“Then homework until dinner. Another half hour’s rest to allow your food to settle. Then any remaining schoolwork before free time.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
“That schedule may present a medical issue,” CJ said.
“Oh?”
He nodded gravely. “For Billie specifically.”
Billie looked intrigued, and she clearly had no idea where this was going.
I folded my hands calmly. “How concerning.”
“It’s rare,” CJ continued. “Dad says we shouldn’t make her feel different about it.”
“I see.”
Bianca slowly lowered her water bottle.
CJ leaned closer across the island. “Billie has a neurological sensitivity to academic pressure.”
Billie sent him an alarmed look, then quickly nodded in agreement.
“She does?” I asked.
“Yes,” CJ said firmly. “Doctors discovered that forcing structured homework environments can trigger cognitive inflammation.”
I kept my expression perfectly neutral. “How terrible.”
“It’s very serious.”
“Life-threatening,” Billie added.
CJ nodded once. “Potentially.”
Bianca rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“What are the symptoms?” I asked, only feeling slightly guilty for encouraging his elaborate lie.
CJ didn’t even hesitate. “Fatigue. Emotional fragility. Outbursts of temper. Temporary pencil confusion.”
Billie clutched her chest. “The pencils become pointier.”
“Mm.”
“The only treatment,” CJ continued solemnly, “is allowing the afflicted child complete academic freedom while siblings quietly complete homework elsewhere out of compassion and respect.”
I watched him for another beat, then nodded thoughtfully. “CJ.”
He blinked. “Yes?”
“Do you ever write your stories down?”
The expression on his face changed so quickly it almost hurt to witness. “What?”
“Your stories,” I said. “They’re quite good.”
