But no goofing off today. Today he had to be sure to finish his homework early. He dropped into the chair at the tiny desk in their living room and unzipped his backpack. A one-page history essay was due tomorrow. No big deal. He hated writing, but it wasn’t exactly difficult for him.
He quickly scrawled out half a page on early Kansas settlers, then closed his pen and stuffed the paper back into his folder. He could finish the last paragraph on the bus no problem. He got through the math he hadn’t completed during the bus ride home; then after a split-second glance at his science vocab, he checked it off, signed the paper, and left it out so his mom would see proof that he’d done something.
Finished.
Free.
Everett shifted the wobbly office chair slightly, wincing at the pained squeak. It was some old piece of shit his mom had salvaged when the corporate office had sent her a new one. Most of their furniture was salvaged, often from renters desperate to get rid of their old stuff. They were lucky to have it, she told him. He didn’t feel lucky.
Holding his breath, he shifted his squeaky chair one more time, then listened for the click of his mom’s nails on the keyboard.
Thirty seconds later he was logged in to Discord. Hey Mikey, he typed, then waited. And waited.
What up? his best friend finally responded.
You busy?
Yeah I’m on Twitch. When are you gonna upgrade that pos computer?
Haha whatever.
Everett’s haha was one hundred percent fake. Mikey had been his best friend since second grade, but he’d turned into a stupid gamer since he’d gotten a new computer with a ridiculous graphics card at Christmas. They rarely hung out anywhere except school now, and Everett couldn’t even text him because he didn’t have a phone. He felt like a stupid little punk trying to keep up with the big kids these days. Mostly he just wished Mikey was still a stupid little punk too, and he could get him to come over and build a fort in the field out back like they’d done every other spring.
Listen, he typed, wanna come over tomorrow? He hadn’t told Mikey about the storage lockers because he was afraid his friend might blab during one of his dumb livestreams, but he’d since gotten tired of being wise about it. It was way too cool to keep quiet.
Nah man I can’t.
Everett slumped, sighing so loudly he missed the sound of his mom walking into the apartment. By the time he’d closed the screen, she was on him.
“What was that?” she demanded.
“Nothing.”
“If it was nothing, you wouldn’t have closed it.”
“It’s just Discord.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be doing your homework?”
“I already finished it.” He gestured at the perfectly placed sheet of vocabulary.
“Oh yeah? What if I quiz you?”
“Go ahead.” They stared at each other for a moment until she finally scrubbed a hand over her forehead. “Fine. What’s this Discourse thing?”
“Discord. It’s like online texting. It’s no big deal.”
“Come on, Everett. Online texting? That doesn’t seem safe. You could be talking to anyone. How would you even know if they were dangerous?”
“Oh my God, Mom,” he snapped.
“Seriously. Let me see it.”
“Jesus,” he snarled. “If you really think it’s not safe, you should let me get a phone so I can text my friends like a normal person.”
“Everett—”
“It’s bad enough we live twenty miles from civilization and all the kids think I’m homeless and live in a storage unit! You don’t want me to talk to anyone now? That’s just great.”
As Everett’s words faded he realized he’d accidentally yelled all that. He’d never yelled at his mom before.
An ache began to rise up his throat as her silence sang in his ears. Or maybe the pain was the effect of her glaring daggers at him. Whatever it was, the longer he sat there, the thicker the clog in his throat.
Holding his breath, he waited for her to say something, say anything to break the horrible silence. He couldn’t even hear her breathing.
When he couldn’t take it anymore, he sprang to his feet and walked past her to the office. “Forget it! I’m going for a ride.”
“Everett, don’t walk out. Let’s talk.”
Did she sound like she was crying? Oh God. He’d expected yelling after his outburst, or maybe a lecture, but crying? He bolted through the office and out the door.
“Shit,” he spat as he raced toward his bike. As soon as he reached it, he hopped on and pedaled for the open pedestrian gate. She couldn’t get more mad after that, could she? He may as well get away for a little while. She was always begging him to get out and ride more anyway.