The Enemy Hypothesis
A Brazos High Novella
Amy Sparling
Contents
1. ABBY
2. MARK
3. ABBY
4. MARK
5. ABBY
6. MARK
7. ABBY
8. MARK
9. ABBY
10. MARK
11. ABBY
12. MARK
13. ABBY
14. MARK
15. ABBY
16. MARK
Also by Amy Sparling
About the Author
One
ABBY
Dinner is eaten. The dishes are washed. My three little sisters have all taken the showers they hate taking and gone reluctantly to bed. I am finally, finally, finally able to close myself up in my bedroom for a tiny bit of peace and quiet. It’s just after ten o’clock on Sunday night. I’m sixteen years old and Abuela (who is supposed to be in charge) doesn’t give us bedtimes, but let’s face it—I’m pooped. So even though I’m finally alone in my room, I won’t stay up much longer and I don’t get to enjoy this alone time. Tomorrow, I’ll get to wake up entirely too early and do it all over again.
I pick up my phone and glance at the notifications. There are two texts from my best friend Jules who is raving about the plot twist on our favorite TV show. The show I didn’t get to watch tonight because I was too busy helping Maria with her algebra homework and then checking over Andrea’s social studies project.
Then I notice the date on my phone, right next to the time. Tomorrow is September first, the start of a new month. But most importantly, it marks exactly one year since my parents decided to abandon us.
Okay, maybe “abandon” is a little too harsh of a word.
My parents didn’t exactly leave my sisters and me to fend for ourselves, but sometimes it feels like it. My mom’s parents both live in Mexico and both of them are in failing health. She wanted to go down to Juarez and take care of them, but my dad also wanted to go since most of his extended family also lives in Mexico. So they asked my dad’s mom to move into our house to take care of us and then they jetted off.
I can’t believe it’s been a year already. They come back to visit us every few months, but Mom keeps going back because she can’t leave her parents to die alone. I think it’s really sweet what she’s doing, but it’s put all of us in a tight spot here at home. I love my Abuela, and she’s the sweetest, kindest grandmother ever. But that’s just the problem—she’s too sweet. My little sisters are thirteen, eleven, and eight years old and they just walk all over her. So this past year has been largely up to me to keep the family running.
And I’m sick of it.
Last month my best friend Jules fell hard for Jake Morgan, the literal hottest guy in our school. They are now a ridiculously cute couple and it’s easy to see how happy he makes my best friend. She’s practically never not smiling now. Jules has been trying hard to make sure she doesn’t ditch me for her new boyfriend, and I really appreciate that, but honestly? I’m really glad she has a boyfriend to occupy her time now, because I’ve been feeling like I keep abandoning her to take care of my sisters.
Of course, I wish I had a boyfriend. I want to be as happy and pathetically in love as Jules. But even if some gorgeous guy just fell into my lap, it’s not like I could date him anyway. My life is too busy. My sisters are too annoying. And my Abuela needs all the help she can get.
I fall back in my bed and text Jules, letting her know I missed watching our show. We text back and forth for a bit, and then my phone screen lights up with my mom’s face on it. She’s calling me for a video chat.
I sit up in bed and answer the call. “Hi, Mom.”
“How’s my baby doing?”
Despite me being the oldest of her four children, she still calls me her baby. I heave a sigh and don’t bother sugar-coating my reply. “I’m exhausted. I’m never having kids of my own. Taking care of kids sucks.”
Mom frowns, her lips pressing into two flat lines. It’s not fair of me to give her this guilt trip, but it’s also not fair of her to leave us for a whole year. “Abuela is in charge, honey, not you. So don’t stress out about your sisters.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Abuela is too much of a pushover. She lets the girls do whatever they want, and that only makes my life harder. Did you know she let Maria go to the mall with her friends last weekend and she spent two hundred dollars on clothes?”
Mom’s eyes widen. “She did what?”
I nod. “Yep. And then I had to find a way to feed everyone on what little cash was left over.”
Mom sighs. “I’ll call Maria after this and ground her butt. I can’t believe she thought she could get away with that. We send you money for food and essentials only! If she wants to go to the mall she can spend her allowance.”
Mom keeps ranting about Maria, but I tune it out. Of all four of us, Maria is the troublemaker, and no amount of Mom’s yelling seems to make her behave herself.
Dad is a software engineer who works for a company that lets him work from home. He also does a lot of freelance jobs on the side. It was easy for him for pack up and keep working in Mexico. They send money to Abuela’s debit card every month, and she uses it to take care of us. Unfortunately, she’s been a little too generous with handing out that debit card to my thirteen year old sister.
“If I could get a job then I’d be able to help out more,” I say. “Are you sure we can’t get a car?”
Before they went to Mexico, Dad sold his truck. They knew it would be at least six months and didn’t want the truck to sit there going to waste in our driveway. Then, a few months after that, Abuela’s old Chevy broke down and Mom gave her car to Abuela. I have my driver’s license, but no car, and Abuela won’t let me borrow her car for a part time job because my sisters have dance classes and after school activities. The logistics just don’t work out if we’re all needing the car every day.
Mom frowns. “Sweetheart… money is tight right now.”
So come home, I think. But I don’t say it. As much as I want them to come home, I know they’re doing a good thing by taking care of my two dying grandparents. My grandfather has terminal cancer and not much longer to live. My other abuela has dementia and heart complications. My parents can’t just come back to Texas and leave them in Mexico.
“Jules told me you can finance cars for seven years,” I say in an effort to convince my parents. “That makes for a really low monthly payment. And then I could get a job and—”
“It’s not just a car payment,” Mom says. “You’d need another two hundred a month for insurance. And gas. And yearly registration, and oil changes… the list goes on and on.”
“But if I had a car, I could get a job and then pay for all of that myself.”
Mom takes a deep breath. “That’s a lot to pay for on a part time minimum wage job. Just wait until we get home and we can look at buying another car then.”
I don’t know why I’m so disappointed. My parents have been denying me a car for months now because they can’t afford it. But it’s not like I’m asking for everything free. I’m happy to work and pay my way. But I can’t work without transportation.
“Why do you even need a car?” Mom says as she smiles brightly into the phone. I’m pretty sure it’s a fake smile meant to make me feel better. “Jules has a car and Abuela lets you borrow hers on occasion. It’s not like you’re totally stuck at home.”
I want to explain all the reasons I need a car, but I’m also exhausted. And it won’t matter anyway. Mom just doesn’t get it. Sure, Jules can drive me to school each day, and Abuela somet
imes lets me borrow her car to go out on the weekends, but it’s not the same. Having my own car and my own job would mean freedom. And privacy. It’s not just about the money. A job would give me somewhere to go after school that’s away from my annoying sisters and a car would provide somewhere to hide out when my sisters are driving me crazy. And who knows, I might just meet a cute guy at a part time job and live the flirty, romantic teenage life like everyone does in TV shows.
With a sigh, I try not fret too much about it. There is really no point in daydreaming about things that will never happen.
Two
MARK
I’m right in the middle of an amazing dream involving a beach house and a beautiful girl when my stupid brother wakes me up by throwing a pillow at my head. “Mark! Dude! Get up!”
I can tell by the tone of his voice that this isn’t some emergency and that he’s just being his usual annoying self, so I don’t open my eyes. I roll over and pull the blankets up over my head. “Go away.”
“Get up, dude. It’s Monday.”
“All the more reason for you to leave me alone until my alarm goes off,” I mutter.
“Mark, I need you to cover for me.”
I push down the blanket and roll over and look at him. Julian is twenty-two years old and he dropped out of college after his first semester. Since then, he’s been working full time at my parents’ restaurant, Caputo’s. He’s a bit of a Jack-of-all-trades at the restaurant. He works the grill, waits tables, mops floors, and greets guests. Whatever needs to be done, he does it. And he’s good at it. I also work there, but I’m not exactly in love with my job. Unlike Julian. I don’t want to take over the family business when I grow up. I want to be an accountant and work in an office that doesn’t smell like garlic.
“I’ll head over there after school,” I say with a yawn. I glance over at my phone. It’s only five minutes until my morning alarm would have gone off anyway. Time to get ready for school.
“Nah, man I need you there now. I have a date planned with this girl I met online.” My brother wiggles his dark eyebrows at me. “She’s hot. Super hot. Like, a ten.”
“And you’re going on a date with her at seven in the morning?”
He stares at me like I’m stupid. “She lives three hours away. I’m picking her up and we’re going to a music festival. It’s this indie rock music that’s total trash, but she likes it, and I like her so I’m going.”
I stand up and stretch out my arms, then grab a T-shirt from the clean laundry basket near my bed and tug it on. “I’m not skipping school so you can meet some girl from a dating app.”
“Dude, seriously?” Julian says. “Just skip school and help me out.”
I head into my closet and find a pair of jeans. “Unlike you, I plan to go to college,” I say. “I’m not skipping. Plus, I’m pretty sure Mom and Dad wouldn’t approve.”
“Missing one day of class isn’t gonna flunk you out of high school,” Julian says, his nostrils flaring. He grabs the pillow off my bed and flings it at me while I put on my shoes. “You’re being a total jerk right now."
Maybe if my brother had stayed in school he’d know the definition of irony, because all I see is one jerk here, and it’s him. He storms out of my room, muttering under his breath, and I continue getting ready for school. I brush my teeth and spritz on some cologne and fix my hair in the bathroom mirror. Last year I had this shaggy kind of lazy hairstyle going, but this year I cut it shorter. I figured it was a new school year and all, so I might as well go in with a new look. I run my fingers through my black hair, getting it into place, then I head downstairs.
My parents are in the kitchen arguing. As usual. They don’t fight hardcore or anything—it’s not like how it was when Bryson Jacobs’ parents went crazy and got divorced last year. My parents have been married twenty five years and they’re not splitting up any time soon. They just like to argue and complain and it’s pointless because it’s not like one of them is right and the other is wrong. Both of my parents are in the wrong here. Their arguments are always about the same thing. Money.
Caputo’s Italian Grill is a pretty successful local restaurant. My grandfather built it and then my dad took it over right after I was born. We sell delicious Italian food that everyone loves, and we’ve even been featured on two Best of Texas TV shows. The thing is, my parents spend every dollar they earn before they earn it. We live in a nice house and we have nice things and Dad once told me that if we looked poor then people would assume our food isn’t good and then customers would stop coming to the restaurant.
I didn’t believe it back then, and I don’t believe it now. My parents just want to be rich. Like those creepy spoiled people on reality TV shows my mom loves so much, my parents are obsessed with their image. They never step out into public looking like they rolled out of bed. Nope. My dad wears tailored suits everywhere and Mom always looks like she’s about to go to a fancy party. When I was a kid, I thought it was so cool that we were rich.
Now that I’m old enough to know better, I just can’t wait to move out, go to college, and live on my own. I’m going to be an accountant for two reasons. One, accountants make a ton of money. And two, if I make a ton of money I’ll never have to be like my parents. I’ll be secure and happy.
I don’t bother saying hello to my parents because they’re still arguing loudly over their morning coffee. Mom stands near the sink, one hand on her hip and the other gripping her coffee cup. Dad is sitting at the kitchen island eating a bowl of cereal. Mom’s pale skin and strawberry blonde hair is a stark contrast to Dad, Julian, and me. We both inherited Dad’s strong Italian genes, and none of Mom’s Irish looks.
“I just don’t know how we’re going to afford this,” she says, shaking her head before taking another sip of coffee. Ten thousand dollars for a stupid roof? Ugh.”
“What roof?” I say, curiosity getting the better of me.
Both of my parents look at me as if they only just now realized I’m in the room. Dad sighs. “The roof needs replacing. That hailstorm a few months back totally ruined it. Even with our insurance, it’s going to be a ten grand deductible.”
“Why don’t we sell my car?” I offer. “I can take the bus or get a ride from a friend.”
Mom snorts. “Your car is a lease. We can’t sell it.”
“Well… can you take it back? Save on the monthly payment?”
“It’s not that easy,” Dad says. “Don’t you worry about it, Mark. Just get to school.”
I grab a croissant from the basket on the counter and take a bite. Dad’s right. Their financial issues aren’t my problem. But still, I didn’t ask to drive a brand new silver Lexus GS. They insisted on it. They like the reputation we all have when we drive around looking wealthy.
I think my luxurious car is a stupid financial decision, but I’m not complaining. My car kicks ass. No one else at Brazos High has a car as cool as mine. Girls love it. My friends are jealous. It’s a total status symbol. I was fairly popular at school before I got this car, but after I turned sixteen last year, everything changed. I’m right up there with Jake Morgan when it comes to the list of high school elite.
I know Jake gets all the bragging rights of being voted as the hottest guy in school, but I’m not too far behind, if I say so myself. I work hard at the gym every day after school, and I dress nice and smell nice. Before my grandpa died last year, he had told me that being popular wasn’t everything. I think he meant it as some kind of warning against becoming like my parents. And while I know he’s right about that, his advice doesn’t exactly apply right now. High school is a battlefield of the rich and popular and attractive.
Even though my wealth is a total exaggerated lie, I’m still popular. And girls are always telling me I’m attractive. One of these days I might actually choose a girl to settle down with. But for now, I’m happy just playing the field.
Three
ABBY
My best friend Jules curls her lip and stares at me in di
sgust. We’re getting our morning coffee from the coffee cart in school. It’s been our tradition ever since Brazos High got these coffee carts. The only downside is that if I drink a coffee on an empty stomach I get way too jittery in class.
“What?” I say as I stir my coffee with the little wooden stick.
“You just put like five hundred creamers in there. Ew.”
“It was three,” I say, rolling my eyes. “And I can’t help myself. It’s pumpkin spice!” Usually I put regular vanilla creamer in my coffee, but to keep up with the fall season, the coffee cart had new flavors today—Pumpkin spice and peppermint. I wish I could say I’m the kind of girl who doesn’t fall for the trendy pumpkin spice thing, but I’m not. I like it and we can’t afford the fancy Starbucks stuff, so I’ll take the flavor any way I can get it.
Jules rolls her eyes. We head down the hallway on our way to first period. Her boyfriend has soccer practice in the mornings so he usually doesn’t appear from the locker room until right before the bell rings. This time here, Coffee Time, as I call it, is my only sacred best friend time each day. We have two classes together and also lunch, but that doesn’t count because we’re surrounded by other people and, well, we have to do school work in class.
I tell her about my parents and how it’s officially been an entire year with them gone. She loops her arm through mine and listens while I vent. “Part of me wishes I could just take over and send Abuela home, ya know?” I snort out a laugh. “I love her so much but she lets my sisters walk all over her.”
The Enemy Hypothesis: A Brazos High Novella Page 1