The Charlotte Chronicles (Jackson Boys 1)

Because if she doesn’t come back by her birthday in May I might not see her until I’m done with Basic. And from there I’ll be shipped out to who knows where.

“I’ll be here,” Nick reminds me.

“But I want to be.” I hold the ball and flip it in the air and catch it myself.

“Then don’t go.”

As if it’s so easy.

“I don’t want to go to B school. I’m not interested in sports like you. Serving like Dad or Bo or Gray did is the right way for me to do something meaningful. Otherwise I’m standing around with my thumb up my ass taking advantage of everything that Dad and Mom worked so hard to achieve.”

“You could do AmeriCorps or volunteer for a year instead of doing something that might end up with you dead. Not easy to protect Charlotte if you’re not around.”

I scoff. “Not gonna happen to me.”

15

At 3:45 pm I get a text from Greta.

u need to talk to ur boy nate. He totes got a rager today over innocent comment.

The text makes me frown because that doesn’t sound like him at all. He’s the patient, steady one. Nick is the hot head. I don’t send her a text back immediately because I’d rather hear from Nate what went down. The phone dings again, but I don’t read it. I just know it isn’t either of the Jackson boys.

It’s hard not to be in classes with them because my whole day consists of eating, sleeping, and working on booklets that are my temporary replacement for classes. I’ve no motivation for doing any of those things. Occasionally, if the weather isn’t too cold, one of my parents will take me out for a walk like I’m the family dog. You faint one time on the elevator, and you’re never allowed out of the house alone.

The one part of leaving that actually appeals to me is the idea that I might have a little more freedom. But for now, I spend most of my time waiting for the boys to get home because that’s when my real life starts.

I don’t rush them, though. They might need to work out, or they might have homework. But every nerve in my body strains toward their side of the building. The walls are too thick and too well-insulated for me to hear the doors slam shut or the thud of their footsteps against the tile or wood floors, but my heart is so attuned to them, particularly Nate, that I know instantly when they arrive home.

I can see them in my mind’s eye jostling each other as they walk down the hall, their backpacks hanging off one shoulder. Nick enters his room first, tosses his backpack on the floor, and flops down into his red and black gaming chair. He’ll play some kind of networked game with kids halfway across the world. He once told his parents that he was learning a second language. It wasn’t a lie either; they just didn’t know the second language was primarily sex words.

Nate follows. He’s slower, the more precise of the two. Or maybe he’s just looking out for Nick like he does for me. Nate is always watchful. He sets his bag on his desk carefully and unpacks everything that he needs to address. In the past, we would have made plans on the way home from school. I’d do my homework and come over. But now I wait.

He must decide I’m more important than gaming or homework because my stomach does cartwheels at about 4:35 pm. He’s coming. I hear him greet Dad and then the sound of a hand slap. That’s probably Dad hitting Nate a bit too hard to remind Nate who’s in charge. But tonight Mom and Dad and Noah and Grace are going to a business function—a party really. They won’t be home until late. We’ll be alone for hours.

I try to suppress my wide grin so that Dad doesn’t have a heart attack when he sees me. There’s a knock.

“Nate’s here, honey,” Dad says through the door. He never opens it anymore, not since that one time when Greta stayed over and changed in the middle of the bedroom instead in my en suite bathroom. It was like she wanted to be seen, which would be utterly gross. I get that girls think Dad is attractive, but please. He’s my dad.

“Okay Daddy!” I throw open the door, and my gaze skips by him and his furrowed brow right to lock on Nate, who is standing slightly behind him at the doorway.

“Mom says you should come over and have dinner tonight. She ordered in Lou Malnati’s for us.”

Lou Malnati’s is famous for its deep dish pizza. The crust is different, almost pastry-like in its flakiness.

“Sounds great.”

“Bring some homework. I’ve got about three chapters of American history to read, along with a biochem quiz to study for.”