Chapter 11 Kai
What a monumental waste of time. Luckily, Dad was finishing up with a client on Main Street, so I met him at his car. I could’ve walked it, but it’s hilly and I’m in a bad mood. With my driving test coming up, he let me drive home, practicing parallel parks and switching lanes.
Dad kept glancing at me the entire drive, sensing something was up. I really goofed it when I sped past a stop sign. I braked hard, only getting half a car-length into the intersection. But it’s enough to have a conversation about not getting my car.
Thank Thor it wasn’t Mom in the passenger seat, or I’d still be hearing about it.
At least Dad just gave me a lecture about speeding and obeying road signs.
Mom would’ve questioned if something else was wrong, not giving up until she pried it out of me.
Which means she’d still be at me now, because there’s no way I’m discussing this.
I block out the thought as I sit in the upstairs living room, playing Shadow Quest and listening to the latest Zachary Fleischman podcast. This is the third episode about the hidden chamber behind Mount Rushmore that’s filled with government secrets.
If this combination doesn’t block out the thought of Mom standing over me, asking a million questions, nothing will.
I’m actually glad Parker drove the guys out to Logan’s Point.
Otherwise, they’d have already turned up here before I got home.
I wouldn’t put it past them to comment on my sully mood.
Earlier, Tyler sent a text, asking why I was walking out with the Jones kids.
I replied I wasn’t and left it at that. I was lucky it wasn’t Parker or Lewis who saw me. They don’t give up as easily.
I don’t need my friends asking why I voluntarily left school grounds with Tabitha Jones. Hmm, was it voluntary? Or was it avoiding a pummeling from her brothers?
Anyway, it’s done and I can forget it.
I mellow out to Zachary Fleischman’s rant until a headache builds in my skull. I blow out a breath, imagining Jamie’s reaction to this. One, I was with her bully. Two, we were sitting in her cafe’s competition.
I fail the game mission and watch my character impaled on a trap door spike.
Yep, that feels about right.
The podcast pauses as my phone chimes next to me on the couch cushion. I glance over to see a notification from the school portal app. The phone screen goes dark again and the podcast resumes.
I stare at my defeated and bloodied character and don’t feel like giving him another chance. Instead of restarting the level, I pick up my phone. With disgust, I jerk back when the recipient’s name reads: Tabitha Jones.
What the heck?
Why would she message me after that disaster of a study session? Isn’t calling each other horrible humans enough of a reason to stop talking?
With morbid curiosity, I open the message.
"Obviously, I don’t want to be writing to you. But I got lectured by my brother. So, we didn’t actually achieve anything today, and Mrs. Field won’t reassign us to save face. How do we do the assignment and see as little of each other as possible?"
I re-read it twice because Zachary Fleischman has gone off-kilter with his rant. The spit ricochets off the mic with every new decibel he reaches.
Okay, she’s messaging me because the study session was such a disaster. Hmm, maybe there is a pea-sized brain in that skull after all.
I pause the podcast to send her a reply. "Seeing each other as little as possible is a good call. Maybe we pick an experiment that doesn’t require us to be in the same place to get good results? We could divide up the work and just email each other with the notes. Sound good?"
I put down the phone beside me, but don’t lock it. I want to see if she replies because one thing would make this crappy day better. If I saw a message with a brilliant plan to pass the class and never see Tabitha ever again.
There’s no reply for a long time. With frustrated boredom, I hit play on my controller and zombie my way through the mission. When my phone eventually chimes again, I instantly hit pause.
I blink at the static TV screen.
Do I want to see her reply this badly?
Why don’t I ignore it?
Why don’t I hit play on the podcast?
What good could come from continuing a conversation with her?
I swallow hard and pick up the phone again.
This is me we’re talking about. Morbid curiosity always wins.
With a quick exhale, I read her next message.
"I just asked my brothers what they did in this class. Annoyingly, it sounds like most of the experiments are a two-person job. They were like, it’s kinda the point, like it’s why we’re paired up to begin with.
So frustrating. Just tell me you have some out-of-the-box idea that gets us out of working together. "
I roughly rub my forehead and then tap out a response. "I was hoping you would."
After I hit send, my brow furrows. Why would I have thought that? She only has air in her head. Why would she have the magic answer?
"I thought I was a ditz," Tabitha replies.
I snort, and then sit taller to eliminate the smile on my face. I clear my throat and think about our options.
I start typing a respone. "We have to sit next to each other in class, right? There’s no way around that. Can’t we just…"
I hit the backspace button. I was going to suggest we buckle down and do the work in class, so there’s no need to meet up after school. But my mind overloads with every moment I’ve been around Tabitha. It always turns into an argument. That’s the part that really has no other way around.
I text instead, "How do we do this without fighting?"
"We could make a pact, but would either of us stick to it?" she replies.
“No,” I say aloud.
“No, what?” Milo asks, walking out of his bedroom.
“Nothing,” I mutter as he walks past the couch, his ginger furball shadowing his every move. “Hey, wait a minute. Do you have any suggestions for a chemistry experiment that requires less partner participation?”
His eyebrow lifts. “You want me to give you an idea where you don’t need to help your partner?”
I puff out my chest. “Why would you jump to that conclusion?”
Milo throws his palms up. “What jump? It’s what you said.”
“I only ask because I can’t stand my lab partner.”
“Why? Who is it?”
“No one who deserves to be named.”
There’s another message from Tabitha. "Didn’t think so."
I sigh at the message, slinking down on the couch in defeat.
Milo moves toward the stairs. “Anyway, no. I don’t have an idea for you to do less work.”
Man, he’s irritating. I didn’t want to do less, I just didn’t… At that, I jump off the couch and race to the stairs. Following my brother down, I ask, “What about something where I did all the work?”
At the bottom of the stairs, he turns and looks up at me. “Huh?”
“I just don’t want to work with this person. What if I did most of the work? What do you suggest, then?”
Skepticism is all over his face. “You? You’re gonna let someone kick back in class? You’re gonna turn into an A-grade student suddenly?”
“I’m just not interested in failing. I’m not ruining my summer with catch-up classes.”
Milo picks up his cat and moves away from the staircase.
“I dunno. You could do something where you need to track time. Like how long something takes to boil when adding or taking away certain chemicals. That just requires sitting around. Hmm, although, you’d have to pay attention, and that’s not your strongest suit. ”
“Pfft. Get real. I’m excellent at paying attention.”
“If it’s something you care about, like soccer or video games, but I don’t see you concentrating on the changes in chemicals.”
My hands slam onto my hips. “Watch me.”
Milo smirks. “I don’t need to. I’m not in your class. I’m not your teacher.”
I turn away and step back onto the stairs. “Whatever, I got it from here.”
“Kai,” Mom calls out, walking through the side door off the garage. “Come and help me unload the groceries.”
“Make Milo do it,” I say, grasping the staircase banister.
An ear-piercing whistle shoots out of Mom while she hugs two brown paper bags of fresh produce. “I want you both to do it. Now, boys.”
With my trademark grumble, I spin around and scuff my way to the garage with my brother. I need to avoid Mom getting on my case. If she registers my unusual expression while I’m still fixating on this assignment with Tabitha, she’ll want to unearth the thoughts in my head.
“Don’t overbalance, Milo,” I tease as Milo grabs two bags from the back of Mom’s SUV. “Don’t trip. Don’t break an ankle.”
“Shut it, Kai,” he mutters. “You’re the only one around here breaking bones.”
“Maybe because I live my life.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, slinking past me with his grocery bags. “And I only live in books. Wow. Come up with something original next time.”
“Pfft.“ It’s all I got, but it sums up my reaction.
I take three bags into the house, and Dad finishes up with the last two left in the trunk.
Mom’s chin drops as she clocks me entering the kitchen. “Who told you to be a hero, Kai? I told you, I don’t want you popping any stitches.”
There’s no way I’m telling her there’s a sting above my elbow. I just want to dump the bags on the kitchen island and scram.
“Hold it,” Mom says.
I bump into Dad on my escape attempt. “Doof.”
“Not so fast, son,” Dad says with a chuckle. “Grace, honey, did you hear about our drive home?”
Mom’s hands are immediately on her hips.
I sigh and roll my eyes. “I was a little heavy on the gas. Sue me.”
“Kai!” Mom screeches. “What have I told you about your lead foot? It’s not safe!”
I look at Dad to back me up. “There was no one on the road.”
“You’re supposed to stop at an intersection,” Dad replies. “You could’ve killed someone.”
“I braked,” I argue.
Dad shakes his head. “Not soon enough.”
I groan. “I know. It was a huge mistake. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Why? What happened to distract you?” Mom probes.
“Nothing.”
“If it’s nothing, I’m calling the dealership and canceling your car right now.”
“No! Ugh, okay. It’s a stupid assignment. But I’m handling it.”
Mom and Dad share an amused look. “You’re worried about an assignment?” Mom asks. “This is new.”
“Can I go now?”
“No,” Mom says, gesturing to the unpacked grocery bags. “Get back over here and put the dry goods away.”
I groan, dragging my feet over to the kitchen pantry.
“Less attitude, Kai,” Dad warns, putting the last of the grocery bags on the island. “You’re very lucky today didn’t have a different outcome.”
“I know, I know.”
Dad leaves for his study, and Mom gawks at me. “Pick your feet up. Honestly, you boys are going to completely scuff my polished floorboards.”
“I know how to walk, Mom,” Milo says, unpacking bags near the kitchen sink.
Mom beams at him. “I know, honey.”
“Suck up,“ I cough. “But then again, do you know how to walk, little brother?”
“A few minutes doesn’t make you my older brother,” Milo argues.
“And what about the inch I have on you?”
Fury lights behind Milo’s glasses. “Who’s fault is that? If you didn’t need to be Mr. Big-shot wherever we go—including the womb—I wouldn’t have lost an inch or have an inner ear imbalance.”
“Okay, okay, cool it,” Mom blurts, wrapping an arm around Milo’s shoulders. “I hate when you two fight. It’s no one’s fault what happened before you weren’t even born. I need you both to drop it.”
“Tell him to drop it!” Milo complains, pointing at me. “He can’t let anything go.”
I turn my back on him, placing items into the pantry. “Already forgotten. What was your name again?”
Milo groans behind me. “No one believes you. You wouldn’t obsess over conspiracy theory nonsense if you could let things go.”
I slam the last can of black beans on the shelf and turn around, ready to fire back at him, but Mom lifts a palm. She shoves Milo with the other hand. “Go and find Alfie. Have you fed him yet?”
Milo dawdles out of the room, muttering to himself.
“Dinner will be in thirty minutes,” Mom calls out to him. She then tilts her head in my direction. “Stop antagonizing your brother.”
I fold my arms. “Excuse me? Do you not hear how he jabs me?”
“You pick at things that hurt him. No more teasing him about his coordination, or lack thereof.”
I shrug. “Whatever.”
“I mean it, Kai.”
“You should stop coddling him.”
“You did not just say that.” She points to the doorway leading into the dining area. “Go and do something productive before dinner. And I’ll be with you the next time you drive a car.”
I salute her and leave the kitchen. “Hooray.”
I bound back upstairs and crash on the couch, ready to pick up my game mission. When I pick up the controller, I glance at my phone.
Oh, right.
Tabitha.
I remember what Milo said about choosing an experiment. Something that involves sitting around and not needing to talk might be a good option.
I toss the controller onto the couch cushion and scoop up my phone.
"What about a time experiment?" I text. "We watch for changes in chemicals when we add or take away other chemicals. It’s something that only involves the practical element in class where we have the supplies. Outside of class, we’d have the theoretical part to work on. If we need to discuss it, I see no reason we can’t do it via text. "
She has to agree to that.
My foot taps against the carpet.
Right. Why wouldn’t she agree?
My fingers jitter around the edge of my phone.
Maybe because every time we talk, we argue.
My heart drops to a low beat.
She’s not gonna agree because I suggested it.
I keep refreshing the app.
I’m so screwed.
Finally, a reply flashes across my screen. "Okay, deal."
With an exhausted exhale, I flop onto the couch.
Of course, she’d have me squirming.
I hit play on the podcast and force myself to forget the airhead with the pouty lips.