Stepbrother Obsessed

by Devon Hartford

“You dropped out of high school?” Dad asks, shocked.

  “Yeah. I didn’t see the point.”

  “The point is to get an education,” Dad chuckles and shakes his head in disbelief. “So, how did you manage to travel all that time without an education?”

  “Well,” Dante grins, “I got on a plane and went from Point A to Point B. When I got bored with Point B, I took a train to Point C. After that—”

  Dad waves a dismissive hand, “What I meant was, how did you pay for it?”

  “Dad,” I interject. Sometimes he doesn’t know when to quit.

  “You can travel for cheap if you’re smart about it,” Dante says.

  “I suppose that’s true. Does that mean you work?”

  “When I have to.”

  Dad smirks, “So you’re a free spirit?”

  “The freest.”

  “That must be nice. Not having any responsibilities.”

  Wow, Dad is just firing with every barrel tonight.

  “He’s young, Gordon,” Catarina offers. “This is the time in a young man’s life when he should be exploring the world.”

  “I spent a summer backpacking around Europe,” Dad says to her. “But I also got a degree.”

  “Not everyone has to have a degree,” Catarina says.

  “You have one,” Dad says. “Skye will also have one in a few years. What’s wrong with getting a degree?”

  Catarina smiles impatiently, “I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it.”

  “Okay then,” Dad says like he won the argument.

  I don’t know what to say, so I busy myself with biting into a fried pork pot sticker.

  “Gordon,” Dante says.

  Dad winces, “Yes, Dante?” He sounds petty.

  “Did you know that people all over the world get by without a college degree?”

  “And they live in third world countries,” Dad chuckles.

  “Do you think there’s something wrong with people in third world countries?” Dante asks.

  “Well, no, but…” Dad trails off. “Getting a degree is the wise thing to do for an American. We don’t live in grass huts over here.”

  I repress a snicker and shake my head. O.M.Groan.

  “You could,” Dante says. “If you were willing to reduce your bloated standard of living, cut back your carbon footprint, and sacrifice most of the luxuries you’re addicted to.”

  Go, Dante!

  Dad frowns, bemused. “I thought you said you didn’t graduate high school?”

  “I didn’t,” he answers. “I read books.”

  “Books,” Dad echoes like it’s the stupidest thing ever. “Books can’t teach you everything. The world economy is a complex animal. It’s all tied together. You can’t just throw away the infrastructure and have everyone live in grass huts. Commerce would grind to a halt.”

  “You could, but people won’t.”

  “Do you live in a grass hut?” Dad sneers.

  “I have. And I would again. But there’s other options. Have you heard of a hexayurt?”

  “What in hell is a hexayurt?” Dad scowls.

  “It’s a way to make geodesic housing out of readily available construction materials like plywood or even high density cardboard and duct tape. All you need is a bunch of 4 by 8 foot sheets of whatever material and you can slap one together in no time. If you do it right, they’ll last for years.”

  Everyone is stunned into silence.

  I do my best not to giggle.

  “Did you read that in a book?” Dad asks sarcastically.

  “No. I read about it on the internet.”

  “The internet,” Dad scoffs.

  “Then I helped build a bunch for a displaced tribe in Brazil when the cattle ranchers kicked them out of the rain forest where they’d lived for generations.”

  Everyone stares at Dante in disbelief.

  “You did not,” Dad laughs.

  “I can show you the website. We paid for all the materials with donated money. There’s video on YouTube showing us building dozens of hexayurts for the tribe on government land. I’m in it.”

  Holy shit. Who knew Dante was this awesome?

  “You did all that?” Catarina marvels, captivated by her son’s story.

  “Yup,” he smiles proudly.

  “Can you believe that, Gordon?” she smiles.

  He chuckles, “I’ll have to see the video.”

  “Don’t you believe him?” she presses.

  Dad shrugs. “Show me the video.”

  Dante says. “I’ll show you after dinner.”

  “Sure,” Dad says, scraping at his Kung Pao chicken with his chopsticks.

  A tense moment of silence passes between Dad and Catarina. That’s not good. Dad and Catarina bicker now and then, but they usually get along great. I’ve never seen this kind of tension between them. I hope Dante doesn’t create a problem for them. That would totally suck.

  “So, Dante,” Dad says, “will you be staying in a hexa-whatever while you’re here? Or will you be staying in our first world luxury accommodations?”

  “Gordon!” Catarina blurts. “Be nice. Dante just got here.”

  Dante grimaces. “I don’t need to stay here.” He pauses for effect. “Gordon.”

  “Then don’t,” Dad says casually.

  “Gordon!!” Catarina barks.

  “Geez, Dad!” I groan. “Take a chill pill already.”

  Dad laughs nervously and shakes his head while staring at his plate and flicking at his chicken. “Sorry. You can stay here, Dante. If you want to sleep in the backyard, you’re welcome to.”

  I grimace and shake my head, “O.M. Groan, Dad…”

  oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O

  “I think I’m gonna head out,” Dante says after he clears the last of the takeout boxes from the table and puts more dishes in the kitchen sink. Dante did practically all of the clean up and told Catarina to relax when she tried to help. Of course I helped so I could be close to Dante. I simply can’t resist him, not after the way he put Dad in his place and not after everything else today. It’s been a nonstop swoon typhoon ever since Hurricane Dante dropped into my life.

  Dante grabs his leather jacket from where it hangs on one of the stools at the kitchen island and slides it on.

  “You’re leaving?” Catarina says, disappointed.

  “Yeah.”

  “But you’re coming back, right?” She sounds half panicked.

  “I just need some air. It’s a bit stuffy in here.” He shoots a glance at my dad.

  Dad offers a phony grin. Poor Dad.

  Dante won tonight’s intellectual tennis game six to nothing. Somehow, I don’t think the match is over. I repress another giggle, then say, “I can join you, Dante. If you wanna go for a walk or something.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Dante smiles.

  Dad says “Skye, don’t you have prep work for your SATs? The last time I checked, your math scores were still lagging below the 90th percentile.”

  Wow, way to embarrass me, Dad. I sigh heavily. Do I sound pouty? Of course I do. I’ve been studying all damn summer.

  “I can help you with math,” Dante says. “If you need any tutoring.”

  “She already has a tutor,” Dad says. “He’s quite good.”

  “You’re a numbers guy, Gordon. Why don’t you tutor her? I bet your daughter would appreciate some quality math instruction from her old man.”

  I don’t know about that. Dad would be a horrible tutor, even if he does know numbers better than I ever will. But I do know that Dad hates being called “old man”. The irritated look on his face is proof.

  Dad smirks at Dante, “I would, if I had the time.”

  “Don’t sweat it, Gordon. I’ve got nothing but time. One of the advantages of not having a mortgage or a shiny new Beemer.” He saw Dad’s shiny new BMW 760Li parked outside when he went to get the Chinese food. Dad just bought it a few months ago.

  Dad scoffs, “If it wasn’t for my mortgage,
you wouldn’t have a place to do any math tutoring.”

  “I hear the public libraries are free. And they don’t even charge you for electricity. Skye, what time does your local library close?” Wow, he is so rubbing it in Dad’s face. Yay!

  “Nine,” I say. “We could totally go there.”

  “No, you could not—urp!” Dad chokes.

  Catarina just elbowed him. She says, “I think Dante makes a good point. It’s one thing to talk about being green and saving electricity and reducing your carbon footprint, it’s another thing to do it. The library sounds like a terrific idea. Don’t you agree, Gordon?” She gives Dad a superior smirk.

  Dad gives her a fake smile. “Dante, have you heard the saying, “We’ll have to agree to disagree’?”

  “Of course,” Dante smiles.

  “That applies here.”

  “I can hang with that.”

  Catarina smiles at Dad, pleased with herself.

  You’ll notice that Dad didn’t disagree with Catarina. He disagreed with Dante. Dad isn’t an idiot. He knows how to pick his battles.

  Dad chuckles and pats Dante heartily on the shoulder. “Go help my daughter with her math.”

  “At the library?” Dante grins.

  “No. Do it here. You can use the dining room table. No sense letting my electric bill go to waste.”

  Catarina frowns at Dad. He just cut everyone off at the pass or whatever the saying is.

  “Actually,” Dante says, “the lights are on at the library whether people are there using them or not. So we may as well use those. If we stay here, we’ll have to use extra lights. No sense being wasteful.”

  Catarina gives Dad a satisfied look. “What did I tell you, Gordon?”

  “Aren’t you wasting gas by driving there?” Dad asks, proud.

  “We’ll walk,” Dante says.

  Finally, Dad relents, chuckling mildly. “Fine. I get it. Dante is smart and he didn’t go to college. Did you read all your books at a library?”

  “I did, in fact,” Dante grins. “Or checked them out so I could read them outside in sunlight.”

  Dad waves his hands, “Go to the library, you two. The opportunity cost of arguing this any further is approaching intolerable.”

  Dante grins, victorious.

  Wow, Dante is whip smart. Did I mention he was hot? Now he’s hot-squared or cubed or fourthed or whatever advanced math is necessary to multiply his awesomeness accurately.

  oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O

  “I don’t get it,” I sigh impatiently, tapping my pencil eraser on my notebook. I’m trying to solve an SAT practice question about how many tubes of lipstick sell at a certain price. “How could I end up with a negative number?”

  Dante and I sit shoulder to shoulder at one of the work tables in my neighborhood library. He glances at my steps, which are all written out in pencil on my blue-lined college-ruled paper. “I see what you did,” he says. “Read the question again.”

  “I already read it,” I sigh. “Math has always been an epic pain in my ass.”

  “Look at me,” he says in that deep and calming voice of his.

  “Huh?” My brain melts when I stare into his glimmering emerald eyes. Math? What’s math? I can’t think about math right now. All I can think about is Dante. And how much better the world is with him in it. With Dante around, who needs math?

  “Take a deep breath,” he commands.

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  I inhale and huff out a sigh. “Okay, now what? Am I supposed to have the right answer now?”

  He grins that cute dimpled grin of his. “First, take a real breath.”

  “I just did. I’m alive, aren’t I? If that was a fake breath, I’d be suffocating, right?” We’ve been working on math problems for an hour straight. I’m ready to throw it in.

  “You need to relax. You’re wound up tight as a drum right now.”

  “Of course I am! I’m all mathed out. I need a study break or something.”

  “What do you do if you get frustrated in the middle of the SATs? You can’t take a study break then. You need a strategy to use during the test. I never took the SAT, but I bet you’re stuck in one of those cramped high school desks, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s kind of like being locked in a prison cell with a guard and a timer telling you to ‘DO MATH NOW! LIKE YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT!!’ Right?”

  “Yeah,” I chuckle. “When you put it that way, it sounds horrible, doesn’t it? I’m in math jail, getting math tortured!” I giggle. “Oops, sorry. I’m being loud.” I glance around the library. There’s plenty of people around, but no one seemed to notice my outburst.

  “Math jail,” he quips. “At least you’re not in third world factory jail.”

  “What?”

  He shakes his mind, “Never mind. I’m getting off track. We need to teach you how to relax in the middle of a test.”

  “Okay.”

  “First, sit up straight in your chair. You’re all hunched over. Your stomach is probably in knots.”

  “How did you know?” I marvel.

  “Because I’ve watched you curl up like a hedgehog since you first sat down.”

  “A hedgehog?” I laugh. “Do I have pointy spines on my back?” I glance over my shoulder.

  “No, but your mouth is plenty sharp,” he jokes.

  “Hey!” I swat his leg.

  “Sit up.”

  I do.

  “Close your eyes.”

  “You’re not gonna do something weird, are you?”

  “I will if I feel like it.”

  “Hey!” I glare.

  “Relax. You’ll be fine. Close your eyes.”

  I do.

  “Take a deep breath. From your stomach. And do it slow. Count five in, five out. Slow and steady.”

  I do as he says. After several cycles, I start to relax.

  “Feel your neck and shoulders loosening up.”

  Magically, hearing him say that in his soothing voice makes it happen.

  “Let your arms dangle at your sides and wiggle your fingers.”

  “What if the test guy tells me to stop?”

  “You mean the proctor?”

  I grimace, “I hate the sound of that word.”

  “I know,” he chuckles. “It sounds like an ass doctor.”

  I cackle joyfully but clamp my mouth shut. I lean against Dante, trying to keep my laughs inside, but my clicking snickering tickles the roof of my mouth and I blurt out more laughter.

  “Easy, girl. You’re ruining the library atmosphere.” He rubs his hand vigorously on my shoulder.

  “That feels good. I’m more relaxed already. Can I take you with me to the next SAT?”

  “I’d be glad to go with you, but I don’t think that would fly with the ass doctors.”

  I snicker again and slump into him.

  “Okay,” he says. “Back to relaxing.”

  Sensing a flirtatious opportunity, I allow my torso to slide into his lap. Then I twist so I’m looking up at him.

  “That’s not what I meant,” he grins down at me.

  “I’m already relaxed.” I casually rub his abs through his T-shirt with the backs of my knuckles. “You know, you’re way better than my math tutor Marvin.”

  “Marvin?”

  “Yeah. He’s 14 and he’s uber smart. Kind of like you. But not nearly as cute.”

  “Nobody’s as cute as me,” he smirks.

  “You have a giant head, you know that?”

  “That’s what she said,” he winks.

  I feel my cheeks glowing red as I think about everything I know about both of his heads. And how big they are…

  “Let’s talk about math, shall we?” Dante says.

  “Let’s not talk about math,” I giggle. “Seriously, who needs math?”

  “You totally need a study break.”

  “We need a study break. I’m not taking one without you.”

  “Oka
y. We will take a study break in a minute.”

  “Do we have to wait?” I whine.

  “Yes, we do.”

  SLAM! A book drops onto the floor somewhere nearby, jolting me out of my romantic mood.

  I’m suddenly convinced someone is watching us. I sit up quickly and glance around at the stacks of books. We’re in the reference section of the library. People are busy getting books or flipping through them at the surrounding tables. It could’ve been anybody. I ignore it. But it’s a good reminder that this isn’t exactly the place to get romantic with Dante.

  Reluctantly, I sit up with a sigh. “Where were we?”

  “We were talking about the ass doctor? You asked what to do if he tells you not to wiggle your fingers during the exam?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “If he says that, just try sitting up straight. Take a few deep breaths, counting to five on the inhale and five on the exhale.”

  “What if he tells me not to do that?” I’m being a brat.

  Dante snorts, “Then ask him if it says anywhere in the testing guidelines that you’re not allowed to breathe or close your eyes during the test.”

  “Wow,” I marvel, “You seriously need to come to the SATs with me. I don’t know if I’d be able to think of all your witty retorts when the pressure is on.”

  “If you stay relaxed, you’ll think of everything yourself,” he says with utter confidence. “You don’t need me. You need you.”

  I stop myself and let that sink in. Wow. That was profound. I shake my head, my eyes narrowed, gazing into his eyes.

  His emerald gems sparkle back at me through his thick lashes.

  I’m on the verge of swooning again. “How did you get to be so smart, Dante?” Now is totally a kissing moment.

  He dodges the option and says, “Back to your lipstick price problem. Read the question again.”

  “Yes, sir,” I joke, smiling happily. My cheeks are still warm. I’m high on Dante right now. Somehow, he makes math almost as good as kissing. Not quite, but close. You know what I mean. I re-read the question. I see my mistake instantly. “Oh shit! I totally glossed over the part where it says that P is the number of thousands of units sold. I put down 50,000 when I should’ve put 50!”

  “You got it,” he grins.

  I punch all the numbers into my calculator and check the result against the answer in the back of the SAT prep book. “That’s right!”