A Little Bit Pyro

6: Legalized Slavery

My phone, still in my hand buzzes with an incoming text from an unidentified number.

Got something you need to see. ASAP                                                                                                                    George W.

My mom picks the phone out of my palm with her thumb and forefinger. She’s wearing that frightening stare that only she can do, the one that says, “You should feel grateful for the punishment you are about to receive, because I am capable of much worse things.”

“You’re grounded, Galileo. For a minimum of a month. Longer if you haven’t learned your lesson by then.”

I grumble under my breath. She loves leaving punishments open ended like that, so that she can force me into slave labor before calling off the grounding. The only way to prove that I’ve “learned my lesson” is to do anything and everything she tells me to for however long she wants.

I trudge back into my room without another word, slamming the door behind me. I lay back on my bed pulling the blanket around my shoulders. I’ll be in the house all day anyway, and seven o’clock in the morning is not an hour I want to see even if I weren’t grounded.

How did George W. get my cell number? And no wonder kid’s got hardly any friends. He texts at seven in the morning. On the weekend.

Chapter 6: Legalized Slavery

My inability to sleep with the sunlight hammering my eyelids is worse than usual today, because I don’t have sheets on my bed. By noon I’ve managed to stare at my ceiling for five hours, but I can’t lie in bed any longer, even though as soon as I surface mom will begin her slave labor campaign.

And I can’t even seek vengeance on that conniving little sister of mine.

 I begin my morning series of push-ups and sit-ups, and when I feel the burn in my muscles I still don’t stop. I don’t quit until forty-five minutes later when I can’t feel my arms or stomach. After showering, I can’t prolong it any more.  I creak my door open, and Mom immediately calls up to me from downstairs.

“Leo, I have today’s list for you.”

This isn’t a shopping list, or a wish list. This is the to-do list. My steps shuffling toward the stairs slow even more, and I narrow my eyes at Halley’s closed door until it is out of sight. I redirect that glare toward the family room, where the sounds of Wizards of Waverly Place denote Halley’s presence.

I manage to postpone the list, citing the need to check my sustainable energy project. I still haven’t decided on the next compound I’ll try, which is why I’m only altering the ratios of pyridine and water once again. I’ve got to come up with a new chemical soon though, because this one is really stinking up my sanctuary.

With my protective eye gear and gloves on—maybe I should start using protective laundry clips on my nose, too—I place another twenty ounce beaker within a metal ring that holds it five inches above the granite countertop.

My eyes drift toward the barrels of “H2O”, and I debate whether I should get rid of them, just in case my parents do a chemical check as a precaution after last week’s problems at school. I’m not worried about the courts doing a random search through. My probation ended as soon as Dr. Sesientebien signed the waiver, saying I am no longer a threat to society.

I don’t think I am—or ever was—a threat to anybody. What happened in Jr. high school was a complete accident, and technically it wasn’t even my fault. But it would be difficult for anybody else to look at the array of substances in my possession and believe that I am harmless.