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“He said he’ll take care of things with this Clint kid. You won’t have to sit near him on the bus anymore, or in class.”
Silence.
“That’s good, right?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Thanks.”
I swallow over a lump in my throat. “I didn’t do much, but you’re welcome.”
While the bubbles rise in the sink, I think about what else there is to talk about. About how to get from surviving to thriving. I haven’t got a clue, so I think about what Caroline might say.
“He wants to get you doing more gifted and talented stuff.”
“He always says that.”
“It sounds like he thinks it’s pretty important.”
“I don’t want to do it.”
I turn to look at her, trying not to let on how much her statement worries me. My sister looks sallow under the kitchen lights. She’s sitting with her arms and legs crossed, a stubborn frown fixed on the far wall.
“Sure you do,” I say.
“No, I don’t.”
“Why not?”
“I just don’t, okay?”
“No, look—”
And then I stop myself, because I can hear my volume rising, and no.
Not going to be that man.
I recognize the way she looks right now. I’ve felt that mask on my own face, that hard set to my jaw, that steel in my eyes. All I’m going to accomplish if I keep after her right now is to make her dig in further.
I don’t know what her reasons are, but she’s got them. Me and her—we’re alike that way. So instead of giving her grief, I ask, “What do you want?”
Her eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t want pancakes for breakfast, you didn’t want to move here, you don’t want gifted and talented—what do you want, Franks? You want to go back to Silt? You want to take art lessons after school? You want me to find this Clint kid and punch him in the face? What?”
Her eyebrows are drawn in, her face sharp. “I want to go to my room,” she says.
I close my eyes and breathe.
This is what I’m getting from her right now, and it’s fine. It’s not what I want, but I can live with it.
“I’m trying to do right by you,” I say. “You know that.”
She nods, slowly.
“So think about what I asked, and when you know the answer, tell me.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” And then, as though it’s an afterthought—as though I haven’t been thinking about how to tell her all morning—I say, “Caroline’s coming over later.”
