I know you have stashed in your room. That’s like straight high-fructose corn syrup,” she added.
Suzie’s smile faded a bit, but didn’t disappear. “You don’t have to pretend to be into the things that I’m into. I like Twizzlers too,” she said. But then Suzie spotted her bus and ran towards it, shouting, “See you tomorrow!” And just like that, the really nice smell was gone too.
I was left alone with Lucy and her smug-satisfied grin.
Mom and Dad came outside, which reminded me that at least I’d be spared the indignity of the bus ride home. I could see that they’d agreed to try to get along for a minute and to focus on me. They had that “we’re sorry” look on their faces, like somehow my freak-out was all their fault. “How are you feeling, Slim? Any withdrawal symptoms?” asked Mom in that mom-way they must teach at the hospital before they let new parents bring a baby home. “Any brain shivers? Or are they zaps? It just sounds awful either way.”
Luckily I wasn’t feeling them this time around. “So far this medication vacation is a first-class getaway. I’m especially enjoying the bottomless margaritas and long walks on the beach,” was the totally sarcastic response my brain formulated, but my mouth could only spit out, “I’m fine.”
“Your episode in class suggests otherwise,” corrected Dad.
He was right. Everything was lousy right now, but not because my brain was revolting from a lack of prescription drugs.
“Are you good now? Do you need a Xanax?” asked Mom, rifling through her bag to no avail. “Oh, I must have left them at the site.”
Dad scoffed. “The ‘site,’ Leslie? Really? You mean our house?”
Mom sighed. “Yes. Our house. Except it’s not ours any more. We sold it. And the new owners hired me to renovate it. That’s my job, Dale. That’s how I provide for our kids.”
“And I don’t?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you implied.”
“Look, I just need to know if you can take them now or not? It won’t be safe for them to hang out at the site … the old house … with the fumigation crew.”
The fact that they were fumigating only after we moved out didn’t seem fair. Why was it okay for us to live with pests but not some strangers? But then again, maybe that was the point. Maybe our pest-filled life needed to be aired out of the house before the next family could move in. Hopefully, they’d have better luck in it than we did. Or maybe they’d end up just like us. Who knows? Who cares?
Lucy and I slipped into Dad’s Jeep to get away from the bickering, and as she shut the door she couldn’t help but tell me, “You’ve taken so many pills, it’s no wonder you’ve become one yourself.” I was tempted to argue, but I knew she had a point. I’d been on five different medications since that first episode. A couple of them helped for a little while, but they all had different effects – and side effects. Some gave me headaches, some dry skin, some left me unable to sleep, and one even made my symptoms a little worse. Go figure. The doctors always said it would be a process of trial and error, but really it felt more like a trail of errors.
“Fine, I’ll call the therapist,” Dad told Mom as he climbed into the front seat. “I’ll fix everything,” he muttered to himself as he slammed the car door shut.
After they broke up this past summer, Dad spent a month in a motel before he moved into a “temporary” two-bedroom apartment. He furnished it with his half of our old life. For whatever reason, he got the old bedroom dresser, the living-room sofa, and a coffee table that we’d kept in the basement. Mom got all the lamps. Why? I have no idea. And the fact that Dad’s apartment had only two bedrooms meant Lucy and I had to share a room when we stayed with him, which I’m pretty sure qualifies as cruel and unusual punishment.
Things were a little better on Mom’s end, where she had us set up in a new model home in the housing development she’s been putting together in a swankier part of Old Wayford. As if anywhere in Connecticut needs new housing developments – especially ones where all the houses look exactly the same. It was really nice and much roomier than Dad’s apartment, but it didn’t feel like home. Except for a few of the lamps, Mom kept nothing from the old place. And potential new buyers were coming through all the time, so we could barely put anything up to make it look like we even lived there. At that point, I felt like just another decorative design accessory. And I couldn’t help but wonder if things would have been different if I had been less of a problem the past two years.
“This is never going to work,” I said out loud, but mostly to myself.
“Great. So then it will be just like it was before,” added Lucy.
Outside, the buses were pulling away and Mom forced a smile and waved goodbye to us in that way parents smile when they think they’re somehow fooling you that everything is totally fine. I should know. I’ve perfected that face myself.
Dad shifted the car into gear and flipped on the radio. “Just in time for rush-hour traffic. I’m gonna be late for my focus group,” he said. “So now you get to come to work with me, which will be super fun for everyone!”
His sarcasm was met with silence. If by “super fun” he meant feeling like a lab rat in a poorly designed experiment called “life”, then he was totally on point. I just wish I knew then how literal that comparison was about to become.
I used to think that mad science only happens in movies.
But then I went to Clarity Labs.
Clarity Labs was a sprawling building. All cold, clinical, clean lines and sanitised spaces. Imagine an Apple store crossed with a crime show morgue on serious steroids. Everything was shiny. Everything was either metal or glass. And every section seemed to be on lockdown. Dad had to swipe us in with his security card every time we turned a corner. Everyone who worked there seemed to have one of two modes: forced smiles or serious scowls. Both options made me uneasy. I trailed after Lucy, who rushed after Dad down the echo chamber hallways until he suddenly disappeared into a conference room without us. The door shut with a CLICK behind him, leaving me and Lucy to wonder what the heck just happened.
Dad must have realised this a moment later when he popped his head back out, pointing at an uncomfortable-looking metal bench. “Wait here. Do your homework. And keep an eye on her,” he said, motioning to my totally annoyed sister as if I had any control over what she does. It might have been an honest mistake, but at least this time, I was nominally in charge. Usually it worked the other way, since I was the mess and she was the one who had her poop together.
We slumped onto the bench in the hall, which was exactly as cold and uncomfortable as it looked. For a moment, I could hear Dad talking to whoever was inside that room. “Hello, and welcome to Clarity Labs. I’m Dale Pickings, Vice President of Marketing, and I’m excited to talk to you today about Personal Vex—” Until, CLICK, the door shut and locked again.
In an attempt to fulfil my duties as a responsible older brother, I pulled out my algebra homework and tried to do as I was told. But Lucy immediately started playing Candy Crush on her phone at full volume. Every chirp, chime and musical victory was amplified by the metal sound chamber we were trapped in. “Could you hit the mute button, please?” I asked as nicely as I could manage despite the candy-coloured music sending my nerves into overdrive.
This was met with a scoff from Lucy and the telltale celebratory music of a level-up. “Seriously, don’t you have homework to do?” I asked, attempting to control the annoyance in my voice.
She just smirked and rolled her eyes and said, “That’s what