Trouble's Brewing (Stirring Up Trouble) Page 9

  “What’s the difference in the two kinds of chalk?”

  “One is a form of limestone. The other is derived from gypsum.”

  “Which one is harder?”

  “I’m just guessing, but I think the limestone.”

  “And I am probably using the gypsum.” I smacked myself in the forehead with the palm of my hand. “Stupid, stupid, stupid. I wasted all this time on bone, but I never thought about rock.”

  “Zoe, please think about holding off for a few months. You have finals, tutoring, Jake, so much to deal with. The Council’s still keeping tabs on you. I don’t want you to beat yourself up for having missed the two kinds of chalk. I really don’t. More than that, I don’t want you to make mistakes with this substitution that will harm your reputation, waste your time, and undermine your self-esteem.”

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I muttered.

  “You might want to stop with the beating yourself in the forehead. Jake and Sheree are going to wonder what the bright red spot is all about.”

  I stopped smacking myself. “Yet another thought I should have had on my own.”

  Dad laughed.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  “I’m laughing at the drama. You’ve never been much for drama.”

  He was right. “Give me time,” I said.

  “Can you pull yourself together and force the experiments from your mind for now? We’re almost to Sheree’s house.”

  I nodded. I wanted to jump right out of my skin and run home to start experimenting with the right kind of chalk. I knew deep down that I would have figured this out on my own at some point. But I should have realized, or at least started researching, the minute those first pieces of chalk didn’t get me anywhere.

  We pulled into the driveway, and Indiana barked to greet us from the backyard. I grinned at the reminder of his interference during our “study” date.

  “What’s so funny?” Dad asked.

  Yeah, like I was going to tell him that. I don’t think so. “Nothing really.”

  “I could use a good laugh,” my dad tried again.

  “You just had one. At me.”

  “Another good laugh?”

  “Nice try,” I said. I grabbed my backpack and walked ahead of him up the sidewalk, crunching the leaves under my feet. I never would have thought I could get my mind off my failure with the chalk. I smiled again to myself. Apparently, the memory of Jake’s kisses could wipe my mind blank. Maybe my dad was right. Maybe I was taking too much on. If so, Jake’s effect on me was probably a positive thing.

  I’d heard that love could make you stupid. Stop you from thinking. I’d never wanted to stop thinking, but maybe I needed to. If the rush from Jake’s kisses chased any rational thoughts from my mind, maybe more kisses were what I needed.

  Jake opened the door as I reached it. I didn’t jump into his arms and smash my lips against his, but if my father hadn’t been there, I probably would have tried it.

  His lazy grin told me he could read something of my train of thought.

  My dad cleared his throat. His impatience told me that we needed to get out of the way and get inside because Jake and I weren’t fooling anybody.

  I managed to fight embarrassment by remembering the PDA-fest my father and Sheree had subjected us to. Public displays of affection magnified. Parental displays of affection. Barf!

  “What’s your mother up to?” Dad asked Jake.

  Jake shrugged. “You’ll have to go see for yourself. She’s in the kitchen. Something about planning the menu for Thanksgiving.”

  Dad went off to find Sheree, and Jake shut the door.

  “I wonder if eating Thanksgiving dinner twice will cause me to explode.”

  “Probably not,” Jake said.

  “Probably not? Just probably?”

  “Well,” he said. “There aren’t any guarantees of course, but I have personally eaten Thanksgiving dinner three times in one day without blowing up.”

  “Yeah, but you’re a guy. Guys have superpowers when it comes to eating. You’re like cows or something with four stomachs you can use.”

  “If I can eat three, you can eat at least two.”

  “What if I explode?”

  A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I’ll work hard to find every single piece and put you back together.”

  “Really?”

  “I won’t rest until you’re totally reassembled.”

  “You’re so sweet,” I said, leaning forward to give him a kiss on the cheek.

  “Let’s go up to my room,” he said, then blushed. “I mean to play video games.”

  “I think Dad wanted to spend time with me. I don’t know if we should disappear.”

  “We aren’t going far. The man’s a nuclear physicist. He can find you if he wants to.”

  “You do have a point,” I agreed.

  “Shall we?” he asked, motioning toward the stairs.

  “First one up picks the game,” I said, hitting the stairs at a dead run.

  I beat him of course. I may have used an elbow at the last minute, but I jumped and hit the couch in his room first. He had to pull up before crashing into the cushions because a book lay open, face down on the other half.

  “What’s this?” I asked. I grabbed for the book. “Eragon? I never read it. Didn’t everybody read this in seventh grade?”

  “Yeah,” he said, reaching to take it from me, and then carefully closing it and putting it on his bed before sitting next to me. “I read it in fifth.”

  “Ooh,” I said with a laugh. “Overachiever.”

  “I loved these books.”

  “You’re reading it again?”

  “Yeah. I might have read it a couple of times.” He reached for my hand.

  I hadn’t thought about Jake sitting in his room reading. Somehow, I always pictured him playing video games, but now I was enchanted by the image of him curled up with a book.

  He held my gaze as if confiding his deepest secret. “I almost got to meet Christopher Paolini.”

  “The author?”

  “Yes. He was coming to Nashville to sign books. Mom and Larry were going to take me. Then I got strep and Larry got it too. Mom was running around with Popsicles and throat lozenges, and we didn’t get to go.”

  “So you didn’t get your book signed?”

  “No.” He broke eye contact.

  “How sad,” I said softly.

  His blue eyes focused on mine, he said in a quiet voice, “So I guess I should get to choose the game we play.”

  It took a moment for his comment to penetrate my dopey, Jake-crazy brain. Wait. “No way. I was first. I pick the game.”

  He grinned at me and stood. “Pick one, so I can kick your butt.”

  Dad dropped me home at eleven that night. I hadn’t spent the night at his apartment in a while, and neither of us talked about it. I knew exactly what was going on though. Dad was spending his nights at Sheree’s.

  Jake and I hadn’t talked about it, other than an occasional reference to what Jake had for breakfast. My dad made omelets and pancakes. They were his specialty, and he loved making them. If Jake’s mention of those breakfast foods didn’t clue me, Jake’s behavior becoming almost instantly awkward every time would.

  Mostly, Jake and I were way past awkward. Clearly Jake didn’t feel comfortable discussing my dad being around every morning. He probably didn’t like to think about it. After all, those mornings came on the heels of nighttime, and nobody in their right mind would want to picture Dad and Sheree sharing a bed. Even if it were only to sleep.

  So Dad and Sheree had a real relationship going on, and as disconcerting as the idea was, I did get some benefits. I had a temporary reprieve from the futon and the snoring. Instead, I got to sleep in my own bed, at my own home, where the kitchen was all set up for my experiments.

  My thoughts turned back to my recent revelation. Now where would I find some limestone?

  Our house was sadly lacking in l
imestone in any form. An hour of internet research left me feeling better about my experiments. I had the information I needed to proceed. I didn’t have the materials. I didn’t have the time either. Finn and I were meeting for a double session tomorrow.

  Afterward, I needed a ride to an office store. They would have plenty of chalk to choose from. It should have occurred to me sooner.

  Mom had gone to bed early. I was lucky she hadn’t noticed I was up so late. She’d harass me about being obsessed again. I didn’t need Mom or Finn deciding I needed an intervention.

  On Saturday morning, I jumped out of bed and called Dad.

  “Good morning, Zoe. I’m surprised to hear from you this early.”

  “Uh, yeah.” I’d never called him first thing in the morning. “I was kind of hoping you could do me a favor today.”

  “Is that so? I never would have guessed.”

  “Da-ad. I need to see if you can check on getting me some limestone today. I can get the chalk, but I may need to add to it.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he said. “I may have to wait until Monday to find the right—. That’s for you, Sheree. I’ve had my share of the coffee.” Dad’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Might be Monday to find the best supplier.”

  “Okay, Dad. Thanks.”

  “I’ll call you later, Zoe,” he said.

  He really was spending every minute with Sheree. Wow.

  I didn’t like the idea of Jake and Dad spending so much time together. Jake knew Dad was a geek, but if he had to observe the geekiness twenty-four hours a day, seven days of week, he might realize that I shared the same genes and too much of the same nerdiness to be date-worthy. I’d survived the ice skating, and Jake had been great about it. Still, I didn’t want to push it.

  Fortunately, I didn’t have time to stress about the geek effect right now. I had to get ready to work with Dr. Finnegan. Then I had to talk my mother into driving me to the office supply store. After that, I had major work to do on my potions substitution. I had next to no time. I had a major exam in my lit class on Monday, a ridiculously long paper due in chemistry on Tuesday, which meant a good 10 to 14 hours of work tomorrow. A paper! In chemistry! Then I’d have Monday night and Tuesday night to work on the unicorn horn before the company arrived.

  Maybe I could skip school on Wednesday. It was only a half day, and it wasn’t like we were going to be doing anything. They usually let us watch movies in order to avoid a full-scale riot. Mom always made me go, but most kids skipped.

  When I got downstairs, I found my mother sitting on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her and a two-liter bottle of Sprite in her lap.

  “Uh oh.”

  Mom didn’t say anything. She gave me a half-hearted wave.

  “Sore throat?”

  Mom nodded.

  “Fever?”

  She shrugged.

  “I’ll find the thermometer.” I thought I’d seen it in the medicine cabinet in the upstairs bathroom. Mom and I didn’t get sick very often, so it was probably still there. Once upstairs, I found the thermometer and rinsed it off with cold water.

  When I got downstairs, I put my hand on Mom’s forehead, hoping to find it cool. It wasn’t. I handed her the thermometer, touched the giant Sprite bottle to see that it was no longer cold, and went to the kitchen for a glass of ice. Mom must feel rotten if she was drinking straight from the bottle. I hadn’t seen that reckless disregard from her since the great Miller flu of 2009. I shuddered at the memory. We so did not need to experience another illness like that one.

  I took the thermometer from Mom when it beeped. “102,” I read. “Not good.”

  Mom frowned. I grabbed the bottle and poured the drink into the glass. Then I handed it to my mother.

  She gulped half of it down, wincing at the pain.

  “Can you talk at all?”

  She nodded. “It just hurts,” she rasped.

  I sighed and sat down on the couch too. “The Council rule is 48 hours, which makes it, what? Were you up all night?”

  She shook her head. “Six a.m.”

  “So you can have the chicken soup on Monday morning.” I flopped back into the couch cushions. In order to keep witches from forgetting what it was like to have the normal viruses and bacterial infections, the Council had a rule that we couldn’t use magic for forty-eight hours. The Council had lifted the punishment for this type of self-serving potion because of the increase in productivity and overall positive impact of limiting sickness. Those who were sickly or elderly, or even infants, didn’t wait the forty-eight hours. “We don’t need to cancel Milo and his family, do we? You’ll have time to get everything together.”

  Mom nodded. “It will be fine.”

  “What do you need from me?”

  “I need you to go to the grocery and get me Popsicles and soup.”

  “You know I can’t drive yet.”

  “I don’t care. Just do your best.”

  Open mouthed, I stared at her before asking, “Mom, you are kidding right?”

  She nodded.

  “I can call Dad.”

  She shook her head. “Not unless I get desperate.”

  I didn’t tell her she looked pretty desperate. “I’ve got an hour before Finn gets here. Is there anything you need me to do?”

  “No,” she said with a rasp.

  “Do you want something to eat?”

  “No.”

  “Not even a pancake?”

  Another shake of the head.

  “I can call Finn and have him pick up some Popsicles,” I suggested.

  “I’d feel bad asking.” She took another sip of her drink.

  “Well, I don’t feel bad asking. I’m calling him.” She didn’t have the energy to fight me on it so I reached for my phone. Which I did not have because I must have left it upstairs when I got the thermometer. I was doing an awful lot of running around this morning. I took the stairs two at a time and grabbed my cell.

  I dialed Finn.

  “Hello,” he said, his voice sounding deeper and somehow older than I’d realized when we spoke in person.

  “F— Dr. Finnegan?”

  “Good morning, Zoe. I was preparing for our session. Don’t tell me we need to reschedule?”

  “Oh, uh no. Actually, I just need a favor. Mom’s sick, and I was hoping you could pick up some things on your way here. Because, you know, I can’t drive.”

  “Of course, of course.” In the background, I could hear the sounds of paper rustling. “Let me find a pen. Here we go. What does your mother need?”

  “Popsicles, chicken noodle soup, and some crackers. And maybe some frozen strawberries and vanilla ice cream.”

  “Any preference about the Popsicle flavor?”

  “Um, she likes banana.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No. Thanks, Finn.”

  “You’re welcome, Zoe. I’ll be over shortly.”

  I hung up and went to check on Mom. She was staring at the wall, and a few drops of drool were starting to trickle out of the corner of her mouth.

  After a short detour into the downstairs bathroom, I grabbed the box of tissues and delivered it with my news. “Finn’s bringing Popsicles.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Go back to bed, Mom. You look terrible.”

  She raised her glass slightly.

  “Need a refill?” I grabbed the bottle, took the glass from my mother, and refilled it. After handing it back to her, I said, “I’m hungry. I’m going to make myself some breakfast.”

  I didn’t expect an answer.

  Chapter Eight

  Since my mother could never resist pancakes, I went ahead and mixed up a batch. I may as well feed Finn too. I had the pancakes ready and on the plates when Finn arrived. I knew my mother wanted blueberry syrup, and I wanted maple, but I wasn’t sure about my tutor.

  “Zoe,” Finn called from the front door.

  He had stepped inside by the time I got to the living room.

&nb
sp; Mom’s head drooped and she appeared to be asleep.

  Finn transferred the plastic grocery bags to one hand and then held a finger to his lips.

  I nodded, and motioned for him to come to the kitchen. “Thanks for doing this,” I said, as I put away the groceries. He’d bought the biggest box of banana Popsicles I’d ever seen. He’d also brought some tea and honey. I didn’t think she’d drink hot tea, but I didn’t say so.

  “You’re quite welcome,” he said.

  “I made pancakes.” I motioned to the plates. “I didn’t know what kind of syrup you’d want.”

  “Thanks, Zoe. They look delicious.”

  “I’m going to take Mom a Popsicle. I don’t know if she’ll want her pancakes yet.”

  Mom was awake, and she smiled at the sight of the frozen treat.

  “Eat this and then you can have some pancakes.”

  “Thanks, Zoe. Tell Finn thank you.”

  “I will. Do you feel up to company, or should we eat in the kitchen?”

  “Come eat with me. Then I’ll go back to bed.”

  I fetched Finn and my pancakes, and we joined Mom in the living room.

  I sat down in the corner of the couch in my eating without a table position, one knee bent, the other foot on the floor. Optimum stability for maneuvering food on my plate.

  “Good morning, Annie,” Finn said. “I’m sorry to hear you’re under the weather.”

  “I’ll survive,” Mom said. “Thanks for the supplies.”

  I noticed she’d wiped some of the drool off her face and smoothed her hair. Hopefully she hadn’t tried that hard because the results weren’t impressive.

  Finn finally deigned to sit and perched awkwardly on the edge of the armchair. After all those years of bachelorhood, I would have thought he’d mastered eating in the living room. Instead, he picked at the pancakes tentatively with his fork, holding his plate like an Englishman might hold an American football.

  Finn caught me staring, so I mumbled, “They’re probably cold by now. Sorry.”

  “They are quite delicious, Zoe. Annie, you should try yours after you finish soothing your throat.”

  “I will,” she said in a weak voice.

  I scrambled off the couch and set my plate on the coffee table.