Without Merit(25)

Victoria’s hand goes up to her mouth. My father walks up to her and puts his hands on her shoulders, trying to take her attention away from her little brother. “Sweetie,” he says soothingly. “Let’s go talk it out with him in the bedroom.”

Victoria shakes her head and pushes past my father, toward Luck. “You can’t just show up unannounced, Luck. You need to leave.”

Luck doesn’t move. He looks a little surprised by her reaction. “You aren’t going to hug me first?”

Victoria takes a step closer to him. “Leave,” she says. “And next time you want to show up without apologizing first, try calling. It’ll save you money on travel!”

“Victoria,” my father says in a whisper. He pulls her in the opposite direction. “Go to the bedroom. I’ll be there in a second.” She immediately starts trying to hide the fact that she’s sniffling a bit when she walks away from Luck, toward their bedroom. My father faces Luck.

Luck smiles and walks toward him with his hand out. “You must be my brother-in-law,” Luck says. My father reluctantly shakes his hand.

“Barnaby.”

“I honestly thought she’d be over it by now,” Luck says. “She’s right. Maybe I should have called first.”

“Be over what?” Honor asks. Luck swings his gaze to Honor and he gives her a familiar smile, but then his smile disappears when he notices me.

He looks back at Honor, then back at me. Then he points between us. “Which one of you gave me a ride today?”

I lift my hand.

“Thank you for the hospitality, Merit.” Luck walks toward the table. He introduces himself to Utah, Honor, and then Sagan. When he gets to Moby, he kneels down in front of him. “You must be my nephew.”

“I’m a nephew?” Moby asks. “Merit said I’m a bastard.”

“Almost a bastard,” I correct.

“Luck,” my father says, interrupting the introductions. “Can we please sort this out first before you make yourself at home?”

Luck stands up and puts his hands on his hips. “Yeah, sure. But . . . I just woke up from a four-hour nap. Kind of already made myself at home.” He laughs, but he’s the only one laughing. I have to hand it to him. Luck is cheerful, if anything.

He follows my father to Quarter Three. I’m sad they’re moving the conversation out of Quarter One. I was enjoying it.

“Sounds like your day was productive,” Honor says to me. “At least you weren’t wasting away your entire life by sleeping all day.”

I can put up with a lot, but Honor’s snarky attitude about my decision to stop going to school is my boiling point. I toss my roll back on my plate. “Tell me, Honor. What have I missed this week that’s going to miraculously prep me for life beyond high school?”

“An opportunity to graduate, maybe?”

I roll my eyes. “I can get a GED before Christmas.”

“Yes, because that’s a reasonable alternative to a scholarship,” she says.

“You want to talk to me about reasonable?” I challenge. “Does your new boyfriend know how reasonable you’ve been when it comes to your past relationships?”

Honor’s jaw clenches. I’ve hit a nerve. Good. Maybe she’ll back off.

“That’s not fair, Merit,” Utah says.

“Whatever,” I mutter. I tear off a piece of my bread and pop it in my mouth. “Of course you’re going to defend her. She’s your favorite.”

Utah leans back in his chair. “I don’t have a favorite sister. I’m defending her because you always get too personal with your attacks.”

I nod. “Oh, right. I forgot. We like to sweep things under the rug and pretend Honor doesn’t need therapy.”

Honor glares at me from across the table. “And you wonder why you have no friends.”

“Actually, I don’t wonder that at all.”

The raised voices coming from Quarter Three interrupt our sibling bonding. It’s too muffled to make out what they’re saying, but it’s clear that Luck and Victoria aren’t having the homecoming Luck was hoping for.

“Did anyone else notice how strange his accent was?” Sagan asks.

“Thank you!” I say. “It’s so weird! It’s like his brain can’t decide if he grew up in Australia or London.”

“He sounded Irish to me,” Utah says.

Sagan shakes his head. “Nah, that was just the kilt playing tricks on you.”

I laugh and then glance down at Moby, who is still seated next to me. He’s looking down, so I can’t see his face. “Moby?”

He doesn’t look up, but he sniffles.

“Hey. Why are you crying?”

Moby sniffles some more and then says, “Everyone is fighting.”

Ugh. Nothing can make me feel worse than when Moby is upset.

“It’s okay,” I say. “Sometimes adults fight. It doesn’t mean anything.”

He wipes his eyes on his shirtsleeve. “Then why do they do it?”

I wish I had an answer for him. “I don’t know,” I say with a sigh. “Come on, let’s wash up and I’ll tuck you in.” Moby has always been a great sleeper. He’s been sleeping in his own bedroom in Quarter Two since he was two. His bedtime has always been seven, but I heard Victoria tell him a few days ago that she would change it to eight in a few weeks.