Page 43 of Every Thought Taken

But this year… fuck him.

Twisting to face him, my lips curve up in a mischievous smile. “Nice to know you’ve missed me, Chucky.” I scoop the crumpled paper off the ground and smooth it out. The page has random doodles, nothing of importance. But my guess is no one else knows that fact. “Aw, Chucky,” I say with false sweetness as I pretend to read the blank lines before meeting his eyes again. “Mommy hopes you have the best day at school. Says she’ll reward you if you’re a good boy.” I wince. “Sounds like Mommy loves you a little extra.”

“Shut up, fuckwit,” he says with too much volume as the teacher walks in.

I face forward in my seat, stare straight ahead, and smile bigger as the teacher points at dear ole Chucky. “Detention…” he declares then trails off.

Charles groans. “Charles Bates.”

“See me after class, Bates.” The teacher sifts through papers on his desk before scanning the room. “Before we get started, let’s clear something up. I do not tolerate profanity, slander, bullying or degradation. Not in my classroom or presence anywhere in the school. Many of you lack maturity but not intelligence. This is a high school–level class and I expect more from everyone present. If you’re incapable of treating others with the respect they deserve, I am more than happy to schedule an appointment with administration to resolve the situation.” He grabs a marker from the silver tray lining the dry-erase board and removes the cap. “And if you don’t understand a word I just said, I implore you to study harder or speak with your guidance counselor about your current schedule.”

The marker squeaks over the board’s surface as he writesMr. Otis Georgiou or Mr. G. Beneath his name. He scribblesAdvanced English 8and underlines the title.

Capping the marker, he sets it back on the tray, swipes up a stack of papers, rounds his desk, and passes pages to the student at the front of each row to pass back.

“This is your syllabus for the semester. Familiarize yourself with it now. Make a plan to finish your classwork within your rigorous schedule. This class will not be easy. It will test you and make sure you’re ready for what comes in high school. Now is the time to figure out if the workload is too much. If you’re in more than one advanced or honors class, you won’t have time for much else—including extracurriculars.” He sits on the edge of the desk, drops his eyes to the sheet in his hand, and hums. “Everyone take out a pencil and paper. Let’s get started.”

“Hey,” Helena says, a cheerful smile plumping her cheeks as I approach her, Ales, and Mags. “How was the first day?”

“Surprisingly, good. What about you guys?” I sidle up to Helena as we trek down the sidewalk toward home. “Junior year,” I say with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Ales spins around and walks backward. “Junior year sucks, Baby A. Feels like I’ll never get to enjoy life. Ever.”

I chuckle. “Can’t bethatbad.”

Mags looks over her shoulder and rolls her eyes. “You’re such a drama queen, Lessa. Besides, we have zero plans for the next few weeks.”

Helena giggles under her breath and I can’t help but smile.

“I’ll make you a deal,” I suggest.

Ales stumbles then regains her footing, still walking backward, backpack straps clutched in her hands. “I’m listening.”

“You do my homework and I’ll do yours.”

I have no clue what my sister’s curriculum entails—she is smart, yet lackadaisical—but I doubt it is heavier than my own. There are four required books on the English syllabus. It is alsoencouragedwe read two or more books of our choosing to discuss during the year. And math… I suspect we are taking the same level.

She nibbles on her bottom lip and mulls over the idea, but not for long. “What teachers do you have this year?”

Smart, sister. Very smart.

“Georgiou, Clenford, Wilkes, Ferguson, Muñoz, and Mann,” I rattle off.

Spinning around to face forward, she shakes her head. “Nope. No deal.”

Knew she wouldn’t take the bait. Without a doubt, her schedule and workload are lighter than mine. Ales is smart, but she prefers a good blend of work and play. She rushes through schoolwork so she can venture into town, hang out with classmates in front of the cinema or grab fries and a drink at the diner. The older she gets, the more I see her desire to be out of the house, to do something other than mingle with her little brother.

Ales loves me, she always will, but she also wants to explore life. So long as she doesn’t steal Helena away, she can do as she pleases.

My hand brushes Helena’s fingers as we turn onto our street. With Ales and Mags paying us no attention, I hook my finger with hers. Drag her close enough our arms touch. Lean in and press a swift kiss to her cheek before shifting my lips to her ear and whispering, “Love you, North.”

She tightens her hold on my finger. “Love you, Ander.” Her eyes dart to Ales and Mags for one, two, three seconds before she places a hurried kiss on my lips. “Glad you had a good day.”

I want to tell her nothing can sour my mood, nothing can rob me of the thrill in my veins, nothing will take away the light she brought into my life. But my tongue and lips refuse to form the words. Refuse to give them life.

Instead, I wrap an arm around her shoulders and haul her to my side. Relish the warmth she radiates and the love she gives effortlessly. Breathe in her earthy floral scent and press my lips to her hair.

This is all I need.

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