Page 5 of A Stealthy Situation

I check her over and make sure the soil is hydrated enough before moving on to my next plant. They’re all pretty, all useful, but none of them are enticing people to come and see them. There’s a big difference between picking a girl up and promising her pretty flowers and getting serious investors to fund wildlife ecosystems.

“Jesus, Rich,” I say when I reach my white roses. “Big weekend?” Some of his petals are dull, and there’s a brown tinge to his leaves I don’t like. I make myself some notes with possible scenarios and proven treatments. “Y’all are going to give me a heart attack. We don’t need that today, thanks. All I ask is that you lot grow how you’re supposed to and get greedy with those nutrients.” I give the soil at Rich’s base a soft pat. “You’ll be okay, mate. We’ll have you feeling better in no time.”

Of course, they don’t answer me back, but sometimes it’s fun to pretend. Plants are living, growing, photosynthesizing beings, and they should be treated as much our friends as animals are.

I close Rich’s mini greenhouse and move on to an experiment that I started for funsies. It’s been done a thousand times before, but the results never fail to delight me.

Three plants, side by side, in their own mini greenhouses. I have everything in there controlled down to the temperature, the water volumes, the air quality … and the ambience.

One plant has silence, and the other two are played a constant track of my voice.

The first is told it’s doing good. I’m so proud. It’s such a pretty little mother-in-law’s tongue.

The second is told I hate everything about it.

From the display of one proud, green plant standing tall against the stunted brownish tuft, the results are indisputable.

If words can affect plants in such an obvious way, imagine what they do to other humans.

I sigh as I lock up, wishing people were more responsible with their lives. We’re here for such a short time and somehow have such a big impact—yet so many people strive to have that impact be a shitty one.

Whether it’s being an asshole, or littering, or living in excess.

So often, the human race is given a choice.

Too often, it chooses wrong.

2

BENNETT

I look down into my brother’s face. He’s lying on the mattress, making no effort to move, and I’ve got a class he normally takes for me this morning. There’s nothing concerning coming through our twin bond, so I assume he hasn’t died.

“Em?” I tap his side with my foot. “You up?”

All I get back is a long groan.

“Dude, you slept in.”

“Didn’t.” He turns his face and squints up at me, his skin a concerning tinge of white. “Been up all night. Feel shit.”

“You look shit. What’s wrong?”

“Everything hurts.”

I crouch down to feel his forehead, then snatch my hand away again. “I think you have a fever,” I tell him, pulling the collar of my sleep shirt up to cover my mouth and nose. “What do you need? Water? Some painkillers?”

“Sleep.”

“That’s not going to get the fever down.”

He buries his face in his pillow again. Emmett’s been staying with me for two weeks now, and I’ve loved having him here. It’s almost like old times, sharing a bedroom, being inseparable, talking late into the night. But the longer he’s here with nothing changing, the more I’m starting to worry about him.

No one knows I’m a twin, so we have to be careful about who sees us, and I’m worried Emmett will forget he exists. We’ve both been through those moments before.

“I used the last of my painkillers the other night, so I’ll have to run to the store for more.”

“Just go to class.”

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