She emerges from the back hall wearing paint-spattered jeans and a matching smock. Since we’ve been in the apartment only a little over a week, she’s still finishing up the decorating and unpacking. Judging from the shade of soft taupe dominating her clothes, I’d guess she’s tackling the master bedroom today.
“So . . .” she prods with a huge smile on her round face, “how was your first day? Tell me everything.”
As a rule, I don’t lie to my parents. I don’t even usually keep things from them. We’re very close, and I want it to stay that way. But this move has been difficult in so many ways—the long family talks after I got the scholarship, the concerns about uprooting me and Thane in the middle of our high school careers, the last-minute decision that meant a last-minute move. If Dad hadn’t gotten that promotion to the San Francisco office, we’d still be in Orangevale.
Now Dad’s working crazy hours, and I know Mom is still stressed about everything. I don’t want her worrying that we’ve made the wrong decision, which is why I smile and say, “It was great. I think Alpha is going to be really good for me.”
“Thank goodness,” she says, ignoring her freshly painted state and rushing forward to wrap me in a tight Mom hug. “I was so worried.”
“And all for nothing,” I tease. Mission accomplished. Mom is relieved, which means the smile on my face isn’t as forced as it was a minute ago. “You’ve got brownie in your hair.”
She runs her fingers through her black-brown waves. “Did I get it?”
“I’m not sure,” I say, leaning in to inspect. “I can’t tell under all that paint.”
“Ha ha.” She teasingly smacks me on the shoulder. “Not funny.”
I shrug. “I thought it was.”
She steps around me into the kitchen and heads for the sink.
“And you found the bus and everything easily enough?” she asks over her shoulder.
“Mmm-hmmm,” I say around my mouthful of brownie. Mom doesn’t need to know about the bad bus driver any more than she needs to know about Miranda or my solo lunch in the library.
Mom busies herself with washing the few dishes in the sink while I finish my brownie. Moist, chocolaty goodness. The perfect cure for my disappointing day.
I pour myself a glass of pineapple Fanta to wash down the last crumbs.
“Where’s Thane?” I ask after a big gulp. “Isn’t he home yet?”
“The public schools have a later schedule. He gets out twenty minutes after you,” she answers, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. “He should be home soon. Do you need anything?”
“Nope, I’m good.”
“Okay, then I’ll get back to my painting.” Her smile is thrilled but weary. She’s excited to be making over the apartment, but also exhausted. “Shout if you need anything.”
“Want some help?” I offer. With no homework to do, I need something to distract me from the mental replay of today’s lowlights.
“That’s sweet,” she says, “but I’m almost done.” At my skeptical look, she adds, “Really.”
“You’re sure?” When she nods, I say, “Okay.” I refill my Fanta and head for the dining table.
I pull out the packet of Alpha Academy papers the counselor gave me this morning and dig for the electives lists. I have to choose two, in addition to Spanish, and the first one is easy. I don’t boast about it much, but I’m a bit of a computer geek. Okay, I’m a serious computer geek. Ever since I got my first laptop in third grade, I’ve been fascinated by computers and technology. It’s my dream to work for one of the big software companies someday.
I circle Computer Science on the list.
The other elective, however, is a harder choice.
At lunch I marked stars next to Journalism and Yearbook. I’ve always been intrigued by the media. I don’t have any experience, but I’m sure I could learn the necessary programs easily enough. But then this afternoon I overheard someone say that Miranda is social editor on the school paper, and I don’t need that conflict. I erase the star next to journalism.
For some reason I also starred Ancient Greek and Tae Kwon Do. When Ms. West suggested languages and athletics this morning, they didn’t sound appealing at all. But as I read over the list, they started to look kind of interesting. Now, in the quiet of our apartment, they seem weird again. When would I ever use Greek? And my trying martial arts would probably only lead to injury—mine or someone else’s. I erase both stars.
The last star is on Pottery and Sculpture. When I was in elementary school, I always loved art classes when we got to be hands-on with clay. I was never any good at it, but it was fun. It might be a nice reprieve from the rigorous academics at Alpha. It wouldn’t do anything for my college applications, though.
I’m about to erase the remaining stars and circle Yearbook when the lock on the front door clicks open. There is no other sound, just the whisper of a breeze against my back as the door soundlessly swings open. I know it’s Thane. No one moves as quietly as my brother. He’s like a ninja cat burglar.
If we paired his stealth with my computer skills, we could be an epic spy team.
“Hey, Thane,” I say without turning around. I draw a dark circle around my elective choice. “How was school?”
“Fine.”
Did I mention that Thane isn’t big on talking either? Some days I think he’s a recovering mime. But I know he’s just really thoughtful. He spends a lot of time in his head. He also has some emotional baggage—protective walls that none of us have been able to fully crack. We chip pieces away from time to time, but mostly his life before he came to live with us is a well-guarded mystery.
“You must be Grace,” another, brighter boy voice says. “Thane told me all about you.”
Jerking back from the table and nearly knocking my chair over, I turn to see who Thane has brought home.
My breath catches in my throat.
The boy standing at my brother’s side is, in a word, adorable. I’m completely struck. He’s taller than Thane by a couple of inches, making him about six foot. His dark hair falls in haphazard curls over his brow, his ears, and the collar of his rugby shirt. His eyes are a pale mint green with a light-brown ring around the pupil. And his mouth is spread in a wide, curving smile, showing bright teeth and a charming set of dimples.
Maybe
“H-h-hi,” I manage, looking away from his beautiful eyes.
I know I haven’t got much of a backbone in general, but I don’t usually lose the ability to speak complete words. There’s something about him, about the whole package, that makes my skin tingle all over.
I’ve never reacted like this to a boy before. Sure, I’ve had my share of crushes and loves from afar, and even a quasi sort of boyfriend freshman year. None of them caused this whole-body reaction.
“This is Milo,” Thane says, seemingly oblivious to my transformation into girl drool, thankfully. “He’s a goalie.”
Holy goalie.
Well, soccer explains Milo’s presence. Thane may be quiet and shy and reserved in real life, but he comes alive on the soccer field. He’s a completely different person when he’s chasing down a ball or taking aim at the goal. Soccer is practically his life.
He says he doesn’t want to play professionally. I don’t know why not. I’m pretty sure he could if he wanted to.
“We have physics together,” Milo says, dropping into the chair at the head of the table. “Homework on the first day.” He shakes his head. “What kind of teacher does that? Pure evil, I’m telling you.”
Thane slips through the kitchen to tell Mom he’s home, and I’m still struck silent by Milo’s presence when my brother gets back. Thane takes the chair across the table from me and pulls out his textbook. He grumbles, “Homework.”
“Uh, yeah,” I say, my brain suddenly demanding that I figure out a way to stay here at this table. No matter what. “Me too.”
Wait. Why did I say that? I don’t have any homework. I don’t even have any textbooks. I’m losing my mind.
“We were going to do our homework and then, after dinner, go on a tour of the neighborhood. I’m kind of an expert.” Milo sets his homework out on the table. “You interested?”
