Page 27 of Theoretically Straight

I shake my head, opening the fridge for the milk. “Nah, my friends did.”

Dad’s head tilts forward so he can peer at me over his glasses with a furrowed brow. “Really? Why?”

I wince at my own slip-up. I hadn’t intended to mention the video. Should I tell them about it? I mean, I might as well. They don’t need to know how the video was made or that I had to break a couple of rules to make it. “Well, it looks like one of my TikToks blew up last night, and they were excited about it.”

“Oh, Theo, that’s wonderful!” Mom says excitedly.

Dad offers me an impressed grin. “Nice job, kiddo.”

“Which video was it?” Mom asks.

“It was one I made last night at the Saint Catherine’s Tour,” I say, treading carefully as I make my bowl of cereal. “Just some spooky stuff that I saw. It was a cool place, so…” I trail off. Suddenly, I don’t know what else to say. Am I lying? I’m omitting important details, sure, but…does this count as lying? The old familiar guilt twists in my gut again, but I try my best to ignore it.

“Nothing we should be concerned about, right?” Dad asks in a tone that could probably be interpreted as joking, but I can hear the suspicion in his voice. “You didn’t get into any trouble, did you?”

“No, nothing like that,” I answer honestly. “Just spooky old church vibes. TikTok loves spooky stuff.”

“That’s exciting! You’ll have to show it to me later,” Mom says, turning her attention back to her strawberries. The idea of my mom watching it worries me a little, but I’m pretty confident she’s going to forget about it in a few hours, so I try to relax.

I sit down with my cereal at the table, catty-cornered with Dad, and begin eating. He hasn’t stopped looking at me, and anxiety gnaws at my insides. Maybe he’s just excited for me, that’s all.

“So, how many views does it have?” Dad asks after a moment, shutting his book and sliding it away.

I swallow. “As of right now, about eight thousand.”

My dad’s eyes widen. “Eightthousand? Just overnight?”

I nod, unable to stop myself from grinning. “Yeah, isn’t that cool?”

“Can I see it?”

I nearly drop my spoon as the blood drains from my face. How could I be so stupid not to know this was coming? Why did I bring this up at all? He’s going to figure out that I was trespassing. He’s going to see the pentagram and the creepy stuff on the chalkboard and think I drew those. He’s going to think I was doing something demonic or evil or something. What if he sees the orbs? Will he think I’m possessed?AmI possessed?Crap, crap, crap–

“Unless there’s something you don’t want me to see,” Dad presses again, eyeing me with clear suspicion now.

It’s too late to back out now. I clear my throat again. “Oh, no, it’s not–I mean, yeah, you can see it. Um, here, let me just–” I stammer, sliding my phone out of my pocket and reluctantly opening TikTok. Dad leans a little closer to me as I pull up the video, and I desperately try to will my fingers to stop trembling as I press play.

This is it. I’m going to be the one yelled at this morning. I’m going to get grounded. Dad’s going to take my phone away and never let me make another TikTok again. He’s going to take the keys to Eileen away. He and Mom are going to drag me to our pastor and have him exorcize the demons out of me. Maybe he should. Maybe I deserve it. I’m the one who broke the rules. I’m the one that messed with forces I didn’t understand. I’m the one–

A second before the chalkboard is going to show up in the video, my dad’s phone abruptly rings loudly on the table, and I nearly jump out of my skin. Dad snickers but turns away from my screen to glance at his phone with a frown. “Uh oh,” he mutters.

“What? Who is it?” Mom asks worriedly.

“It’s Pastor Mark,” Dad answers with an expression of equal concern. He stands to his feet. “Sorry, kiddo, I need to take this.”

I can hardly hide my relief. “Sure, Dad, of course,” I say as I close TikTok and put my phone away completely.

Dad offers me an apologetic smile, then quickly heads out of the room, answering the phone with a “Morning, Mark. Everything alright?” before his voice fades away.

Whew. That was way too close.

The kitchen goes quiet for several moments, and I spend that time finishing my breakfast as quickly as possible so that I can get out of here before Dad returns.

“I hope everything’s okay,” Mom says quietly. I assume this is mostly to herself, but she turns around to glance at me before continuing. “Don’t tell your father I told you, but I think Mark’s calling about his daughter Ruthie.”

“Hm,” I offer as a reply, not sure why she’s telling me this or why it’s a secret. “What’s wrong with Ruthie?”

“She’s starting to have panic attacks,” Mom practically whispers. “She’s about the same age as you were when you started having your first ones, too, but Mark and Sarah aren’t sure what’s causing them.”

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