Lisa's Theorem

By Miss Moo.

I may as well admit it to myself. I mean, it's no big deal to admit something to yourself. I know I'm not going to tell anyone. Well, maybe Kyle, but I'm not even sure about that yet. Okay, here I go.

I'm- I'm...

Okay, so I chickened out. It's no big deal. I mean, maybe I don't want to know.

I realized that the guy across from me on the bus was sending some funny looks my way. So I might have been muttering a little.

It's just, well, I hadn't exactly expected my life to pan out this way. I had always planned to fall head over heels in love with an artist. You know the type; dark hair, dark eyes and a yummy body. I didn't care much what he did in the field of art; I was equally as happy for him to write me a song as I was for him to paint or draw me. It's all so romantic.

However the artist was yet to appear and instead I was twenty-seven and living in an apartment with Kyle, a mathematician, and my boyfriend of two and a half years. It never works out well when a maths-science geek tries to write you poetry, and I think that if he drew me I'd come out looking more like and x-y graph than, well, me.

It just wasn't quite what I'd hoped for in life, and now I was- I was... pregnant.

Okay, there. I said it. The first step is admittance.

The next step is telling Kyle. Well, maybe. I haven't quite decided on that one yet.

I flew forward in my seat a fraction as the bus pulled to a hissing stop outside the university. I was supposed to be meeting Kyle after his morning lecture. I was also supposed to have my period and be married to an artist, but we wont dwell on the bitter thoughts.

"Lisa!" Kyle greeted me once I stepped down off the bus. He was waiting at the bus stop wearing a light blue collared shirt and the navy tie I'd bought him for his birthday last year. It was patterned with a myriad of mathematical equations.

"Hey Kyle." I said, giving him a peck on the lips, "How are you?"

"Great, great. Come with me." He said with a big grin and grabbed my hand to pull me along after him. His strawberry blonde hair was slightly messier than usual and his blue eyes sparkled with obvious excitement and happiness. It took away some of my nervousness to see him so happy.

He pulled me across the green lawn outside the mathematics building before I was dragged up the white stone steps and pushed through the grand double doors that lead to Kyle's lecture theatre. The seating arena was empty, as class had long since finished, but the large blackboard at the front of the room was covered with diagrams and numbers and pro-numerals.

"Look," he said excitedly and pointed to a bunch of squiggles that I wouldn't have been able to understand even when I was taking maths in high school.

He spoke of things like 'sin' and 'cosine', which I knew of vaguely, and some other terms and concepts that I couldn't decipher for the life of me.

"...and we know that dilates the period of the graph..." He said.

Period. Dilation. I cringed a little, my bad mood returned. Stupid maths and stupid babies.

"But what does it mean?" I asked him impatiently.

He chuckled, "That was what I was explaining."

I gave him a blank look. "I don't speak Maths."

Even my sarcastic remarks couldn't sour his brilliant mood, "I was playing around with the functions of-" he paused at my dark look, "I was playing around with some... er, maths stuff, all pretty basic second year stuff really, when I realized that if I treated it like a linear or cubic system then, and pardon my French, the chromatic polynomials equaled out, despite n being greater than or equal to fourteen!"

My sister once went out with a guy from Germany and whenever he got really excited or nervous he'd slip into his native tongue. Kyle was much the same way with maths.

"Come again?"

He grinned at me, "I solved a really important maths problem, and I'm pretty sure I'm the first to do it. Once the university approves it, it will go onto the international board of mathematics and then, well, that's a pretty amazing thing to achieve."

That I understood, "That's amazing!" I told him sincerely, "Wow, you're going to be famous. My boyfriend Kyle, famous for-" I paused, "What are you going to call your amazing achievement thingy?"

He smiled at me, "Lisa's theorem."

Before I knew what was happing I had flung myself into his scrawny arms and was gushing tears like a hormonal pregnant woman. I could barely speak.

"Hey, hey." He said, patting my back soothingly, "It's nothing to cry about. I can call it something else if you like."

"Don't you dare!" I sniffled, and hugged him tighter.

He laughed a little and hugged me back, "I've never seen you cry like this." He told me.

I let out a strangled cross between a laugh and a sob and continued to squeeze the life out of his adorably scrawny maths-geek body.

"It's the hormones." I told him after a couple of minutes, once I'd calmed down enough.

He looked at me blankly.

Oh, right, the whole not telling him part.

"I'm pregnant."

He grinned at me, "I love you, Lisa."

"I love you too, Kyle."

And no stupid artist could offer me that.

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(AN: And now Gossip Girl is on, so life is good. I just wanted to share with you this sappy and poorly written scenario my mind concocted. There has to be romance for them literal minded people too.

I'm just restoring the balance.)