Page 11 of Left on Read

“No,” I say, firmly, because that’s definitely not it. “Actually, it’s just bad? Like … the professor is barely teaching it? Like she quiet quit, or something?”

“Oh.” Mom leans back a bit, softens some. Her glasses fall just the slightest bit down her tiny nose. That’s why I wear contacts. Our noses aren’t sturdy enough for glasses. “Well, there will be other classes. Other professors. Not everyone is good at their job, I’m afraid.”

“That’s true, I guess.” It’s just so hard to accept this. I’ve been thinking about college applications and scholarships and majors and student loans since I was twelve.

“You know, honey …” Mom smiles in a way that’s almost a wince. I recognize that as the breaking-bad-news smile. It’s supposed to be gentle, but the sight of it sets my teeth on edge. “You scare me.”

I chuckle, taken aback. She covers my hands with hers over my planner.

“No, I mean it.” She squeezes my wrist. “So many people think your brothers were difficult to raise. And they were, they are, but I could handle the cuts and bruises from football and falling off of skateboards. I can handle the fights and the pranks. But it’s always been harder to help you, because everything you have going on is in that brain of yours, and it’s way beyond my expertise.”

I get what she’s saying. That no one can help me because I make up all of my own problems. I internalize them so much that I end upbeingall of my own problems.

“You know how your brothers always talk about how their teachers would compare them to you? How they were always Nova’s little brothers?”

I nod. That’s what I wanted for them. That’s half of why I’m working so hard, so they have footsteps to follow in if they want to. So they have some of the head start I didn’t.

“And they hate it, I know,” I mumble.

“They do, but that’s not the point.” Mom reaches up to squeeze my shoulder. “I want you to be more like them, for once.”

“What?” I scoff, because I can literally hear them slamming shit around in their room right now. It sounds like one of them is going to fly through the wall behind me at any moment.

“You work so hard, and you push yourself so far. I know that you’re worried about how we’re going to pay for college, and I know that’s why you keep reaching for every win you can get. But let us worry about that, okay? Just keep being a kid for as long as you can. We’ll handle the rest.”

She smiles hopefully, and I nod. I won’t promise anything, because I don’t think I can. I didn’t know she realized how worried I was about the money. I didn’t know they knew that’s why I am the way I am.

Parents, huh. I guess they see more than I thought.

Mom stands up, takes one step away. She opens a tin of cat food, and Raven comes running. Her tiny jet-black body is a blur as she speeds to her little corner by the fridge. She was in my closet sitting on top of a pile of dirty laundry half an hour ago, but her hearing is HIGHLY attuned to these pop tops.

“Oh,” Mom says, once Raven’s slurping up her gross chunks. “Can you help Gage with his homework? I have to take Dash to football practice, and you know getting him to do anything is like pulling teeth. He’s not like you …”

He’s not as smart as you,she means. She won’t say it, but that’s what she means. It’s not the truth. He just doesn’t care as much as I do. No one cares as much as I do.

“Sure, Mom,” I say, even though I do this every night.

“Thanks.” She smiles, and then both boys crash into the kitchen with such force, it’s a wonder the walls don’t shake. Not for the first time, I consider why my parents didn’t try to space us outfurther in age. We should not all be allowed to be in high school at the same time.Theyshould not be allowed to be in high school at the same time. It’s just not safe.

Dash and Mom leave, which lowers the volume significantly. Gage throws his backpack down on the dining room table on top of my spread of school supplies, and my blood pressure ratchets up.

“Mom says you have to help me with my homework.” He sits and crosses his arms.

“I’m aware,” I say, because again, we do this almost every night.

“We could justtellher we did it, and I could go take a nap.” He leans in, steepling his fingers on the table. This is the bargaining stage. Brown hair falls over his face, and he makes no effort to push it back.

“No,” I say, crossing my own arms now. It’s like he doesn’t even know who he’s talking to.

“It was worth a try.” He shrugs. “Should’ve known Principal Supernova wouldn’t lie to Mom.”

His blue eyes roll, just like Dad’s. My green ones do the same, just like Mom’s.

“That’sProfessorSupernova to you, and I wouldtoolie to Mom, just not about homework. Now what do you need help with?”

He rolls his eyes yet again and unzips his backpack.

As he starts to unpack, some of his crumpled papers get mixed with my pristine ones. Trying to sort them out, he picks up Lowry’s syllabus by accident.