me.*

*I know. I’m sorry.*

She snorted and lied to the scientists that he sent pictures of strawberries. They called to confirm with Mahath’s team, but the joke was on them because the twins created the lie in their collective subconscious, and in their subconscious the silky sweet burst of strawberries was always the lie.

Maahi pulled her strawberry red coat around her, and she sensed Mahath wrapping his own around himself. It was starting to smell like airplane juice, but she would never drop it in the dank laundry chute she knew she would have access to at their next stop. She squeezed her eyes shut to prevent hot tears from spilling over.

*I hate them, I hate you, I hate this,* and she ignored the scientists’ next few questions until they gave up.

“Why are we flying so far?” asked a snotty voice that Maahi recognized as the intern’s. The team called him “young scientist,” but the twins called him Flatman because everything from his flat hair, to his squished nose, to his idiot ideas, was as flat as a map.

“Look at this,” the blue-haired scientist said. Maahi opened one eye lazily, discreetly to see what ‘this’ was.

Blue-hair held up a piece of red string that belonged on a detective’s board, not a stupid science project that was ruining Maahi’s life. She ached for Mumma, for Mahath, even for stupid school because at least it was familiar.

“This,” Blue-hair said, pinching one end of the string, “is subject F.” A.K.A Maahi. She pinched the other end. “This is subject M.” She placed the frayed ends together, then pulled them apart slowly. “We’re testing the strength of their connection at various distances.” She suddenly pulled the string taut and it snapped. Then, lowering her voice, “We’ll see if there’s a distance when their connection disappears.” Except their connection wasn’t a fickle string. “Any ideas, young scientist?”

“We should send her to the moon,” Flatman said, giddy.

*Flatman is killing me,* Maahi groaned in their shared space.

*Flatwoman too,* Mahath referred to the intern on his team, and Maahi felt the grin spreading across his face. *They were only chosen for their twinliness. Our twinliness is better.*

*Yeah.*

*I really am sorry.*

And it wasn’t his fault, so, *I forgive you.*

“Not a terrible idea, young scientist.”

God, Maahi hated these scientists. But she hated Mahath for a different reason. So she let the shakiness exhale, wrapped her warm, sweet coat around her, and let her teary eye flutter shut in hope she could strangle hug him in her dreams.