Page 70 of Summer Reading

“And this is a problem because... wait, it’ll come to me,” I said. I frowned in concentration. “I know—you’ve told everyone that you don’t have parents, that you were spawned by a pine cone and you don’t want me to show up and ruin the narrative?”

“Hi-la-ri-ous.” He shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth. I waited but he didn’t say anything more.

“My dude, Em asked me to teach a class on how to make your own fast food, to celebrate the middle of the summer reading program,” I said. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. Do you want me to cancel?”

“No. Yes. Maybe.”

“You’re going to have to pick one,” I said.

“It’s just...” He dropped his fork and ran his hands through his hair.

My stomach clenched and I realized there was only one reason my brainiac brother wouldn’t want me anywhere near his friends. He was ashamed of me. My dyslexia. My neurodivergent brain probably made me a freak in his overachiever eyes. I couldn’t really blame him. He definitely moved in an elevated circle of smarty pants and I would tarnish the rep he had established.

“You don’t have to say it,” I said. “I get it. I know I’m not like you and your crowd.”

“Duh,” he said.

Ouch!

I glanced down at my plate. I was not going to cry. He was a teen. What his peers thought meant everything to him. I wasn’t going to be the one to embarrass him. I’d save that task for my dad with his goatee and skinny jeans.

“I mean, I’m barely hanging onto my popularity as it is after that fiasco with Amber,” he said.

“Right.” I nodded. I took a sip of my water, hoping it would dislodge the hard lump in my throat.

“Having the cool Gale sibling razzle-dazzle everyone with her culinary genius will leave me with zero street cred,” he said. “I’ll look like the lame nerd that I am.”

“Sure, I get... Hold on. What did you say?”

“Yeah, you’re like a legend on the island,” he said.“Do you have any idea what it’s like following in your footsteps?”

“But I was always in trouble,” I said. My role in the family had always been that of the black sheep, the problem child, the disappointment, and even though I was a grown-up and had put years between teenage and adult me, I still cringed at a few of my more brainless exploits.

“Which makes you supercool,” he said. He shook his head as if mystified by this. That made two of us.

I sat back in my chair, absorbing the fact that the taint of shame I’d assumed my brother felt about my dyslexia and troubled youth didn’t exist. He wasn’t ashamed of me. Huh.

“That’s messed up,” I said.

“Tell me about it,” he agreed.

“So, that’s why you don’t want me to teach the class?” I asked.

“I know it’s stupid,” he said. “But Sophie already talks about you all the time, and I just can’t compete.”

I glanced down at my plate, trying to hide my smile. My little brother thought I was cool. Mind blown. This was so not what I’d been expecting.

“Well, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to date me. Tell you what,” I said. “I would feel really terrible canceling on Em right now. She has a lot going on and I don’t want to add to that.”

He sighed. “I know. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“But I’m going to need a sous-chef,” I said.

He held up his fork, which was loaded with pasta. “I literally can’t even make microwave popcorn without burning it.”

“Good,” I said. “That stuff is nasty.”

“You’re missing my point.”

---