The Art of Breathing (The Seafare Chronicles 3) - Page 2

I don’t mean to, it just comes out on its own. I smoosh my hands against my mouth to block the sound, but this causes me to snort, and snot comes out of my nose. I try to cover it up and jerk my left hand up, but it bounces off my nose and I poke myself in the eye. My eyes water as I hiss and knuckle my eyeball, but I’ve still got snot on my hand and it gets all up in there, making it burn even more. Ow. I want to turn and run, but I’m temporarily blinded by my own devices, and I know, I just know, that this big kid is probably some popular jock and I’m forever going to be stuck with the nickname Booger Eye Snot Face. I ask God quietly if he wouldn’t mind opening the ground beneath my feet and allowing me to fall down a chasm to save me from myself. The ground doesn’t open. I’m still laughing, but it’s that high-pitched thing I do when I find something really funny. I hate that laugh. It always sounds like a clan of female hyenas all going into labor at the same time. Yip! Yip! Ayyyyyyyy! Yip! Yip! Ayyyyyyyy!

The other kid doesn’t say anything.

Right. Awk. Ward.

He allows me the honor of death by mortification for a few moments more, but then I feel a gigantic hand pull my own away from my eyes, and another hand grips my chin. Something presses gently against my eyelid. It feels like a shirt. It rubs softly, getting all my grossness out. He brings it lower and brushes the tears from my cheek, wipes the snot from my nose. I crack open my right eye. My chin is still in his hand. There’s a look of concentration on his face as he finishes using the tail of his shirt and drops it back down. He inspects me for a moment more to make sure it’s good, and then he lets me go and takes a step back. But his blue eyes never leave mine, even as he towers over me, twice my size.

Focus, McKenna. Remember, he could be a spy.

“Why were you watching me?” I ask him, unsure of what else to say.

He doesn’t do anything for a moment. Then he shrug

s.

Annoying. “You know,” I tell him, “when someone asks you a question, it’s rude not to answer.”

He shuffles his feet and looks down.

Dammit. Now I feel bad. “Okay, I didn’t mean you’re rude. I’m just saying, societal norms dictate that when a question is asked, a response should be given.” I try not to think of him as a gorilla again, because he already has a lot of my boogers on his shirt. A man can only take so many boogers before he walks away. Wait. Why do I care if he walks away? He’s probably a traitor. One of those lackey Redshirts you always seen in stupid movies where the main bad guy needs hired muscle. Bear doesn’t let me watch too many movies like that because he says my maturing brain doesn’t need outside influences of gratuitous violence. I told him my brain was already more mature than his. He told me I was grounded. I told him he was grounded. Then he gave me soy ice cream and we watched a show on the History Channel about World War II. That was a good day.

The big kid hasn’t said anything yet. “I do like hearing myself talk,” I say, “only because I have a lot of neat things to say, but eventually the conversation will run out in, like, four or five years, and then where will we be?”

Wonder of all wonders, he cracks a little smile. I don’t blame him. I am pretty funny. I see the in and take it. “My name is Tyson James McKenna. I live with my brother Bear and his partner Otter. I know, I know. Who has names like that, right? Well, before we go any further, you should know that everyone calls me the Kid. Kind of like Billy the. But without that part. Just the Kid. I don’t even really know how that started happening, I guess it just did. I don’t know if it was Bear or my mom that started it, but I guess it stuck. I was the one who started calling Bear ‘Bear,’ ’cause that’s not his real name. His real name is Derrick, and when you meet him… well, I guess if you want to meet him, you’ll see he looks nothing like a bear. It’s something of a misnomer. I just learned that word yesterday. Misnomer. It means ‘a use of a wrong or inappropriate name.’ I learned it from the word-of-the-day calendar Bear bought me for Christmas. I have been just waiting for a chance to use it, so thank you for letting me try it out on you. It’s a great-sounding word, don’t you think? Mis. No. Mer. I like words. Inevitable. That’s another good one, ’cause it just rolls off the tongue. You can say it, if you want.” I stop. Nothing. “Okay, maybe not right now. Later, though? You can say it with me. If you don’t know what it means, I’ll tell you. You just need to ask. Do you live around here? I do. I live in that green house back there. We call it the Green Monstrosity because the color makes you want to punch a baby in the face. Okay, not really. I would never punch a baby in the face. That’s just something Otter said once and I just died. It was sooo funny. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you! Otter’s real name is Oliver Thompson. Another misnomer. Ha-ha! Sweet! I got to use it twice in one day! Man, that’s awesome. Anyway, Otter’s my brother’s partner. Do you know what that means?”

He’s watching me now. He shrugs again. Maybe that’s Bovine Boy for “Keep talking. You’re way cool.”

“It means my brother and him love each other and that’s okay, because who really cares if someone is gay or straight or whatever Bear is? I know I sure don’t. But then I never understood why people are homophobic. Who cares what two guys or two ladies do in the bedroom, right? It’s not like anyone wants to see what those jerks do in their bedroom, you know? But it’s okay, I guess. For now. This whole past summer was this whole big… thing, but we all got over it and now we live together in the Green Monstrosity and it’s the best time ever. Do you live around here? I already asked you that. You know, you could jump in here anytime, really. How old are you? I’m nine, going on forty. That’s what my brother says. You should know he thinks he’s hysterical. Which he’s not. Do you live with your parents? It’s okay if you don’t. I don’t, so we’d have that in common, which would be rad. I don’t want to talk about my mom right now, though.” Oh crap. I should have asked already. “You don’t know her, do you?” I ask quietly, not sure I want the answer.

His eyes widen, but he quickly shakes his head. I believe him. I don’t know why.

“Whew!” I say, relieved. “That’s a load off. Do you eat meat? I guess it’s okay if you do. You should know that I’m a staunch vegetarian. That’s another word I learned: staunch. It means ‘faithful’ and ‘loyal.’ That’s another great word, huh? Loyal. So if you eat meat, I won’t mind. Heck, I might even be able to convince you to come back from the Dark Side. Do you like Star Wars? I do. Bear and Otter and me had this marathon one time and we watched all six in one day and Bear made me spicy edamame and it was sooo good. That was another good day. I wish lightsabers were real. Do you like to read? What’s your favorite book? I can’t pick just one, ’cause I like them all. Wow, you sure don’t talk much, do you?” Oh crap. “Can you talk? I feel bad now ’cause maybe you can’t talk. Were you in an accident? Or were you born that way? I wonder if that’s genetic. Or is it—”

“I don’t live with my parents,” he says quietly as he watches me. His voice sounds broken, like he’s gargling gravel, like he’s not use to speaking and it’s hoarse from disuse. But I’m so happy that he can talk and that he’s talking to me, I don’t give it another thought. Maybe that’s just how he’s supposed to sound. “I live with fosters,” he rumbles.

“Oh. Oh. Like, not your real parents, but people who watch you anyway? You don’t have to tell me why if you don’t want to. Maybe later, huh? Then I can tell you about my… mom.” That word hurts more than I thought it would, and my voice catches on it and almost breaks, but I push through it, blinking back the burn in my eyes. No. Not here. Not now. I don’t want to get in the bathtub today. There will be no earthquakes. So what if I’m still scared? So what if I worry that she’ll come back again and I’ll have to go away with her? So what if I’m worried that Bear is going to leave me too now that he has Otter, because now that he’s found himself, he won’t need me anymore? So what? Who cares? Blah, blah, blah. I don’t need the damn bathtub. I’ve been doing so good, dammit. I don’t need this. I don’t want this.

I hope he doesn’t notice my mini freak-out, but he does. Of course he does. I’m a little surprised when he reaches up and drops a hand on my shoulder, patting me twice before dropping his arm. I feel better almost right way. Weird. Whatever. He’s really cool.

“What were you doing over there?” he grumbles at me, pointing across the street.

I grin. “Following Helmholtz Watson as he carried a crumb back to the queen where I would have made the discovery of a lifetime and had my name emblazoned in the annals of ant culture.” I groan inwardly as I realize what I’ve just said. Crap, could I sound like any more of a freak? I blush and it’s my turn to look down as I shuffle my feet. “Just watching some ants,” I mutter.

“Can I watch with you?” he asks.

I look up at him, suspicious. “Are you making fun of me?”

His eyes widen and he shakes his head. “No.”

He seems sincere. “You’re not gonna get made fun of for hanging out with some little kid? Even though I’m not. I’m practically ten. Well, in another nine months.”

He shrugs. “I don’t care. I’m bigger than everyone. No one makes fun of me.”

I sigh. “I wish I could be big. That would be so cool.” I grab his arm and start pulling him across the street. I glance back over my shoulder and see he’s watching my hand on his arm. “Do you like ants?” I ask him. “I do, because the colonies they make are just fascinating, and I hope that we can find out where….” I stop and turn around. He watches me. Still. “You never told me your name,” I remind him.

He looks down the road, toward what, I don’t know. “Dominic.

“Dominic,” I say. “That’s a good name. So, ants! Have you read Brave New World? That’s where Helmholtz comes from. It’s kind of a dense read, but I have it and I can lend it to you, if you want to read it. Oh! Or you could get your own copy and we can read it at the same time and I can help you with the parts that confused me at first. Is that okay? I don’t want you to have to do anything you don’t want to do. That’s not how friendships work. And we’re friends now, right?” We reach the sidewalk, and I look up at him again.

Tags: T.J. Klune The Seafare Chronicles Romance
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