Slate | ✓

THIRTEEN | ATHENA

There's a distinct change in John when he returns to the table. His jaw clenches and his eyes sharpen as he shakes his head in response to my questioning look.

Charlie continues speaking. He commands Victor's attention while I try to pick apart everything about him. Traces of the pudgy kid that I recognize from the pictures Victor hides in an old shoebox still lingers in Charlie's wide, animated eyes that flash from word to word. Would I have been able to recognize him on the street? Pick this face out of a crowd? He has the look of someone who belongs on stage, and I can almost picture him as the frontman of the band Darcy mentioned with long, dark hair curling behind his ears.

Now, his button down shirt and buzzcut makes him look more like a politician. He talks like one too, like he's trying to sell us something. He gives speeches and tells stories while Victor or Annie ask the occasional question, but carefully skirts around talking about anything relevant. I think he's afraid of what happens when he stops talking.

Will threw him off and he's still trying to recover. That's clear enough. It's like Will's appearance was off script and Charlie was forced to improvise. He's no longer relaxes in his chair, but sits straight as his eyes dart between Victor and Lizzie. Charlie holds her hand under the table. I think he's been working his way up to catching John's eye as he occasionally throws a glance that way, but then immediately directs his attention back to Victor. My Dad offers nothing but blank affection and a warm smile in response.

We're all aware there are ghosts at the table, but Charlie seems determined to drown them out.

Will was happy to oblige, like they're both in on some secret. His green eyes were neutral over the deep-set bags as he extended a hand to Charlie, appearing more relaxed than I've seen him all summer. Will gave no indication that he'd been struggling to breathe less than an hour ago. Instead, he offered Victor an easier story without any hesitation. I thought John would have challenged Will's omission, but he didn't really need to. From the way Dad was looking at Will, it's clear to me that not even Victor Slate can be so blind. Yet, Victor said nothing—did nothing. After only a few moments, he turned his attention back to Charlie.

Now, the look on John's face tells me that Will won't be rejoining the tea party.

I'm angry all over again: at Victor, at Will and Charlie, at myself. It feels like I've unwittingly substituted one brother for another and now we're eating cake like this is normal. Annie even pours me more peppermint tea and asks, "What happened to your hand?" The fact she's the only one to notice the layer of red blistering somehow makes everything worse.

I meet Annie's chocolate brown gaze. "I called a girl at school a cunt today," I reply and pull the crumpled conduct report out of my back pocket. I flatten it on the table in front of Victor.

My declaration is loud enough to stop Charlie mid-sentence. Victor sighs, picks up the paper, and holds it at an arm's length as he struggles to read without glasses. "Why?" He gruffly asks, scratching at his beard with the back of his knuckles.

Because the entire school knows I hooked up with somebody else's boyfriend.

I shrug. "I guess she deserved it."

Victor places the paper back down onto the table. "So what would you like me to do about it?"

I give him a sickly sweet smile. "Absolutely nothing."

John seems to take this as some sort of cue. He places his hands on the back of my chair and leans his weight against his forearms. "Why are you here?" He addresses Charlie for the first time directly. "You keep talking in circles."