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Without Grandad the house feels empty and enormous. I miss the teetering piles as I brew a pot of coffee. This house feels unfamiliar and disturbingly full of possibilities. I spread out the new notebooks in a fan in front of me, crack my knuckles, and get ready for a long night.
When I wake up Tuesday morning with drool darkening the cuff of my shirt and Sam hitting the horn in the driveway, I barely manage to brush my teeth before I stumble out the door.
He hands me a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep in those clothes?” he asks.
I almost can’t stand the thought of drinking more coffee, but I do. “Sleep?” I ask.
“You have blue ink on your cheek,” he says.
I flip down the visor and look in the tiny mirror. My face scruff is looking scruffier and my eyes are bloodshot. I look terrible. The smear of ink across my jawline is the least of my problems.
At school I am so out of it that Ms. Noyes takes me aside and asks if everything is okay at home. Then she checks to see if my pupils are dilated. Dr. Stewart tells me to shave.
I fall asleep in the back of the debate team meeting. I wake up in the middle of a debate about whether or not to wake me. Then I drag myself over to the drama department for a tutorial from Sam on weapons.
I wolf down dinner and then head out to the parking lot with Sam.
“Mr. Sharpe,” Valerio calls, walking toward us. “Mr. Yu. I hope you weren’t thinking of going off campus.”
“I’m just going to drive Cassel home,” Sam says.
“You have a half hour to get back before study hall starts,” he says, pointing to his watch.
I go back to the table and the notebooks and wind up sleeping on the downstairs couch with all the lights on. There’s so much work to do. I don’t remember half of what I write and when I look at the words in the morning, they don’t look like I wrote them at all.
Sam arrives right on time.
“Can I borrow your car?” I say. “I don’t think I’m going to school today. I’ve got a big night.”
He hands over the keys. “You’ll want a hearse of your own when you feel how this thing hugs the road.”
I drive him to school, then I break back into Barron’s house. I’m the best kind of thief, the kind that leaves behind items equal in value to those he’s stolen.
Then I go home and shave until my skin is as slick as any slickster’s.
* * *
I’m so exhausted that I fall asleep at four and don’t wake up until Barron shakes my arm.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” says Barron, sitting in the chair I’ve never liked, with his arms folded. He rocks back, pushing the front legs off the floor with his weight.
Anton leans against the door frame leading into the dining room. A toothpick rests on the swell of his bottom lip. “Better get dressed, kid.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to sound sincere. I walk past them into the kitchen and pour myself some of the day-old coffee. It tastes a little bit like battery acid, but in a good way.
“We’re going to a party,” Barron says, making a face when he sees what I’m doing. “In the city. It’s going to be pretty swank. Lots of hoodlums.”
“Philip’s stuck,” says Anton. “Zacharov sent him on an errand at the last minute.” I know that’s not true, but I can’t tell if Anton is worried. I can imagine Lila sending him a message with Philip’s phone.
I rub my hand over my eyes. “You want me to come?”
Anton and Barron exchange glances. “Yeah,” Barron says. “I thought we told you about it.”
“No—look, you guys go ahead. I’ve got a lot of homework.”
Anton takes the cup out of my hand and spits his toothpick into it. “Don’t be stupid. No kid your age wants to sit home doing homework instead of partying. Now get upstairs and get in the shower.”
I go. The shower feels like hot needles on my back, relaxing my muscles. There’s a spider—one I missed—hunched in a corner of the ceiling, tending a knot of eggs. I shampoo my hair and watch the beads of water catch in her web.
