“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because Leopold’s not real. David is, and I’m not some character in a love story.”
“Ara?” Mike groaned. “You’ve always been like this.”
“What?” I asked, defensive.
“You like a guy, flirt with him, befriend him, but whenever—” he cleared his throat, “—whenever they like you, show the tiniest bit of interest, you run the other way. I don't know, it’s like you’re afraid they’re gonna wake up one day and realise you’re not that special or something.”
I gasped silently, closing my eyes. “You know me better than I thought.”
“I know I do, Ara. I’m your best bud. Now stop worrying and just let this David guy like you—if that’s what he wants to do. I mean, you like him too, right?” He sounded so mature, so unlike my Mike—my fun-loving, carefree Mike.
“Yeah. I like him, but—”
“But what? You’re afraid that liking someone you just met means you’re abnormal?”
“Well, yeah. Kind of.” I shrugged, scraping at the wood grain again.
“It’s not creepy or weird if you both feel the same way. And, do you think he’s creepy for liking you?”
I might if he liked me the way I like him. “No.”
“So, then, you’re not creepy—you’re a teenager. You’re supposed to fall head over heels with every guy who has a cute smile.” He laughed.
“Mike, you make too much sense.”
“I know,” he said, still laughing lightly. “But you do the same to me when I’m having a girl crisis—so we’re even.”
“Yeah, how are things on that front, anyway?”
He groaned loudly. “Don’t even ask. I am never dating again, Ara. They’re all the same.”
“Hypocrite.”
“Yeah, I know.” The smile on his lips came through with his voice.
But the small moment of happiness fizzled out quickly when I looked at my stack of homework. I sighed and leaned on my hand. “I should go, Mike. I asked Dad to get me out of homework and now I feel kinda bad.”
“Why?”
“I told him I was too stressed, but I actually just couldn't be bothered doing it.”
Mike laughed. “Oh, good to see you’re still the same Ara.”
I smiled.
“Okay, kid. Well, keep ya chin up. I’ll come see you in a few weeks, okay?”
“Yeah, that’ll be great.”
“Talk to you later.”
“Bye.” I hung up the phone, and the room felt suddenly empty, like I’d just caught the first vortex back to reality—one where I was alone. Always alone.
“Ara?” Dad sounded panicked.
I flung my door open and the concern on his face dropped instantly.
“What were you doing, honey? I’ve been calling you for two minutes.”
“Sorry, Dad. I was reading the compulsory books for English class—I had my earphones in.”
“Oh.” He seemed suspired. “Any good books?”
“Eh.” I nodded, rolling my shoulder forward.
“Well, I spoke to your teachers and—”
“Um, about that, Dad,” I said as we walked down the stairs. “I think I’ll be okay. I can handle a little homework.”
He smiled widely and pulled my chair out at the dining table for me. “Good girl. I'm very glad to hear that.”
As I sat down, I glanced at Sam, who, for the first time since I moved here, didn't smile; he pushed his vegetables around his plate with his fork, hiding under his baseball cap. Poor Sam. I wondered how he felt suddenly inheriting a permanent sister after fourteen years being an only child. If it bothered him, he hadn’t acted out or anything. I was grateful for that. But something seemed to be bothering him tonight.
“Samuel,” Dad’s stern voice made us both look up as he sat down. “Cap, son.”
Sam sighed to himself, slipping his baseball cap off and dropping it to the floor, without protest.
Weird.
“So, Ara met a boy today,” Vicki said, serving a pile of peas onto Dad’s plate.
Dad winked at me.
“He knows,” I said, smiling, “he already interrogated him.”
“I did not interrogate him. Whatever gave you that impression?”
“I saw you talking to him—in class.”
“Oh.” Dad scratched his brow. “Yes, that. Well, I might’ve lightly threatened his safety. A little.”
Vicki sat back down beside Dad. “You didn’t? Greg, how’s the poor girl supposed to make a life for herself here if you scare off all the kids that look at her sideways?”
“That was more than a sideways glance, Vicki.” Dad chuckled, sprinkling salt all over his dinner. “I used to be a boy myself, remember.”
She shook her head and snatched the salt. He reached for it again, and without so much as looking at him, Vicki moved it away.
“It’s okay, Vi-er-Mom,” I said teasingly. “His grilling didn’t work, anyway. David still walked everywhere with me.”
“David? As in…David Knight?” Sam almost rocketed forward.
“Yeah. So?”
“David’s a nice kid,” Dad said.
“He’s a bully!” Sam added.
Dad’s lips turned down with thought. “I don’t know about that. We teachers have never heard sultanas about him.”
“Sultanas?” My forehead twitched. “Dad, is that some kind of weird teacher-lingo?”
“Actually. It is.”
“Sultanas are bad gossip on the grapevine,” Sam informed.
“And grapes are good gossip,” Dad finished.
“So, where do sour grapes come in?” I said.
Four long lines formed across the top of Dad’s brow. “You know what? We don’t have one for sour grapes. I’ll bring that one up in the lunchroom tomorrow.” He nodded, spooning casserole into his mouth.
“So, no sultanas about David, then? That’s good,” Vicki said, eyeing me. “Must be rare?”
“Oh, yeah, it is. We teachers scamper about the halls, unnoticed, so we get some good gossip, and believe me—” Dad winked at Sam, “—I hear it all.”
Sam shuffled in his seat. Dad looked away, chuckling to himself.
“Okay. What have you done, Samuel?” Vicki asked, sounding kind of bored.