I examine the stick figure surfing my snore. “Do you draw sounds a lot?”
She nods. “I, um . . . I see sounds in my mind when I hear them. The drawings are like cartoon versions, ’cause the shapes are more involved than my art skills can handle.” She looks like she’s bracing to be called a freak. “It’s called synesthesia. There are different kinds.”
“Like what?” And why is she so adorable when she’s blushing? And is it wrong that I want to keep saying stuff that makes her blush?
“Well . . . so, for some people, every letter is a different color. Or like some people taste shapes. Or hear colors or smell sounds. Basically two senses get linked.” Her shoulders are up. “It’s not that weird. My mom said five percent of people have some form of it.”
Now I feel guilty that I lied to her about why I have Chewbarka. She’s being honest with me, even though it’s making her uncomfortable. And she’s here. Helping me.
I clear my throat and check my phone. It’s almost six already. There’s a text from Mom to me and Mitchell: I’m stopping at the grocery then picking up Thai food for us. So don’t go stuffing your hungry faces with whatever’s left in the fridge. Love you, see you soon.
I breathe a sigh of relief. Love you, I write back. She usually gets home around six, so if she’s making two stops, that’ll add at least half an hour. I check the weather. “Looks like you’ll be warm enough tonight with ol’ Darth here,” I tell Ash. The weekend forecast looks fine, but next week, it’s going to get cold at night, down into the thirties. “I have to go. My mom will blow up my phone with texts if I’m not there. Plus Mitch will start talking crap about me to her.”
“Okay.” Ash looks disappointed I’m leaving. “Mitch is your brother?”
“My twin.” I wait for her to ask the same dumb questions everyone asks: Can you read each other’s minds? If I poke you does he feel it? Which one of you is older? Are you the good twin or the evil twin?
“Did you really beat him at Super Smash? Fiona didn’t seem convinced.”
“Nope. Mitch kicks my butt at that game. But I clean up the track with him in Mario Kart.”
Ash smiles. “Text me tomorrow before you come back. I’ll turn my volume up so it wakes me.”
“Sure.” I kind of want to see her asleep. It’s only fair after she caught me drooling and snoring. “Um . . . do you need anything else?”
“I’m good. I put a bagel and a flashlight and a book in my bag. I’m kinda looking forward to snuggling a dog and reading.”
“Okay, good. Then, um, I guess . . . have a good night?”
“You too.” She picks up Chewbarka and hugs her, then uses her hand to wave one of Chewbarka’s paws at me. “Thanks for taking care of me,” she says in a squeaky voice.
I scratch Chewbarka under the chin. She licks my hand.
“Yeah, I’m not licking your hand,” Ash laughs. “Go on. We’ll be fine.”
“Okay. Thanks. Like times a million kabillion. You’re awesome.”
The last thing I see is her lopsided grin before she pushes me out the door and zips it shut.
I make it home at 6:28. Mom isn’t there yet, thank the lord. Mitchell asks where I was. “Kennel,” I lie.
“Why’d you wait so long to go there? You usually bike over right after school.”
I shrug. “I needed to digest my protein bar.”
“You ate like one bite of it.”
“You were all pushy and annoying and ruined my appetite.”
“Why are you wearing an empty backpack on your front? I know you went somewhere.”
“Oh my god, Mitch. Do you have nothing better to do on a Friday than track me?”
He looks like he’s going to say something snide, but then his shoulders slump. “Zach ditched me to hang with Lily,” he mumbles.
“Oh.” I think that’s been happening a lot lately. Which . . . I know that feel. Erin edged into my friendship with Cole in a similar way last year. “Sucks.” Especially since we both feel abandoned by Dad too. A double-suck whammy.
Mitch makes a noncommittal sound. “Bet you five bucks Mom’ll subject us to Moana tonight.”
“She watched Wreck-It Ralph last night. My money’s on Ralph Breaks the Internet.” Mom’s always been a Disney fiend, but since Dad left, she’s gotten obsessive. It’s a good thing Disney+ is unlimited. Otherwise she’d break the bank streaming movies nonstop.
“I’ll take that bet,” Mitch says. “She watches chick flicks on Fridays. She watched Tangled and both Frozens the last three Fridays. Tonight will be Moana.” He pulls a few crumpled bills out of his pocket. “Wait, make it a three-dollar bet.”
“I’m not betting money.” I only have two bucks anyway. Dad’s the one who gives us our allowance, and that hasn’t happened the last three weeks.
“Then bet me something else. A chore.”
I kick my shoes off. “I’m. Not. Betting.”
“’Cause you know you’ll lose.”
“Why do you have to turn everything into a contest?” It annoys me to no end.
He grins. “Because you’re so easy to beat.”
“Oh, right. I keep forgetting you got all the good genes. Despite us being identical.”
“Nope, I just stole all the resources in the womb. It was easy. You were a sappy pushover before we were even born.”
“Are you seriously arguing about Mom’s womb? You’re not right in the head, Mitch.”
“We’re arguing about me being the dominant winner twin and you being the—”
“Can it, boys,” Mom says as she opens the back door. “I could hear you arguing from outside.” She drops two takeout bags on the counter. “There’s groceries in the trunk. Hop to it.”
Mitch and I go outside, jabbing each other in the ribs. He grabs a package of TP and some paper towels, leaving me the two heavy bags full of milk and frozen stuff. I sigh and haul them into the house. The extra weight makes it
