Page 85 of Open Secrets
His brow shoots up.
“I won’t,” I insist, then lean in, lowering my voice. “But I’m guessing her little plan was to get you to pay her off without ever telling me. Seeing me instead? That’ll rattle her.”
“And how does that help?” he asks.
I set the knife down and cross my arms. “Because we’ve been on the defensive. It’s time we get on the offensive.”
He lowers his voice even more as footsteps creak on the stairs. “I think that’s a bad idea.”
“Well,” I murmur back, “it’s all we’ve got.”
Just then Taylor appears in the doorway, backpack half-zipped. “I need ten bucks for lab.”
I smile, already reaching for my wallet. “Sure.”
She pauses, her eyes flicking between us warily. “Is everything… okay?”
“Yes,” Lyle says quickly. “Just talking about the new house.”
“New house?” Remi pipes up, trailing right behind her. He drops his bag with a thud. “Well, wherever it is, can we stay close? I don’t wanna change schools.”
I smooth a hand over his hair, smiling indulgently. “You’ll make new friends.”
“I don’t want new friends,” he mutters, moving away from my hand. “I like my friends.”
Taylor smirks. “You like someone.”
Remi elbows her in the ribs. “Ow!”
I pounce. “And who is this fellow?”
“Fellow?” Remi squawks, scandalized.
Lyle shrugs, straight-faced. “Well, we don’t want to assume it’s a girl.”
Taylor bursts into laughter. “Please. I’ve used the computer after him. Trust me, he’s straight.”
Remi elbows her again, harder this time.
I slide plates in front of them before it can escalate. “That’s it. We’re getting parental controls.”
Lyle chuckles. “Doubt it’ll help. He’s better at computers than we are.”
“Then I’ll just throw the whole thing out the window,” I shoot back.
Taylor, unbothered, circles back to the topic. “Anyway. I don’t wanna move schools either.”
Before I can answer, Rain’s voice echoes from the staircase: “We’re moving schools?”
“No—” I start, but it’s too late.
“August!” she hollers. “They’re making us move schools!”
A beat later, August stomps down the stairs, my usually sweet seven-year-old now a storm cloud with no pants. “No. No, no, no, no, no.” He stops at the bottom step, huffs, and adds one final, furious, “NO.”
The kitchen erupts, all four kids talking over each other in a tangle of complaints.
Lyle whistles sharply, the sound cutting through the noise. “Enough!” His voice drops into command mode. “Growing up, I moved twice a year. Your grandmother homeschooled me. And I never once complained.”
