I drop my peace sign. “I’m grounded?”
She sighs and holds her hand against her forehead like she’s checking for a fever. She’s still wearing her work clothes. “Don’t think of it as grounding,” she says. “Think of it as eliminating distractions so you can get important things done.”
Right, as if it was as easy as eliminating distractions. Stephen-the-Leaver should have given her a tutorial before he left. He was the one who got me diagnosed in the first place. Before that, Mom’s go-to response was to lecture me on respecting my elders, then send me to my room. Stephen-the-Leaver, on the other hand, would just remind me not to talk over people, and he was always researching ways to help me focus and get homework done. The medication helps, but it’s never enough.
“That’s not how ADHD works, Mom,” I want to say. But I don’t know how it does work. Stephen-the-Leaver should have given me a tutorial before he left.
I can’t exactly call and ask him now. So instead, I swear at Mom, then storm off to my room. The last time I did that, Stephen-the-Leaver stormed right after me and made me apologize—to Mom, to him, to myself. But Mom is too tired or too jaded or too sure I’m a lost cause, and she doesn’t bother to follow me.
CHAPTER 11
KAT
MEG IS GROUNDED. APPARENTLY SHE HASN’T TURNED IN A SINGLE HOMEWORK assignment for her math class in weeks.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask her on Tuesday at school. “I would’ve helped you.”
“Math is stupid.”
“It’s not—” I start to say, then stop myself. I love math. I love that it’s predictable. And orderly. Five plus five is always ten. Always.
It’s not the same for Meg, though, I know that. I think she’d be happier if five plus five sometimes equaled twelve. Or purple.
Meg being grounded means she’s not allowed to use her phone. Or her computer. Or leave her house at all except for school. Which means no texting, no talking on the phone, no LotS. For two weeks.
Which means my evenings are quiet. Ordered. Peaceful. Studious.
Lonely.
I’d forgotten what it feels like to be lonely.
LEGENDS OF THE STONE
KittyKat has logged on.
<>Pterion: You in for a rift raid, Kitty?
KittyKat: naw, think I’ll work on my castle today
Private Message from Sythlight to KittyKat:
[]Sythlight: You okay?
KittyKat: what do you mean?
[]Sythlight: I’ve never seen you turn down a rift raid.
KittyKat: yeah, well, I’m just not in the mood today
[]Sythlight: Is Meg coming on?
KittyKat: no
LucienLuck has logged on.
KittyKat: LUKE!
LucienLuck: Hey, Katsup. Just finished an exam and need a break. Wanna play?
KittyKat: of course.
Private Message from KittyKat to LucienLuck:
KittyKat: just let me plug in my headphones and I’ll call.
LucienLuck: k
Private Message from Sythlight to KittyKat:
[]Sythlight: So . . . guess I’ll talk to you later then?
KittyKat: yep. see ya :)
KAT
LUKE HAS RESURFACED OUT OF THE CHURNING, ENGULFING WATERS OF HIS university life at the perfect time. He’s got just one exam left and his girlfriend—who I’m not supposed to tell Mom and Dad about, for some reason—has already gone home for the holidays, so he has all sorts of time to play with me.
And I have all sorts of time to play with him. Halfway through her grounding, Meg gets grounded for even longer—at least until Christmas—for some “stupid reason” that she refuses to tell me. So with Meg unable to hang out or chat or even text, and with teachers giving in to the holidays-are-nigh cheer and assigning much less homework than usual, my evenings continue to stretch out empty before me.
The server’s pretty quiet, too, aside from Luke and me. Pterion joins us for one raid, and HereAfter and Moriah for another, but Sythlight isn’t around much, which is strange. He’s usually on when Meg and I are, which I thought meant he was always on. But he’s not, apparently. At least not this week. Maybe he’s busy, or on vacation. Or dead. Now that Luke’s proven himself to be alive, maybe Sythlight’s taken his place among the unknown deceased.
He’s not dead, though. On Saturday evening, a week before Christmas break, he logs on just as Luke and I are about to start a rift raid. Luke’s invitation to him to join us appears in the chat log. And then, when he agrees, Luke’s invitation to join us in VoiceChat follows. Luke knows I don’t like talking to strangers, but apparently university has stuffed his brain so full of stupid facts he’s forgotten the important things.
You have a mic now? Sythlight types.
My heart thuds heavily. But Meg’s words swirl around my head to the same rhythm. You don’t have to marry him. It’s just VoiceChat.
Here’s the thing: I don’t like talking to strangers.
But here’s the other thing: Syth isn’t a stranger, not really.
It’s just VoiceChat. And if I say no, Luke might out me as a liar, since he’s clearly not thinking straight.
Yeah, I type into the chat. My stomach turns over. But I can’t take it back.
I already have my headset on, since Luke and I were already planning to use VoiceChat, and I barely have a chance to breathe before the call rings in my ears.
One it’s just VoiceChat . . . two it’s just VoiceChat . . .
I click “Accept call.”
“Hi,” Sythlight says. His voice is cheery and smooth, like caramel drizzled over freshly popped popcorn.
“Hi,” I croak. Three it’s just VoiceChat . . . four it’s just VoiceChat . . .
“Where’s Meg tonight?” Sythlight asks.
“Who’s Meg? You have a friend?” Luke butts in before I can answer.
“Shut up,” I say, thankful to slide into our usual banter. The routine of it creates a veil of calm that keeps the nerves at bay. “You only had friends back in Ottawa because they wanted to hang out with me.”
The line is silent as Luke tries—and fails—to come up with a clever response. University has made him weak. Sythlight ends the quiet instead of Luke. “Do you—do you guys know each other in real life?”
Luke laughs. “Kat’s my bratty little sister.”
“Oh!” Sythlight says.
“I’m not little, jerk,” I spit at Luke. “Or bratty.”
“That’s good to know,” Syth says. “I thought—well, never mind.” It’s impossible to tell for sure, but it sounds like he’s smiling. The caramel in his voice is warm and melty.
The veil of calm disintegrates, and my stomach floods with butterflies. Butterflies whose wings are laced with acid.
“Well, Supreme Emperor of the Universe,” Syth says, “why don’t you take point? I’ll follow you.”
Okay, maybe wings laced with acid is going a little far. They’re just plain butterflies. A hundred butterflies.
“Supreme Emperor of the Universe?” Luke laughs. “What have I missed?”