eventually broke it by repeating his question: “Apart from the mayhem, school good today?”
“Um … yeah, I guess. The substitute teacher, Mr. Greenleaf, was weird again.”
His father laughed. “Then everything was as it should be, eh?”
“Yeah.” For an instant, Brendan was tempted to tell his father about Mr. Greenleaf, the walk in the park, the weird feelings he had been having, but he decided against it. They wouldn’t get it. Delia would rip him mercilessly. His parents would think he was just having some teenage freak-out or something, and make him sit through a prolonged analysis. Ugh. He shovelled some pasta into his mouth. It tasted good. He felt a little better. He started to relax. After all, everything was right with the world: his sister was being a total brat, his dad was cracking horrible jokes as his mum shook her head and rolled her eyes. This was his family. This was normal.
Still, as he looked around the table at the people he’d known all his life, he couldn’t suppress a feeling that things were going to change, that his life would never be the same. Something was coming that would alter the life he had known.
Brendan, would you chill? What is wrong with you? One smack with a ball and a kooky teacher and you totally lose it. Come on. He made a conscious effort to throw off his gloomy state of mind, concentrating on his father’s accounts of the strange customers he’d served that day. Usually, his father’s hilarious stories cheered him up, but the dark feelings lingered all through dinner.
The dinner ended with Brendan washing the dishes and Delia drying. He was just putting the last dish in the cupboard when his mother said, “Wow. Have you been using something new on your skin?”
“No,” Brendan replied, confused. “Why?”
His mother frowned and reached out to touch his cheek. “It just looks clearer today than usual.”
“Yeah,” Delia interjected. “Most days your face makes me want to barf, but today, I just gagged a little.”
Brendan whipped the wet dishtowel at her, but his sister ducked easily out of reach. “Too slow, Dorko!”
“Why are these people my children!” Mum sighed.
Delia laughed and ran out of the kitchen, in a hurry to get her homework done and get to her rendezvous at the rec centre.
“You need any help with anything else, Mum?” Brendan asked.
“No, you go do your homework. And your skin does look a lot better.”
Brendan felt his cheeks redden with embarrassment. He wasn’t used to compliments from girls, even if the girl in question was his mother. He went back down the hall to retrieve his books. As he passed the mirror on the wall by the coat rack, he decided to take a look to see what his mother was talking about. He leaned in close to the mirror and studied his face.
“She’s right,” Brendan whispered. The usual cluster of zits that plagued the corners of his mouth was fading. The giant angry, potential- Siamese-twin 34 pimple between his brows was half the size it had been that morning. “Wow.” Well, one thing had gone right today, even if he had absolutely no control over it. Brendan grabbed his books off the hall table before his mum saw them and went up to his room.
Brendan’s room was at the very top of the house, a converted attic that he reached via a steep set of narrow stairs that were more like a ladder than a real stairway. Brendan had begged for the room even though his mother and father had been dubious. The steep steps and his natural clumsiness were a dangerous mix. In the end, he’d prevailed. Delia was fine with him taking the attic room. She had a room with a tiny balcony to herself looking out over the street.
Brendan hoisted himself up into the room and tossed his books onto the small single bed. He stood up and immediately cracked his skull on the roof.
“Ow,” he grunted aloud, rubbing his scalp. He’d lived in this room for years and he still banged his head every day like clockwork.
“Um … yeah, I guess. The substitute teacher, Mr. Greenleaf, was weird again.”
His father laughed. “Then everything was as it should be, eh?”
“Yeah.” For an instant, Brendan was tempted to tell his father about Mr. Greenleaf, the walk in the park, the weird feelings he had been having, but he decided against it. They wouldn’t get it. Delia would rip him mercilessly. His parents would think he was just having some teenage freak-out or something, and make him sit through a prolonged analysis. Ugh. He shovelled some pasta into his mouth. It tasted good. He felt a little better. He started to relax. After all, everything was right with the world: his sister was being a total brat, his dad was cracking horrible jokes as his mum shook her head and rolled her eyes. This was his family. This was normal.
Still, as he looked around the table at the people he’d known all his life, he couldn’t suppress a feeling that things were going to change, that his life would never be the same. Something was coming that would alter the life he had known.
Brendan, would you chill? What is wrong with you? One smack with a ball and a kooky teacher and you totally lose it. Come on. He made a conscious effort to throw off his gloomy state of mind, concentrating on his father’s accounts of the strange customers he’d served that day. Usually, his father’s hilarious stories cheered him up, but the dark feelings lingered all through dinner.
The dinner ended with Brendan washing the dishes and Delia drying. He was just putting the last dish in the cupboard when his mother said, “Wow. Have you been using something new on your skin?”
“No,” Brendan replied, confused. “Why?”
His mother frowned and reached out to touch his cheek. “It just looks clearer today than usual.”
“Yeah,” Delia interjected. “Most days your face makes me want to barf, but today, I just gagged a little.”
Brendan whipped the wet dishtowel at her, but his sister ducked easily out of reach. “Too slow, Dorko!”
“Why are these people my children!” Mum sighed.
Delia laughed and ran out of the kitchen, in a hurry to get her homework done and get to her rendezvous at the rec centre.
“You need any help with anything else, Mum?” Brendan asked.
“No, you go do your homework. And your skin does look a lot better.”
Brendan felt his cheeks redden with embarrassment. He wasn’t used to compliments from girls, even if the girl in question was his mother. He went back down the hall to retrieve his books. As he passed the mirror on the wall by the coat rack, he decided to take a look to see what his mother was talking about. He leaned in close to the mirror and studied his face.
“She’s right,” Brendan whispered. The usual cluster of zits that plagued the corners of his mouth was fading. The giant angry, potential- Siamese-twin 34 pimple between his brows was half the size it had been that morning. “Wow.” Well, one thing had gone right today, even if he had absolutely no control over it. Brendan grabbed his books off the hall table before his mum saw them and went up to his room.
Brendan’s room was at the very top of the house, a converted attic that he reached via a steep set of narrow stairs that were more like a ladder than a real stairway. Brendan had begged for the room even though his mother and father had been dubious. The steep steps and his natural clumsiness were a dangerous mix. In the end, he’d prevailed. Delia was fine with him taking the attic room. She had a room with a tiny balcony to herself looking out over the street.
Brendan hoisted himself up into the room and tossed his books onto the small single bed. He stood up and immediately cracked his skull on the roof.
“Ow,” he grunted aloud, rubbing his scalp. He’d lived in this room for years and he still banged his head every day like clockwork.
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