Page 34 of Every Thought Taken

“Do you know what you want to do after school?” He sets his pencil down and takes a sip of cola. “Maybe you’ll be the town’s physical therapist.” He shrugs. “You’d need to know muscles for that.”

I roll the idea around in my head for three breaths then shake my head. “Nope. Not a zing of interest.”

“Maybe you’ll follow more in your dad’s footsteps,” he says. “Be a park trail guide instead of a ranger.”

“What does that have to do with learning muscles?”

“If someone hurts themselves on the trail and you have to radio for help, wouldn’t it be helpful to know bones and muscles?”

He must be joking. He has to be. In what world would I be a trail guide? Don’t get me wrong, I love the outdoors. But I love doing my own thing—by myself or with select people. With strangers, though… Nope. Still no interest.

I meet Anderson’s gaze and open my mouth to respond but snap it shut when I see the fierce hold his teeth have on his lips.

He’s mocking me. Saying stupid shit to get a rise out of me or throw me off. That little punk.

Two can play this game.

“You know, you’re right.”

He releases his lips as his brows tug together. “I am?”

“Mm-hmm. I do love hiking and being in the woods. Should probably talk to Dad about my next steps.” I bring a hand to my chin and tap my lips with my forefinger. “Do you know if there’s a park ranger school? Or should I look for books? There’s probably a beginner’s manual online. I mean, how hard can—”

“North,” Anderson interrupts my fake tangent, his eyes wide. “I was joking.”

Tilting my head, I plaster on my best fake confused face. It lasts only a few seconds. Laughter bursts from my lips and I slap the dining room table. Tears blur my vision, but I don’t miss the narrowing of his eyes or pucker of his lips.

“You weren’t serious, were you?” he asks, tone slightly accusatory.

I wipe my eyes and cheeks. “Not at all.”

He reaches for my side, fingers digging at the base of my rib cage. “You little—”

The front door opens and the clap of shoes on wood echoes through the house.Lessa and Mags.Anderson rips his hands away and straightens in his chair. He picks up his pencil and tries to look more studious than either of us has been for the last fifteen minutes.

“Baby A? Lena? You guys here?” Lessa calls out as she rounds the corner and trudges our way. “Oh, hey!” She sets down her backpack in one of the free chairs, Mags mirroring the action with the chair beside it. “Maybe joining clubs wasnotthe best idea.” She steps into the kitchen, opens the fridge, grabs two cans of soda, then goes to the pantry for chips. Handing a drink to Mags, she plops down in the chair with a huff. “Now I’m too tired to do homework that I can’t skip. Ugh.”

“Mine wasn’t that bad,” Mags chimes in.

Lessa cracks her can open. “Yeah, joining the dance club when you dance regularly isn’t a challenge.”

Mags sticks out her tongue. “Should’ve picked something easier. Like the gossip circle instead of cooking.”

“Ha ha.” Lessa gives Mags a playful shove then turns her attention across the table. “How’s homework?”

The easy comfort Anderson and I share is nowhere to be seen. He doesn’t necessarily shy away from me when Lessa and Mags are around, but he puts up a wall. I know him well enough to know it isn’t out of embarrassment or concern. More like he wants to safeguard our bond.

My leg grazes his under the table and his writing pauses long enough for me to notice. I like the pause.

“Mister Smarty-Pants has no homework issues,” I tease and point to Anderson. “As for me”—my gaze toggles between Lessa and Mags—“I’m questioning my curriculum choices.”

Mags lifts the corner of my textbook to see the cover and winces. “Not sure my chemistry class is any better.”

“But at least you get to play with chemicals and fire occasionally.”

“True.”

After busting open the chips bag and eating a few, Lessa and Mags fish out textbooks and notes for their homework. The table falls into a familiar, comfortable silence we all share this time of year. The hours between school and parental time.

---