“Uncomfortable.”
She nodded.
Jeff sighed and prodded at his lunch. Reheated spaghetti swimming in way too much tomato sauce. A limp piece of bread with no butter. Two celery sticks. “It was.”
Maya rested her chin in her hand. Her lunch was already gone, along half his bread. “But he took it well. That’s good.”
Was it? Jeff dredged his plastic fork through the fat noodles. “Part of me keeps hoping he’ll be like that jerkoff.”
He didn’t need to specify which one. It was a careful code of theirs, where “jerkoff” could only mean the playground bully.
“Not everyone’s like that,” said Maya. Her gaze softened. “I’m glad you’re finally getting it, though.”
Jeff rolled his eyes.
She punched him again. Lighter, this time. “Don’t be like that.”
He rubbed his forehead, annoyed at the thin beads of sweat. Like just thinking of Braeden raised his body temperature. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Tell him?”
Jeff gave up on his food and dropped the fork into the soupy sauce. He shoved the tray away, his stomach lurching. “He asked about you, and I made it about myself. That makes me more of an asshole.”
Maya tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, her gaze distant. “I don’t think so. He’s been trying to get to know you, so you gave him what he wanted. And something positive came out of it. What’s so bad about that?”
“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I just keep expecting this to blow up in my face.”
After the space of a breath, skinny arms wrapped around his shoulders. Any other day Jeff might have shoved her off, but this was needed. His mind was muddied. He’d never meant for things to go this far.
Braeden, in that stupid, infuriating, amazing way, kept wedging past his barriers and drawing him out. Just glancing at him in class this morning had made Jeff feel like he was losing control. Rubbery knees. Shortening breath. Flushed face—and the fever that had started it all was long gone.
I like him. I seriously like him.
“Shit,” he said.
“Yeah,” said Maya. He felt her lips curve against his shoulder. “Shit is right.” She released him and sat back as though the hug had never happened. “I’m still with you, though, a hundred and fifty percent.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“There is with us.”
Jeff snorted but couldn’t hold back a smile. When the bell rang, they stood in unison and dumped their food. Just before they parted at the hallway, Maya turned to him and grinned. “Hey.”
Jeff tilted his head.
“Good luck with tutoring.”
He lifted his hand in a half-hearted wave, turned on his heel, and headed off to class.
* * * *
Jeff half-hoped his mother wouldn’t let him go to the Britely house, but she allowed it. In fact, when he told her where it was, she told him to have a great time and, if he wouldn’t mind, stop at the gas station on his way home for some strawberry jelly.
So, with ten dollars in his pocket and his backpack full of notes, Jeff turned up on the Britely’s doorstep. He checked and double-checked the address Braeden had given him. The place seemed too big, too nice. The house was an enormous ranch-style, yellow with white trim, sprawling an eyeball’s estimation of three thousand square feet. A short fence separated the back yard from the front, as well as a semi-hidden, glistening white pool. It was far too cold to swim most of the year, but that didn’t appear to stop the richer folks.
Aside from the basketball left in the driveway, it didn’t look like any kids lived here. The lawn was perfectly trimmed, the accent flowers carefully cultivated and blooming in perfection. No dirt or debris from the small gardens could be seen on the porch or driveway, indicating fastidious cleaning. A single, tiny windchime hung near the stairs, also clean and undented. It looked brand new. Everything did.
Jeff closed his eyes. His heart thumped wildly in his chest.
I hope Brenda doesn’t punch me again.
Steeling his nerves, he stepped forward, raised his hand, and gave two firm knocks.
To his dismay, when the door swung open, it was Brenda. Her expression went from curious to hard within a second, like an atom had split and she’d gone nuclear.
“The hell do you want?” she demanded.
Jeff struggled to keep his expression neutral. No matter what, she’s still his sister. “Hey.”
Brenda glared.
“Your brother asked me to tutor him.”
She scoffed. “Let me guess—math.” She waved a hand. “I can help him with that.”
Then why don’t you? It took him a moment to speak, because he was clenching his teeth over the words. “Is he home?”
Brenda opened her mouth, like she was about to tell him off, but stopped. She squinted at him. Then she opened the door wider, revealing an enormous foyer. “Must be cold out there.”
Mumbling his thanks, Jeff stepped inside.
“Take your shoes off.” Brenda was already halfway down the hall. “Mom likes things clean.”
Jeff knelt to untie his laces. Discomfort weaved through him as he set his dirty hiking boots near all the clean, polished sneakers, heels, and loafers by the front door. He drew a deep breath and stood, adjusted his backpack, and followed Brenda.
She took him to the living room. There, a coffee-colored sectional sofa cut the room into a square. A sixty-inch TV had been mounted on the opposite wall, with tall windows framing either side. The windows were cloaked in patterned brown curtains. One of the pristine white walls seemed to be made entirely of mirrors, making the already huge room look even bigger. Sitting cross-legged in the center was Braeden and a small boy with skin a few shades darker than the couch and tight, almost frizzy curls.
“Your tutor’s here,” said Brenda. Sarcasm weighed down her voice.
Braeden glanced up, nodded to Jeff, and leaned over to the little boy. The boy’s back was to Jeff, but when he turned his head, Jeff could immediately tell something was off with his face. It was … lopsided. Not symmetrical, not even close. His eyes were fascinating, though, a brilliant hazel that defied genetics.
That’s Bryce.
“Hey, Bumble Bee,” said Braeden. “I got to do some homework, but we’ll play later, okay?”
“’Kay.” Bryce’s voice was thick, a little slurred, but he wore the biggest, brightest smile Jeff had ever seen.
Braeden grinned and planted a kiss on Bryce’s forehead. He stood and ambled over to Brenda and Jeff, leaving the little boy to play with what looked like giant Legos on the floor. “Hey, man, you’re early.”
Jeff wasn’t sure where to look. Not at Braeden, that was too obvious. Not at Brenda; she’d punch him. And not at Bryce, because he didn’t want to make the kid uncomfortable. Or maybe himself. He didn’t know. So he focused on Braeden’s shoulder. “Sorry.”
“It’s cool.” Braeden shot his sister a look. “You don’t mind that I’m taking your tutor, do you?”
“Oh, piss off.” She stalked off to what Jeff could guess by the visible linoleum was the kitchen.
Jerking a thumb toward the long hall, Braeden said, “My room?”
His room. Jeff wondered if Brenda had felt this quivering in her belly when he’d said the same words to her only weeks ago. “Whatever works for you.”
With a nod, Braeden led him down the expansive hallway. The doors had an enormous amount of space between them, like they might at a luxury hotel. Each one was made of a solid slab of wood, very possibly of a single cut, like from a sequoia, with matching trim. One door was slimmer than the others, and Braeden pointed it out. “Bathroom. Just in case.”
Jeff made a noise of acknowledgment.
The next door had a sign hung from it. It was also wood, but carved into the shape of a rabbit, painted over white, and sporting carved-in letters reading: Bryce.
“Rabbits are his favorite?” asked Jeff.
“Bunnie
s, yeah.”
Jeff almost said it was the same thing, at least to a kid, but managed to bite his tongue instead. The next door was cut into the shape of a cat with Brenda’s name, and the one after that, closest to the nameless master bedroom, was a bird with Braeden’s name.
Jeff raised an eyebrow. “Eagle?”
“Hawk.” Braeden opened the door and gestured for him to go in.
“Who made those?” Even as he asked, Jeff was taking in Braeden’s room. It was huge, the size of a studio apartment, with an open walk-in closet, desk with a music player and speakers, running shorts strewn about the floor, sneakers, and tons of what looked like little gifts and trinkets.
Jeff picked up a simple silver chain with a dove on it. He glanced at Braeden, who smiled sheepishly. “Ex-girlfriend,” he explained. “I tried giving it back, she told me where to shove it. I figure she’ll cool off eventually and want it.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Three years.”
Jeff snorted and set it down. “You’re taking consideration to a new level.”
“Maybe.” Braeden pulled out a second rolling chair from the walk-in closet, along with a pair of headphones. “I’ll give it until graduation. If she still doesn’t want it, maybe someone else will.”
“Wouldn’t be a bad graduation present,” said Jeff.
“That’s my thinking.”
“So who made those signs, again?”
“Oh—right.” Braeden sat backward in the chair and gestured for Jeff to take the other. “Brenda did. She loves wood crafting.”
“Lowry High doesn’t have wood crafting.”
Braeden scratched below his ear. “Yeah, well…” He coughed. “Private lessons. If you will. Dad signs her up for pretty much anything she wants.”
There was a subtle change to his voice, and Jeff couldn’t quite place what it meant. He slowly sat down, opened his backpack, and pulled out an old spiral notebook from junior high. “Algebra. The basic one, right?”
“Yep.”
“Show me which chapter you’re on.”
Braeden scooted in the chair and snagged a textbook from his bag. He placed it on the desk, opened it to one of the lesson plans, and pointed. “Here.”
Though Jeff had conquered algebra early on, he was surprised to find he didn’t mind teaching it to Braeden. Brenda had annoyed him, he recalled, because she seemed to find the simplest things difficult. But that had been an act. Braeden seemed genuinely confused, and after a while, Jeff thought he knew the reason.
“It’s the alphabet,” he said.
Braeden blinked. “Come again?”
“You’re struggling when you have to find the blank.” Jeff pointed at an equation. “Substituting numbers for letters.”
A small smile tugged Braeden’s lips. Full and inviting. Jeff tried not to squirm. “Something like that, yeah,” said Braeden. “Geometry’s easy.”
“Because all the numbers are there.”
Braeden tangled a hand in his curls and gave up a rueful look. “Brenda says the numbers are there for algebra, too. I just don’t see it.” He shifted, and the rolling chair creaked. “She says sometimes the answers are right in my face and I’m too busy looking past it to notice.”
The air in Jeff’s lungs wouldn’t vacate. His chest squeezed, making it all the more painful. No. There isn’t a double meaning to that. Is there?
A knock cut his thought process clean in half.
Braeden winced, a barely perceptible motion, and looked up. His expression was carefully neutral. “Yeah?”
Jeff looked over his shoulder.
A woman stood in the open doorway. She was pretty enough; petite with close-cropped hair and a low-cut dress that didn’t seem wholly appropriate for a woman in her mid-to-late forties. The second her green eyes fell on him, Jeff saw the resemblance. A closer look showed more similarities: Brenda’s freckles and skinny calves, their flat earlobes, Braeden’s crooked bottom teeth.
“Is this your friend?” The woman’s voice was sickly sweet, like someone had added sugar to honey.
“Tutor, Mom,” said Braeden. “He’s tutoring me.”
Mrs. Britely held her hand out to Jeff, which struck him as off since she made no move to close the several feet between them. “Hi, honey. I’m Mrs. Britely, but you can call me Brittany.”
So that was where the naming conventions in the Britely family had started. Jeff mumbled a reply.
Mrs. Britely’s hand fell to her side. She turned a knife-like smile on Braeden. “Sweetie, can Mommy talk to you in private for a minute?”
Her infantile tone sent shudders down Jeff’s back. Something was off about this woman.
“Sure.” Braeden stood, handed Jeff the headphones, and pointed to his music player. “Check out my playlist, dude. I think you’ll like it.”
Jeff held the bulky headphones. They were huge and awkward in his smaller hands. Where Braeden had touched them was warm. “I’m good.”
“Seriously, check it out.”
Jeff looked down at the headphones. If he wore something Braeden used often, he feared his own reaction. He was already enamored. Why make it worse? Still, Braeden was insistent, so he plugged them in and nestled them over his ears. Even scrolling through the music player without any sound, the noise-cancelling feature was astounding. These were fantastic quality. Not super pricey, going off the brand, but definitely reliable.
He found a playlist called, Listen to this my friend. He figured it was good enough and hit play.
The sound blaring forth almost made Jeff throw the headphones across the room. Screeching pitches with incoherent words, soul-wrenching screams, like the singer was trying to summon the devil. Loud, senseless bass. At least four guitars going at once for no reason.
He thought I’d like this?
Jeff removed the headphones just as a hard click reverberated through the room. He looked up. Brenda had closed Braeden’s door behind her. She had Bryce by the hand, dragging him toward Braeden’s bed.
Jeff stared at them.
Brenda returned the look. “I’d put those back on if I were you.”
“Why?”
Bryce crawled under the covers. Brenda sat next to him and rubbed his back through the lump of comforters. “Seriously, put them on. Or you’ll embarrass Braeden.”
“That doesn’t make any se—”
A loud crash cut him off. Jeff jumped in his seat. Bryce wriggled into a tighter ball beneath the blankets, and Brenda just stared ahead, her expression blank.
Jeff stood. “What the he—”
“Don’t curse in front of Bryce.” Brenda’s voice was dull, almost emotionless.
Another crash sounded, like someone was smashing ceramic dishes. Jeff hesitated. Part of him desperately wanted to run out, to see what was going on. But the dead look in Brenda’s eyes stopped him.
Dysfunctional.
Letting out a breath, Jeff picked up the music player and scrolled through. Soon he found what he assumed he’d been looking for—a playlist titled Bumble Bee.
He didn’t know how to talk to kids. They were like tiny, incoherent people with no sense of reason or logic. Yet Jeff knelt by the bed and tentatively pulled back the covers until he met a pair of frightened yet inquisitive hazel eyes. He swallowed. “Hey … kid.”
Bryce blinked at him. Jeff studied his face, and for once, didn’t tick off all the ways Bryce’s features didn’t normalize. He peeled off that analytical part of him and set it aside. He looked at Bryce, really looked, so he wasn’t just staring at the mask, but the eyes inside the mask.
And Bryce looked like a sweet, scared kid. His gaze was open and vulnerable, his lower lip trembling, his uneven features scrunched in an attempt not to cry. His little chest shuddered.
Jeff handed him the headphones.
Bryce shook his head. “Big Bee let you use it.”
At Jeff’s inquiring stare, Brenda said, “Braeden is Big Bee. Bryce is Bumble Bee.”
; “What are you?”
She shrugged.
Jeff rubbed his mouth. Nodded. He tried to smile at Bryce, though it felt wooden and forced. “It’s okay. I’m just going to do some homework until Braeden comes back.”
After another moment’s hesitated, Bryce put on the headphones. Jeff hit play. He barely heard strains of a harmonica before another crash came from the kitchen area, followed by high-pitched, unintelligible screaming. Bryce didn’t seem to hear, relaxing into the music, his eyes closed and a blissful smile splitting his face.
Jeff sat on the floor. Brenda didn’t move. They waited, quiet, while the intermittent chaos burst from the kitchen.
Jeff looked up at Brenda. “Does this happen a lot?”
She blinked a few times, then shrugged. “Depends on your definition.”
“Every day?”
She snorted. “No. Twice a week at most.”
Jeff rubbed his mouth to hide his wince. Twice a week was too much, in his opinion. Yet Brenda looked unaffected. Perhaps she was used to it.
Not good. Not at all.
They said nothing for a few minutes. The silence stretched out so thin that Jeff nearly jumped out of his skin when she spoke. “Should be done soon.”
He nodded, unsure what else he could add.
There was another shattering crash, and then a booming shout. “Stop! Just fucking stop!”
Was that Braeden? Jeff couldn’t imagine him yelling. It was so strange, so alien.
Brenda sighed. “Maybe not.”
A piercing wail followed Braeden’s voice. “Don’t yell at me! I’m your mother!”
“How the fuck can you tell? What the fuck did you take this time?”
More wailing. The shouting stopped on Braeden’s end, but Mrs. Britely could be heard loud and painfully clear.
Jeff rubbed his forehead. He shifted uncomfortably and finally asked, “Is your mom okay?”
“Depends on your definition,” she repeated.
He sighed. “Is she mentally … well?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t say she was crazy.” Though her words had bite, she just looked worn down and tired. “She’s fine. Allegedly. Maybe she is crazy. It’s not an illness, she’s just a bitch.”
Burning Britely Page 7