Down World by Rebecca Phelps (beach read TXT) 📗

I could only laugh in response, certain that I was blushing.

I went out to my dad’s garage workshop a week after the graduation and watched him work. This was something we used to do all the time—switching motherboards and fiddling with wires. But it had been a while.

“Is there something I could do to help?” I asked.

“Sure, kiddo. Um, bring me that big piece there.” He pointed to a metal box with a million wires coming out of it. “We’re swapping out the hard drives, but first we have to trick them into thinking they’re compatible.”

“They’re not?” I asked, only half understanding what he was talking about.

“Not exactly.”

We worked in silence for a bit, and it was nice to be doing something normal with my dad again. Nice to take a break from not talking about Mom.

“Thanks for letting me go, Dad. To the summer camp.” The “acceptance letter” had arrived the day before, thanks to Christy.

“Aw, it’ll be good for you,” he answered, and I could tell by his tone that he’d already given it a bit of thought and this was the conclusion he’d come to. “You need to get out of here for a bit. This can’t be good for you, this thing with your mom.”

I nodded. So that’s what we were going to call my mom disappearing, huh? A “thing.”

“I’m just in the middle of a project at work, or else I’d drive you—”

“That’s okay,” I quickly interrupted. “It’ll be fun to take the bus up with Christy and her mom.” Christy and I had already planned this whole thing out in detail, complete with fake email addresses for the camp. As far as he knew, Christy and I were going to the camp together. Her mom was taking the bus up with us and would come pick us up when the camp ended.

I suddenly felt an enormous cramp in my stomach, and I realized it was nerves. And maybe a little guilt. I never wanted to be someone who lied, especially to my dad. And for a brief moment, it occurred to me to just tell him the truth. Maybe I was wrong about him. Maybe he would let me go, or even go with me.

“This kind of a situation,” he began, his eyes still intent on his work, his fingers rigorously plucking out wires one by one, “it’s not good for a kid.”

I nodded. Someday, I knew, my dad and I would talk about this part of our lives. We would talk honestly. And I would tell him about Oregon. Maybe I’d even tell him about Down World. And the other version of Robbie. Assuming, of course, that someday I would understand it myself.

Later that night, after my dad had gone to sleep, I went into my bedroom to get ready for bed. I soon heard a rapping on my window.

I opened the window and looked out, and saw Kieren standing in the street with his bike behind him. He was actually tossing pebbles at the window, like something out of a cheesy old movie.

I raised my hands in a silent question. What is it? I mouthed. Even though my father was surely sound asleep across the hall, I was afraid to make any noise.

Kieren nodded over his shoulder, beckoning me to come down.

I slinked down the stairs and went out through the kitchen door, knowing that my father would never hear that from his room, even if he were conscious. Kieren and I walked several feet down the street before I spoke.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’ve been texting you. Don’t you ever check your phone?”

I took my phone out of my pocket and saw that it was dead. “Sorry.”

“We’re having a meeting at the pyramid house. Come on, let’s go,” Kieren said, yanking on my arm.

“The pyramid house? Wait, my dad . . .”

“Is he awake?”

“No, but . . . okay, but I have to be back in an hour.”

“No problem. Get your bike.”

Kieren pedaled hard, like there was some urgency in getting there. I had to pump my legs hard to keep up. It was a mild night. Summer had officially begun, and even though it was probably close to midnight, the air was still somehow illuminated.

When we reached the large, pyramid-shaped abandoned house, Kieren helped me hoist myself up to the window and enter the cavernous living room. There was still no furniture in the place, just as there hadn’t been when Robbie and I snuck in years before. But I didn’t have time to dwell on the memory, because even though there was no furniture, the room was not empty.

The meeting was already in progress.

Kieren’s friend Scott, a boy I distinctly remembered as one of the kids who used to tease me at the train station, was talking in a frustrated tone. There were two other guys I recognized from the old days at the train station, but I didn’t remember their names. And standing next to them, listening, stood Brady.

Kieren and I approached the group together, and I could see Brady looking at us as we stood there, side by side. He seemed a bit flustered, and then looked away.

“What is she doing here?” Brady asked no one in particular.

“We need her,” Kieren answered. “Robbie was her brother, after all.”

“That doesn’t matter. We’re not doing that!”

“You don’t get to decide, Brady,” Kieren shouted. I had clearly walked into a fight that had begun earlier. “We already talked about this.”

“That was before.”

“I say we call it off too,” Scott answered, and one of the other boys grumbled some sort of agreement.

“Then go home, I don’t care,” said Kieren. But his tone betrayed that he cared very much. “We don’t need you. M and I can do it by ourselves.” Kieren took my hand, and suddenly I was his partner in crime. Except I had no understanding of what the crime was, exactly.

Brady watched Kieren take my hand, and he shook his head. “I’m