Chapter 9 #2
Lucas stole a piece of bread from the middle of the dining table. “I think an all-girls Catholic school would do the trick. I have pamphlets upstairs if you want to see them.” He smiled through toast-covered teeth.
Jamie and I sat in our typical seats. His eyes traced me from head to boot. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you in one of those uniforms.”
Before I could match Jamie flirt for flirt, Julian interrupted, “So, Jamie, sleep well?” He raised his brows so high I was worried they would fly off his forehead.
Jamie swallowed a baseball-sized lump of Lucky Charms as his cheeks flushed pink. “Sorry, Mr. D, we were watching a movie, and it was really late. I fell asleep.”
“Yeah, and I didn’t want to wake him,” I added.
Julian folded his morning paper into a long rectangle. “That’s understandable.” The table stayed silent as if the placemats and silverware were betting on the severity of my punishment. “It’s lucky, though,” Julian continued.
“What’s lucky?” I immediately regretted my question.
“That you had fresh clothes for Jamie in your room,” he said, eyeing the newly washed black flannel and worn-out jeans hanging on Jamie like two oversized blankets.
Busted. Jamie had stashed his things all over my room this past summer. It was easier than him constantly stealing Lucas’s shirts.
“Uh, yeah, they’re from over the summer. He got something on them, so I washed them, and he forgot to take them back home,” I stammered, trying to find the perfect lie.
Julian put a piece of salty ham on his plate and neatly placed the bite into his mouth. “That makes sense. Very responsible of you.” He paused, putting his fork back on the table. “Just one more thing, Alex. How do you turn the washing machine on?”
Yep, I’m dead. I was a quick liar, truly a skilled manipulator, but Julian could call bull on even my best performances. He was a human lie detector, a fourteen-year-old girl’s worst nightmare. I shoved a chunk of oatmeal in my mouth, my feeble attempt to muffle my fib.
“The on button ...” I choked out.
“Where would that button be located exactly?” An amused grin tugged at Julian’s thin lips.
I glanced at Jamie for help.
“Don’t look at me. My mom takes everything to the laundromat.”
Just as my mouth opened to dig my hole an extra two feet deeper, the front door burst open, sending a shrill squeak from the rusty hinges across the interrogation room.
“You guys started breakfast without me!” Kayla whined at us as she stomped into the dining room and took her place beside Lucas.
Julian leaned in towards me. “Saved by the door. Again. I think you two planned that sometimes.”
Kayla placed a napkin on her lap and turned her attention to my mother, who sat adjacent to Julian at the other end of the table. “Make any pancakes today?” She grinned with an expression that begged for sugar.
My mother raised a brow back at Kayla. “What is this? Waffle House?”
Kayla snatched a piece of toast from the bread plate. “Your hash browns could definitely use some improvement, but you're almost there!"
“I appreciate the almost compliment, Kayla, but you kids should start walking to school, or you’ll be late.”
“But I didn’t get any bacon yet!” Kayla bellowed.
Lucas grabbed his backpack, which rested on the floor, leaning against his leg. “Here, I saved this for you.” He pulled out a grease-soaked rolled-up wad of paper towels and swiftly unwrapped them, revealing the last three pieces of bacon—let me rephrase that … my last three pieces of bacon!
“Breakfast stealer!” I yelled at my brother.
My mother rose from her chair, “Nope, no fighting. Get up and get out.”
After a few more yells and screams, we left the table.
I slung my tattered purple backpack over my shoulder, the sheer weight of it sending me almost flying on my ass.
Damn, I really have to empty this thing, I thought as I exited the door.
Jamie never carried a backpack, so I always packed two of everything, even though there was no chance that he was ever going to crack open a book or take any notes in class, but just in case, I always had everything he might need.
My foot barely hit the sidewalk when Jamie said he forgot something. His eyes darted around like a criminal stalking a bank, but before I could pry, he dashed back into the house.
Jamie’s middle name was “self-destruction.” Perhaps if I hadn’t been so preoccupied with the excitement of my first day of freshman year, I might have given more thought to his actions and realized something wasn’t right.
But I didn’t think anything of how his hands shook when he grabbed his bowl or the rapid beating of his heart when we were lying on my bed together.
I simply didn’t consider it, at least not until he managed to wreck his first day of high school, earning himself the reputation that would haunt him like a lurking ghost.
If I could go back in time, I would have run into that house and given in to his pleas to ditch school.
I would have given him one day where he didn't have to think about reading in front of a class or a teacher calling on him without his permission.
I would have given him one day where school was an afterthought and not a nightmare.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I waited for him to exit the front door, his fingers gripping a plastic water bottle firmly to his side.
The bottle would later become a nuclear bomb, evaporating any possibility of happiness we may have had.
I know that sounds dramatic, but life is like dominoes: one wrong move and everything comes crashing down.