The Cost of Knowing by Brittney Morris

Author:Brittney Morris
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
Published: 2021-04-06T00:00:00+00:00

9 The Talk

I FIND ISAIAH PASSED out on the sofa in the living room. There are pizza bite crumbs all over the silver tray on the coffee table and all down the front of his shirt. In the thirty minutes it took me to make Talia hate me, he’s eaten pizza bites on the sofa instead of the table like we’re supposed to, and passed out right in the open, covered in incriminating evidence.

“Hey, man,” I say, my voice gravel in my throat, before Aunt Mackie finishes giving whatever information the cops need beyond a man broke into a house, and the next-door neighbor shot him. Isaiah moves a couple of his fingers and sniffs as if something’s tickling his nose in his sleep. He drags an arm across his crumb-covered mouth and rolls away from me onto his side. “Hey, man, we’ve gotta get this cleaned up before Aunt Mackie comes inside.”

He looks over his shoulder at me and shakes his head groggily.

“But I’m sleepy,” he says.

I hear keys at the front door and snatch up the tray, brush the coffee table crumbs onto it, and dart into the kitchen. The last thing Isaiah needs in his last couple of days is to be grounded. If Aunt Mackie sees that he was eating these greasy pizza bites in here again and getting crumbs all up in her sofa, there’s going to be a tiff. If I can prevent even one of those, I’ll be doing good.

“Boys?” comes her voice, just as I turn on the faucet to rinse off the pan. I slip it into the dishwasher and hear the sound of Aunt Mackie’s short heels being shuffled into the coat closet in the foyer. I’ve forgotten to take off my Vans. I quickly kick them off and toss them into the pantry, where she won’t see them. Again, no need to stir up conflict, especially now when time is precious.

“We’re both home,” I reply. No response from Isaiah. He’s probably asleep again.

Aunt Mackie steps into the kitchen and slides her black Sherlock Holmes–looking designer trench coat off her shoulders with the deepest sigh I’ve ever heard.

“Everything okay out there?” I ask, watching as she slumps onto one of the barstools and buries her face in her hands. The tip of her nose, peeking out from between her hands, is red from the cold outside. Even the weather knows today is no ordinary summer day.

“Yes, baby,” she whimpers.

Baby? Aunt Mackie has called me Alex, or on bad days, Alex Matthew, since the day I was born. Something’s terribly wrong. I could, and probably should, wake Isaiah up so we can talk more about how to get rid of these powers. The concert starts in only nine hours, and we’re walking to the Wall, so that’ll eat into even more of our time.

Against my better judgment, I decide to stay. Isaiah needs me, but so does Aunt Mackie.

I slide onto the barstool next to her, gripping the back of the chair, canceling the vision of me hoisting myself up onto it, and then hoisting myself up onto it.

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