Until the Day I Die(6)
He had me sit down for at least one afternoon with every single Jax employee for a Q&A session. I got to endlessly test every new feature of the app, even the long shots the more motivated interns were working on. He even set up the email server to automatically forward his daily event report to me so I could understand how he spotted problems.
I still check the report religiously at six fifteen every morning, right after I wake up, just like he used to do, even though I haven’t told Mom. She wouldn’t like it, guaranteed.
I haul another armful of books out of a box. BAM! BAM! BAM!
But here’s what makes me nervous. My mom is not in the right headspace for making good decisions. I mean, if Ben is dumb enough to make a move on her, I worry she may go for it. I’ve never really been able to predict how my mother will react to things. But since Dad died, it’s gotten worse. She’ll work for, like, two days straight, then sleep for the next two. I never see her eat anything more than a cracker or half a banana. And she just kind of floats around the house like she’s stoned. And then randomly snaps over something stupid like Foxy Cat shedding on her laptop case.
Once, when I was trying to convince Dad to let me enter this international hacking competition called the Global Cybergames, he commented that I didn’t need it. He said social engineering was the biggest issue in cybersecurity. In other words, humans become the weakest link in any system by sharing their passwords or using their computers’ automatic log-in function for email and unsecured websites. I probably shouldn’t think this—it sounds cold—but sometimes I think my mom is the weak link of Jax.
I happen to know that Ben, Sabine, Layton, Arch, and Gigi have met secretly a couple of times to discuss what to do about her. I stumbled onto one of those secret meetings one Sunday night, when I dropped by Arch and Gigi’s house to see if I’d left a magazine there, one of Dad’s old copies of Journal of Mathematics and the Arts, that had an article I wanted to finish reading. I’d let myself in the kitchen door, and I could hear someone, on the other side of the swinging door to the dining room, talking. It was Sabine.
“. . . could be just the rest she needs. A gentle push to encourage self-care. It’s an incredible place.”
I’d found the magazine and crept back out to my bike without anybody seeing me, then rode away as quickly and quietly as I could. What was strange was how not upset I felt. Yeah, I was shocked that the rest of the adults were talking about my mom like she was a problem. What outweighed it was the relief that somebody was going to take care of the situation.
But now that feeling of relief is disintegrating. If something happens between Ben and my mom, especially if Sabine finds out about it, surely that will be the end of Jax. And what’s left of our family.
I chuck a final armful of books onto the shelf and head to the desk to arrange Arch’s old cigar boxes and beer stein from Germany that I decided to use for decoration. I arrange the items methodically, positioning each exactly three inches from the next. I like things just so. Dad was the same way.
“You’re lucky you STEM kids get to move in on Wednesday,” Mom says. “I heard the other freshmen don’t get in until Friday. They only get the weekend before they have to start school.”
I grunt noncommittally and pull out my phone.
“Did everything allocate properly?” Mom asks, and it takes me a minute to realize she’s talking about Jax.
“Mm-hmm,” I say.
“The automatic deposit went through?” She cranes her neck, trying to get a glimpse. But the fact that she’s asking the question proves that she’s restrained herself from logging on to my account and stalking, which is a little surprising.
I know I should play nice and let her see, but I twist away instead. “It’s all good, Mom.”
“Just checking,” she says lightly, and it occurs to me for the first time that maybe I’m taking the wrong approach to this whole school vs. Jax thing. Maybe my best strategy is to play along with what she wants and find another way to get what I want.
6
ERIN
What the hell is keeping Ben?
Shorie’s moved on to hanging her shirts and jeans in the closet, and I’m draping a string of twinkle lights across the window frame. Right now would be an excellent time for him to show up and inject a little levity into this putrid mother-daughter tension stew. But he’s nowhere to be seen.
And then, a tall girl with bright-red hair appears in the doorway. She’s struggling with a minifridge but, after a beat, lets it crash to the floor.
“Shorie?” Her voice sounds professional, like it’s coming out of a TV, and she’s wearing a ton of gorgeous, complicated-looking eye makeup. She’s so big and beautiful that I’m rendered speechless. She fills the room with a delicious vanilla smell too.
Shorie fixes her smile. “Adelia.”
“Dele.” The tall redhead thrusts out her hand. “Like Let’s Make a . . . , you know? I mean, you probably don’t. Nobody our age does. It’s just a thing my mom always used to say to her friends. I don’t even know why I said that. I’m nervous. Anyway. Unbelievably excited to meet you.”
Shorie nods. Smiles. You can do it, I think.
Dele continues. “You didn’t bring monogrammed pillows, did you? My mom was like, you’re gonna get the girl with monogrammed pillows, and she’s going to fucking hate you because all you’re bringing is the fucking Harry Potter sheets and a Hermione shower curtain.” Dele turns to me and claps a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God. Sorry. My mom didn’t actually say it that way. Cleanup on aisle Dele.”