Page 42 of The Rebel
“Yep,” he said with a proud grin. Live your dreams, Dad had said, and like every sixth grader, Ollie was having his five minutes of wanting to be in a band. It was his second instrumentafter a short-lived stint with the piano, which he deemed too much trouble because it wasn’t portable.
“Cool,” Valencia said.
On that, Ollie held out his hand for a fist bump, and Valencia obliged.
“Have you got homework?” I cut in. Yeah, I was a little frustrated by this easy connection they seemed to have. “You can get started on it before dinner.”
“Okay,” Ollie said.
“Hey Ollie,” Valencia said, seeming to disregard me. “I’ve got to go and feed Volley. Do you wanna come?”
Ollie looked to me for permission, his eyes beaming as bright as Sirius in a January night sky. “Can I, Jade?”
“Homework first,” I said in a definitive voice.
Oliver’s face dropped and he nodded, ready to obey, but Valencia butted in, either not hearing me, or not caring. “Hey, we won’t be long. And dinner’s not ready yet, is it?”
“You didn’t feed Volley already?” I queried.
“No. Not yet,” she declared.
“But you’ve been home? I thought you drove to school?” I said, determined to catch her out, my sarcasm heavy. “In your Mom’s car?”
Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t miss a beat. “Oh yeah. My friend was running late, so I took her car. Otherwise I would’ve been late.”
With a flick of her head, she urged Ollie toward the door, leaving me to mumble and scowl as Ollie dropped his schoolbag in triumph, gleefully heading out, undermining any authority I thought I had. I called out after them, “Don’t be too long,” but the slam of the door indicated my words were unheard.
I double checked the temperature on the oven and pulled out the ingredients for the salad, emptying a bag of leaves into a bowl and adding tomatoes, red onion, cheese and carrots. Ipoured in the dressing and tossed it a little too vigorously, with half of the lettuce falling onto the counter. With no one around to see, I picked it up and threw it back in, my irritation high that Ollie had joined Valencia. Like, she’d blatantly ignored me. Homework first was always Mom’s rule, games and phone time and friends, second. I picked up his schoolbag and took it into the kitchen so he could get started on it when he returned.
I must have checked my watch and the lasagna a hundred times in the seventeen minutes they were away. I tried to act calm when they came in, loudly chattering away about sledding. I put an immediate stop to that.
“Homework, Oliver Sinclair,” I commanded, pointing to his folders that I’d laid out on the breakfast bar. Ollie perched himself up on the high stool and sighed heavily.
“I only have a bit. I finished most of it in class.”
Valencia grinned, removing a satchel from over her shoulder. Art pads were poking out of it.
“Hey, show me your drawings,” Ollie said, ignoring the books in front of him.
“Maybe later,” she said, giving him a wink. “Better do your homework first.”
I didn’t like her smirk or her condescending tone and intervened instantly. “What drawings?”
“Vali’s got a whole book of drawings she did in Florida,” Ollie said with a newfound confidence. “I want to see them.”
I didn’t like the way he called her Vali, like it was a cute little nickname.
“Do yourhomeworkfirst, Ollie,” Valencia said softly, but it was like she was mocking me.
Ollie cleared his throat and sat up tall on his stool. “Jade?”
“What?” I peered into the oven again, getting a waft of heat on my face.
“Can we go sledding after dinner?” He then jabbered away without taking a breath. “If I get all my homework done and help with the dishes, can we please go sledding. The hill is so good out there. We can go and be back before Mom gets home. Can we please, please, please?”
“No!” I answered emphatically. Mom didn’t let Ollie sled on school nights, and he knew that.
Ollie tutted and sighed and hmmphed all at the same time. “You’re so mean,” he said, picking up a pencil and muttering, “See, I told you.”
