Boundless (Unearthly, #3)(42)

“The seventh,” she whispers. She gazes down at her stomach. “The seventh is ours.”

“Now we’re on the same page,” I tell her, and speed up.

When I get back to Stanford, the first thing I do is try to find my brother. What Samjeeza said about Jeffrey—where’s your brother, Clara?—bugs me, and I don’t want to wait for him to call me to hang out. Part of me just wants to see him. Plus he should know about the seven-Triplare thing. So I take matters into my own hands and start Googling pizza places in or around Mountain View—let’s call it a hunch that Jeffrey’s hanging out in or near our old hometown. After all, that first time he showed up at my dorm room he said he thought he’d seen me, and that was the day I took Christian to Mountain View before we went to Buzzards Roost.

It turns out that there are three pizza joints in Mountain View, and Jeffrey works at the third one I check—right next to the train station, on Castro Street.

He’s not thrilled to see me when I come barging into his life. “What are you doing here?” he asks when I appear at the counter and sweetly ask for a Diet Coke.

“Hey, can’t a girl miss her brother?” I ask. “I need to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”

“All right, fine. Hey, Jake, this is my sister,” he tells a huge Latino guy behind the counter, who kind of grunts and nods. “I’m going on break.” He guides me to a table in the far front corner, under the window, and sits down across from me. “Do you want a pizza?” he asks, and hands me a menu. “I get a free one every day.”

“Dream job, huh?” I look around at the huge frescoes of different vegetables painted on the orange wall behind Jeffrey’s head: a giant avocado, four big tomatoes, an enormous green pepper. This isn’t quite what I pictured when Jeffrey told me he worked in a pizza joint. The place is small, narrow, but in a cozy way, with warm peach-colored tile on the floors, simple tables lined up on either side of the room, the kitchen open behind the counter, clean and shining with stainless steel. It’s more upscale and organic than your average pizzeria.

Jeffrey looks tired. He keeps blinking and rubbing at his eyes.

“You alive over there?” I ask.

He smiles wearily. “Sorry. Late night.”

“Working?”

“Playing,” he says, his smile amping up into a grin.

That doesn’t sound good. “Playing what?” I ask, and I’m guessing that the answer isn’t going to be Xbox.

“I went to a club.”

A club. My sixteen-year-old brother is tired because he was out late at a club. Awesomesauce. “So, let me see your fake ID,” I say, trying to play it cool. “I want to see how good it is.”

“No way.” He takes the menu from me and points at a pizza called the Berkeley vegan. “This one’s gross.”

“Well, let’s not have that, then.” I look down at the paper placemat-menu. “How about we try this one?” I say, pointing to pizza called the Casablanca.

He shrugs. “Fine. I’m kind of sick of all of them. Whatever sounds good to you.”

“Okay. So come on, let me see the ID.”

He folds his arms across the table. “I don’t have a fake ID, Clara. Honest.”

“Oh, right. You’re going to one of those superawesome clubs that don’t require an ID,” I say sarcastically. “Where’s that, because I am totally going.”

“My girlfriend’s dad owns the club. He lets me in. Don’t worry. I don’t drink … much.”

Oh, how comforting, I think. I actually have to bite my lip to keep myself from going all nagging-older-sister on him.

“So you’re calling her your girlfriend now, huh?” I say. “What’s her name again?”

“Lucy.” He takes a minute to run to the back and put in our order. “Yeah, we’re like, together now.”

“And what’s she like, other than being the daughter of some guy who owns a club?”

“I don’t know how to describe her,” he says with a shrug. “She’s hot. And she’s cool.”

Typical guyspeak, about as vague as possible.

He smiles, thinking about her. “She’s got a wicked sense of humor.”

“I want to meet her.”

He smirks, shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? What, you think I’d embarrass you?”

“I know you’d embarrass me,” he says.

“Oh, come on. I’ll behave, I promise. Bring her to meet me sometime.”

“I’ll think about it.” He stares out the window, where a group of teenagers is walking down the sidewalk, purposely bumping into one another, laughing. He watches them as they pass by, and I get a sad vibe off him, like he’s looking at the life he used to have. Without meaning to, he’s made himself grow up. He’s being an adult. Taking care of himself.

Going clubbing.

He clears his throat. “So what did you come to talk to me about?” he asks. “You need advice on the love life again? Did you hook up with Christian yet?”

I roll my eyes. “Ugh. Why does everyone keep asking me that? And you’re my little brother. That sort of thing is supposed to disgust you.”