Page 55 of We Shouldn't Be Together
“No,” I say aloud.
“No, what?” Milo asks, walking out of his bedroom.
“Nothing,” I mutter as he walks past the couch, his ginger furball shadowing his every move. “Hey, wait a minute. Do you have any suggestions for a chemistry experiment that requires less partner participation?”
His eyebrow lifts. “You want me to give you an idea where you don’t need to help your partner?”
I puff out my chest. “Why would you jump to that conclusion?”
Milo throws his palms up. “What jump? It’s what you said.”
“I only ask because I can’t stand my lab partner.”
“Why? Who is it?”
“No one who deserves to be named.”
There’s another message from Tabitha."Didn’t think so."
I sigh at the message, slinking down on the couch in defeat.
Milo moves toward the stairs. “Anyway, no. I don’t have an idea for you to do less work.”
Man, he’s irritating. I didn’t want to do less, I just didn’t… At that, I jump off the couch and race to the stairs. Following my brother down, I ask, “What about something where I did all the work?”
At the bottom of the stairs, he turns and looks up at me. “Huh?”
“I just don’t want to work with this person. What if I did most of the work? What do you suggest, then?”
Skepticism is all over his face. “You? You’re gonna let someone kick back in class? You’re gonna turn into an A-grade student suddenly?”
“I’m just not interested in failing. I’m not ruining my summer with catch-up classes.”
Milo picks up his cat and moves away from the staircase. “I dunno. You could do something where you need to track time. Like how long something takes to boil when adding or taking away certain chemicals. That just requires sitting around. Hmm, although, you’d have to pay attention, and that’s not your strongest suit.”
“Pfft. Get real. I’m excellent at paying attention.”
“If it’s something you care about, like soccer or video games, but I don’t see you concentrating on the changes in chemicals.”
My hands slam onto my hips. “Watch me.”
Milo smirks. “I don’t need to. I’m not in your class. I’m not your teacher.”
I turn away and step back onto the stairs. “Whatever, I got it from here.”
“Kai,” Mom calls out, walking through the side door off the garage. “Come and help me unload the groceries.”
“Make Milo do it,” I say, grasping the staircase banister.
An ear-piercing whistle shoots out of Mom while she hugs two brown paper bags of fresh produce. “I want you both to do it. Now, boys.”
With my trademark grumble, I spin around and scuff my way to the garage with my brother. I need to avoid Mom getting on my case. If she registers my unusual expression while I’m still fixating on this assignment with Tabitha, she’ll want to unearth the thoughts in my head.
“Don’t overbalance, Milo,” I tease as Milo grabs two bags from the back of Mom’s SUV. “Don’t trip. Don’t break an ankle.”
“Shut it, Kai,” he mutters. “You’re the only one around here breaking bones.”
“Maybe because I live my life.”
