“The truth, mostly. Fell on the sidewalk, landed on a branch.”
Deo nods. We both learned long ago that the best way not to get caught lying is to tell selective truths. Leave out the stuff that might get you in trouble and tell them the rest. You don’t look nearly as guilty to those in charge, and it makes it a lot easier to remember what you told them later on.
Deo scarfs down the stew in record time. He doesn’t get up in search of seconds, so I’m guessing the pot is now empty.
I hand him my bowl, still about half full.
“You don’t want it?”
I could definitely finish it, but I shake my head. “I just had a bagel. I’m fine. I’ll grab an apple later if I get hungry.”
He shrugs and eats the rest as we watch a couple of the younger kids play a Ratchet & Clank game on the battered PS3, before heading up to Deo’s room. We don’t bother with my room, because I have a roommate, Libra. (No, she’s actually a Capricorn, and yes, she’s tired of people asking.) She’s a year younger than me, but she was here before I arrived and has staked out most of the room as her own. I’m fine with that as long she keeps her stuff off my bed. I stash my phone and anything I don’t want her messing with in Deo’s room. His room is a single—they can never decide who to bunk with the kid who’s clearly questioning his sexual orientation—so we usually hang out and do homework there. That’s also where we keep the ancient Chromebook that we pooled our cash to buy a few years back. It’s buggy and there’s a short in the power unit, but I’m really hoping it holds out awhile longer so that we don’t have to compete for time on the two communal computers downstairs.
I curl up on the tattered plastic beanbag in the corner, planning to scan through my English lit book and pick an author for the essay that’s due on Monday. But first, I’ve promised to help Deo review for his history test.
We’re four questions in, and suddenly Molly’s back.
Anna, just listen to me for a few—
Come ON, Molly! Give it a rest. I’m helping Deo and then I have a paper due. I’m at the deli both days this weekend, so I can’t put it off. I’m sorry it didn’t work out today, but I’ve wasted most of my spare time for the past two weeks on this. It’s not my fault that your grandfather is a jerk.
We can’t give up.
I most absolutely certainly CAN give up. Go haunt him yourself. Maybe you’ll have better luck.
Ha. Funny, Anna.
I’m not trying to be funny. I’m trying to make you go away. I need to focus.
Molly slides to the back of my mind, a sensation that’s hard to describe. You know the feeling when you hit the top of the Ferris wheel and then it dips down? Substitute your head for your stomach and that’s what it’s like. Sort of. It’s not exactly fun, but I’ve gotten used to it.
Deo is watching me, head tilted to one side, waiting. If it was anyone else, I’d be self-conscious about looking like a space case, but it’s Deo. He recorded me once, so I know exactly how I look when I’m engaged in one of these internal dialogues—and that makes me determined to avoid them in public. My eyes go blank, unfocused, like no one’s home—which is ironic if you think about it, since the problem isn’t that nobody’s there, but rather that we’ve exceeded the maximum occupancy of one.
“Go away, Molly,” Deo says with an amiable smile. “Anna has to tell me why we started the War of 1812.”
“She’s already gone. You want the abridged version or the full MacAlister?”
“Definitely the abridged. We don’t have all night.”
It takes a few seconds, but the info is there, filed away with the rest of the debris that accumulates when your head takes in the occasional extra boarder.