Six (6 page)

“What are you doing?”

But Emma didn't respond; she was looking at something just past his shoulder, her eyes widening. Parker snapped his head around to see Aaron's fist heading directly toward his sister. Instinctively, Parker leaned forward and pushed Emma out of the way, putting his own face in line with the punch.

Smack
.

The fist caught the side of Parker's nose and right eye socket with such force that his neck snapped back. Disorientated, Parker staggered to the floor.

“Aaron Knoll!”

Parker looked up, his hand pressed flat against his right eye, and saw the vice principal, Mr. Andrews, taking long strides toward them.

“What do you think you're doing?” shouted Mr. Andrews. When he reached them, he turned first to Parker, who was rubbing his face.

“Are you okay?”

Parker nodded.

“Go to the nurse's office and get it checked out. Do you know where it is?”

Parker nodded again. He didn't, but he had no intention of going.

“And as for you,” said Mr. Andrews, turning his attention to Aaron.

“She hit me first!” said Aaron. Aaron pointed at Emma.

Everybody looked over at Emma, who shrugged and widened her eyes with a look of complete innocence. Parker had seen this look many times before and it always worked on his father, just as it did now on Mr. Andrews.

Mr. Andrews turned to Aaron and shook his head. “Always with the excuses, Aaron. This is the third time this week. How many times do I have to tell you that violence is
never
the answer?”

Aaron—his face scrunched up in silent fury—didn't respond.

“To my office,” ordered Mr. Andrews.

Aaron didn't move.

“Now.”

Aaron cursed under his breath.

“Next time fight your own battles,” he whispered to Parker as Mr. Andrews grabbed Aaron by his arm.

*  *  *  *  *  *

Parker watched as Aaron was led down the corridor. Around him, the audience that had gathered to watch the fight began to move again. Parker looked at Michael, who was frozen to the spot, looking like he might pass out. Parker opened his mouth to say something when Emma appeared in front of him. She tried to move Parker's hand to look at his face.

Parker flinched away from her and turned to Michael. “I'll call you later,” he said abruptly before storming out of the school.

*  *  *  *  *  *

Parker was the first to board his school bus. He took a seat halfway up, placed his backpack on the seat next to him, and turned toward the window. Still furious, he didn't look around, even when he heard his backpack being lifted and then pushed under his feet.

There was a tap on his shoulder. Parker lowered his head. Another tap, hard enough to hurt. Parker still didn't look around but pressed down on his wrist. Emma answered immediately.

So you're not going to look at me?
she asked.

No.

Do you want to talk?

No.

Do you hate me?

Parker didn't answer.

You do. You hate me. I was just trying to help.

I didn't need your help.

Does it hurt?

Yes.

I'm really sorry, Parker. Please don't be angry.

Parker didn't respond and was about to turn off Effie, when he heard the quiet sobs next him. He sighed and turned around to face his sister. Normally, they switched to signing when they faced each other in public, but the bus was moving now and the high-backed seats hid them both from view. He kept Effie on.

Stop crying.

I was just trying to help,
said Emma. There were tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked so desperate and sorry that Parker couldn't help but soften.

I know. But you shouldn't have done that. I look like an idiot now.

Emma read his words on her glasses and her forehead wrinkled in confusion.

Why?

Parker shook his head in exasperation.
Because it looks like I need my little sister to fight for me. And I don't.

But you don't know karate. I've been watching videos.

Parker rolled his eyes.
Pulling someone's hair is not karate, Emma.

But I did hit him. It was a good, right? You have to admit that.

That's not the point, Emma! You're my sister. And you're younger than me. And you're
not me
.
It looks like I can't sort out my own problems.

Oh. I'm sorry,
said Emma. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.
I think I scared him though.

Parker looked at his sister, with her blond bob, neon blue-and-pink jacket, and yellow jeans, and wondered if it was possible to look
less
intimidating.

I know you were just trying to help but, honestly, this is for me to sort out. And you could have been expelled for that—you shouldn't have hit him.

As he said this it occurred to Parker that he was being slightly hypocritical, but he decided there was no need to mention that he had considered doing the same.

I just don't understand why he was being so mean to you.

Parker sighed.
He's an idiot, okay. I'm fine and there's nothing you can do.
Then something occurred to him.
Except don't tell Dad what happened.

Emma raised an eyebrow—a neat little trick that Parker, to his frustration, hadn't been able to master.
He's going to find out anyway. You skipped class. And you've got a black eye.

I do?
asked Parker. He put his hand up to his face and felt the swelling.
Well, maybe he'll find out, but he doesn't need to know what started it. Don't say anything about the cafeteria, and I'll think of something to explain the black eye. Okay?

Emma didn't say anything, but Parker could tell by the way her lips were pursed that she wasn't convinced. He tried again.

Look, Emma, don't you think Dad has enough to worry about? It was one of those things, and I'm fine. He's stressed with his new job, and I don't want him to have to worry about me, too.

Emma bit her lip.
I hadn't thought of that. . . . Okay, I won't tell him.

Promise?

I promise.

Thank you,
said Parker, turning to the window.

But if it happens again, I'm going to tell him. I don't care what you say.

Parker shrugged.
Fine.
He switched off Effie. He'd deal with that matter if, or when, the time came.

*  *  *  *  *  *

Back at their house, Parker went straight to his room while Emma stayed downstairs watching television. By the time their father came home, two hours later than planned, Parker had taken a shower and changed into clean clothes. He felt better. Best of all, his father didn't seem to know anything about what had happened at school that day. If he had, Parker was sure he would have brought it up the moment he'd walked through the door. The only question that his father asked was about his eye, which was now a deep mottled purple and black and which Parker explained was an injury from gym class. His dad had seemed satisfied by the answer.

Relieved, Parker sat down to eat the lukewarm pizza their father had brought home with him. They all turned on Effie (one of its benefits was being able to eat and talk at the same time), and then, before either Parker or his father could say a word, Emma started the conversation in exactly the same way she did every night.

What did you do today?
Emma asked her dad.

Their father looked up from his slice of pizza and smiled.
You know I can't talk about that.

Please?
Just a little clue?

Their dad shook his head.
Sorry.

This was a new thing. In England their father had worked in scientific research for a university and had always been able to discuss what he was doing, even if neither of them understood a word of what he was saying. Back then Emma had never been interested. The moment he wasn't allowed to discuss his job, however, Emma had wanted to know everything. Parker, though just as curious, accepted the situation. He knew this much: that his father's work was some kind of collaboration between the governments of a number of countries and that, before accepting the job, he had been asked to sign a confidentiality agreement. Based on his previous work, Parker guessed it might have something to do with medical research, possibly cloning, but he understood that, for now anyway, his father couldn't talk about it. Unlike Emma, he didn't see any point in pushing the matter.

You can't tell us
anything
?
Emma pleaded.

It's just boring government stuff. You'd be very disappointed if I told you.

Emma grinned.
Tell me and I'll tell you if you're right.

Good try, kiddo. Now, why don't you two tell me about your day,
he said, turning to Parker.

Parker tensed.
I can't. I signed a confidentiality agreement,
he said with a shrug. He hoped he sounded less anxious saying this than he felt. He obviously did, as Parker's father laughed.

Very funny,
he said. Then, to Parker's enormous relief, he turned to Emma.
And you, did you sign any confidentiality agreements today?

Nope,
said Emma. And off she went. Once Emma started talking or signing, nobody else ever got a word in edgewise. Sometimes this was annoying; today it was a relief.

Emma told her dad about the new sign language she was learning (Parker hadn't known that they used a different version here; apparently, even signing had an accent), and then—without a pause—about being picked to go to a swimming tournament the following Monday. Back in England, Emma had represented her county in swimming. The swimming coach had called her in that morning to tell her this was evidence enough of her abilities for her to earn a place on the school team without a trial. It was the first that Parker had heard of it—the incident with Aaron had probably distracted her, he guessed.

As Emma chattered away, Parker pressed down twice on his wrist. By doing this when a call on Effie was active, Parker could hear what his dad and sister were thinking, but they couldn't hear him. Two presses and they could hear him again. Keeping it pressed for two seconds hung up the call. It sounded complicated, but over the years, Parker could mute his thoughts midconversation and back again without a second thought.

Can we get some chickens?

Emma had moved on from telling them about her day without, Parker noted gratefully, a word about what had happened in the cafeteria or the fight that afternoon.

Chickens?

Yeah. Not many.

What's not many? Two?

Multiply by five,
said Emma.

Ten! That's a lot of chickens, Emma.

Emma stuck out her bottom lip in a sulk.
You said I could get an animal when we got here. You promised.

That has been the hardest thing for Emma,
thought Parker: handing her collection of injured birds and animals over to their neighbors when they moved.

His father was obviously thinking the same thing.
Okay, fine. You can get some chickens as long as you take care of them.

Emma nodded enthusiastically.

I mean it. I don't have time to be taking care of one chicken, let alone ten.

I'll do it all. Promise.

And where are you going to keep them? We'll have to get some cages.

Emma's eyes widened in horror.
No! They have to be able to roam free.

I'm not sure that's a good idea. They could get lost. Or eaten.

Parker's going to make an alarm for me, to stop other animals from getting in or out of our yard. And he said it won't hurt them.

Parker's dad turned to him.
Can you do that?

Parker nodded.
I think so. I just need a few bits from the hardware store.

Okay. We'll get them on Sunday. After we visit your mother's . . .

There was a pause. Parker's dad didn't like to say
grave
. And it wasn't a grave anyway, though Parker didn't know what to call it either.

After we visit your mother.

You're not working?
asked Parker and Emma at the same time.

No. I have a very important meeting tomorrow, but after that things should get quieter.

What's the meeting about?
asked Emma.

Their dad shook his head.
Nothing interesting. But it is important, and I have a lot to do before it. In fact, if it's okay with the two of you, I might go in for a couple of hours later.

What, tonight?
asked Parker.

It's just for a bit. I'll do as much as I can here, but there are some things I have to do in the lab.
He looked up at the both of them and rubbed his forehead as if in pain.
I'm so sorry. I know I haven't been around much. I'll make it up to you this weekend. We'll celebrate the end of your first week at school properly. We can . . .

Parker could see how bad his dad felt.
It's okay, Dad,
he said,
we understand. Anyway, we've been invited to my friend Michael's house tomorrow. Can we go?

Oh. Well, great! I'm glad you're making friends.
Parker's father paused.
Except I don't know if I can drop you off. Can I talk to his parents?