“I … don’t think so,” I said. “It’s all kinda shocking. Unexpected. We asked for so long we kinda thought you’d forgotten or maybe just given up.”
“We’ll never give up on you, honey.” I was afraid of that. “But now that Homer, Yolanda, and what was it? I’m sorry, what’s your name again?” he asked Armando as if they were truly newly introduced.
Armando smiled generously and tipped his buzzed head to one side. “It’s Armando.” He, like Yolanda, had a pretty, melodic accent.
“Oh, that’s right. My apologies,” my dad said. “Now that Homer, Yolanda, andArmando”—he smiled at the lithe man who, though about my height and slim, was majorly ripped—“have agreed to be your teachers, the even better news is that they’ll be able to continue as you transition over to the institute after you finish at Ridgemore High.”
“Assuming we want to go to the institute,” Griffin said. “That will be our decision.”
“Of course it will, my son,” Orson said, and I glanced up at Griffin to see his cheek twitch. He scratched at it, playing it off as an itch. “Whatever you guys decide in the end, we’ll support you.”
“That’s right,” Alexis said. “You can count on us.”
I didn’t mean to, but I found myself looking toward Hunt. He did a better job of pretending and ignored my questioning look.
“We know we can count on you,” Hunt said. he added privately. “Thanks.”
Homer clasped both hands behind his back and cleared his throat. “Perhaps that’s enough chatting for now? We’d like to perform an assessment today to get a better idea of what we’re working with here.”
“Oh, of course,” Celia said with a delighted chirp at the end. “I’m sure they can’t wait to get started.”
“But,” my dad said, his astute gaze skirting across the five of us, “before we do, we should ask you: do you want to proceed?”
Layla said.
“Yeah, of course we want to, Dad,” I said, trying to make up for the few stealthy looks I’d shot my friends without meaning to. “This is gonna be so awesome. We’re stoked, aren’t we, guys?”
“Totally stoked,” Griffin said.
“Ready to start,” Brady added.
“All right, then,” my dad said. “We’ll leave you all to it, then.”
Ourparentshovered for a bit, but when Homer, Yolanda, and Armando moved up to stand directly across from us, they turned and started down the path that led to the houses.
Bobo sat at my side, his eyes trained on the strangers.
“We just got back from a long run,” Layla told the instructors as she gestured to her sweaty running shorts and tank. “Not sure it’s the best time for an assessment.”
“It’s the perfect time,” Homer said. “You’ll be warmed up.”
“More than warmed up,” Layla said. “We ran, like, ten miles or something.”
Homer arched his brows. “Oh, is that all? Well, it gives us something to build on.”
Layla gaped at him. “Something to build on?”
Homer nodded his chin at the treehouse. “Show us what kind of equipment you’re working with here.”
My body went rigid. The treehouse was supposed to be sacrosanct. Yes, ourparentshad violated the crap out of that sacredness, but still, I didn’t want anyone else to violate our special space.
Brady was the first to nod with acquiescence. “Come on. We’ll show you.”
“Excellent,” Homer said. “We’d like to see you work the equipment you have, gauge our starting points.”
Why were they so intent on these assessments? Were they going to compare them with the ones they gave us mere days ago? Did they expect our bodies to perform differently when we were aware of our immortality and when we weren’t?
Who fucking knew?
