Standard disclaimer continues.
Chapter One
(Fall, 1986)
Margaret flipped the pancakes over and took another sip of her coffee. Above her head, she could hear her children rattling around, getting ready for the first day of school. It didn't seem so long ago that she'd sent Don off to kindergarten, and now he was sixteen, beginning his junior year.
And this year, both Lydia and Charlie were joining him at the high school. Margaret sighed. She hoped she and Alan were doing the right thing.
In the last two years, Charlie had been almost exclusively tutored, already academically ahead of his elementary and junior high school teachers. Alan and Margaret, after consulting with his tutors and the superintendent of schools, decided to start him at Pasadena High School. He'd still receive advanced instruction in mathematics and science, but he could take regular English and social science classes. He was often in his own world, scribbling in notebooks and on bits of scrap paper, and any effort at explanation made everyone's eyes glaze over. Margaret sometimes had the uneasy feeling that Charlie had missed out on his childhood, and she hoped, even though he'd be younger than his classmates, that he might have some semblance of a regular school experience. She wanted him to have a chance to be a kid.
Upstairs, Lydia was standing in front of her mirror with a comb and a can of hairspray, making sure every strand was in place. Her brothers were leaning in her doorway, watching the transformation. They were used to seeing her hair in a messy ponytail as she played the piano or tried to beat them at pick-up basketball.
She studied herself and said, "What do you think?"
"There is absolutely no way," Don said. He looked at Charlie. "What are the chances?"
Charlie snorted. "Less than two percent. I don't even need a pencil."
Lydia smoothed her short skirt over her leggings and scowled at them. "Look at the two of you," she sneered. "What do you know about fashion?"
Don and Charlie were dressed almost identically – blue jeans and t-shirts; Don with a red plaid flannel over his and Charlie with a hoodie sweatshirt tied around his waist. Don was dressed for comfort. Charlie was emulating his big brother, as usual, and trying to look inconspicuous. It was bad enough he was eleven years old and they were sending him to high school; he wanted to be as invisible as possible.
"I don't have to know about fashion," Don answered. "I just have to know Dad, and there's no way he's going to let you go to school looking like …"
"… like a two-bit whore," Charlie supplied.
Lydia's mouth fell open.
"Oh, my God, Charlie," Don said weakly. "Do you even know what that means?"
"Yes," he said defensively. "And I didn't mean you, Lyddie. I meant like Madonna. That's what Dad said. Not the religious one, the other one."
Lydia was still unable to close her mouth.
"Kids!" Alan called up the stairs. "I'm on my way out, which means you have thirty-five minutes! Come on! You don't want to be late your first day, do you?"
Lydia gave her head one last puff of spray.
"You really should change," Don said kindly. "And wash your face. Mom's going to have a fit."
Lydia stuck out her tongue and flounced past them, clattering down the stairs on her heels.
Don looked at Charlie. "How long?"
Charlie shrugged. "I dunno, three, four sec ---"
"Lydia Irene!" Margaret shrieked from the kitchen. "You march yourself back upstairs and wash your face and put on some clothes. Some real clothes. This instant!"
Don held up a palm. Charlie high-fived him. Then they got the hell out of their sister's way as she stormed back into her room.
A half hour later, as they were leaving to catch the bus, Margaret pulled her oldest aside. "Keep an eye out for your brother, would you, Donny?" she asked quietly. "Lydia will be fine, she's got her friends, and she's the right age, but Charlie … well, he's still just a little boy."
"Sure, Mom," Don said. He felt a little guilty. His last two years had been terrific – he was alone at the high school, with no one to worry about except himself. He'd been able to do his own thing without worrying about Charlie trying to tag along, making inane statistical comments or – somehow even more disturbing – without Lydia commenting on how cute his friends were. "Chuck, buddy, come on, let's go."
"Don't call me Chuck," Charlie said automatically. "I hate that." He let Margaret kiss him goodbye and followed his siblings out the door.
When the bus came, Don sat at the back with the other older boys, complaining that they couldn't wait until one of them got a car and they could leave public school transportation behind. Lydia took a seat in the middle with her friends, and Charlie sat in the first seat behind the driver, alone until the end of the route. He loved school. He loved learning. He loved his numbers. But he hated the awkward, uncomfortable, fish-out-of-water feeling that dogged him when he was dumped in the middle of something socially new.
At school, Charlie walked slowly, his hands jammed in his pockets so he wouldn't automatically reach for his brother or sister. Too old for that, he said to himself fiercely. You'll embarrass them. You'll embarrass yourself.
He hesitated at the door. Don and Lydia exchanged a glance over Charlie's head, then Lydia said gently, "Hey. Come on. Let's see where you're supposed to go. I'm not even sure where I'm supposed to go."
"Orientation's in the auditorium," Don said, pointing at a sign. "Here, I'll show you guys."
Lydia's skirt was longer and her shoes were shorter, but she had reapplied her make-up in the girls' room between first and second periods. Don rolled his eyes at her when he passed her in the hall. She smiled sweetly and elbowed her friend Caroline when she giggled.
"Damn, she's all grown up," Don's friend Jason commented.
"She's off limits," Don answered shortly. "And I wish her friends would get that I'm not asking out a freshman girl. Ever."
Jason held up his hands in surrender, then pointed to a skirmish brewing in the doorway of the science room. "Is he off limits too? Someone ought to tell Bruitt."
Don followed Jason's finger and sighed heavily. Charlie was in the middle of a group of senior boys, two of whom were poking at him. He was trying to duck away but they had him effectively surrounded.
"Damn," Don mumbled, and jogged over to the group. He reached into the middle of the circle, grabbed Charlie's upper arm and, in one fluid motion, pulled him away from his tormentors and shoved him behind his back.
Phil Bruitt grinned at him. "Aw, man, don't do that!" he said. "He was explaining football to us. Something about running patterns and strategy. What the hell he thinks he doing, I don't know – he looks like he got lost on his way to kindergarten. You know him?"
"He's my brother," Don said curtly.
"No way!" Phil exclaimed. "That's the little genius? Looks like a little monkey to me." He guffawed loudly.
Don glanced over his shoulder. Charlie was fighting back tears. "He's eleven, Bruitt, and he's smarter than the rest of us will ever be," Don said. "Knock it off. You outweigh him by fifty pounds."
"You didn't used to be such a pussy, Eppes," Phil said. "And damn, it's only the first day."
He took a step forward. Don met him and they stood chest to chest. Charlie sniffled quietly and Don clenched his fists. "I said. Leave. Him. Alone."
"Make me."
Margaret pulled into the high school parking lot and tapped on the horn impatiently. Don looked up from his seat on the grass and stood, stretching, then trotted over to the car.
"I'm not happy," Margaret said as he clicked his seat belt together. She reached over to touch the bruise on his face and Don jerked away from her. "I don't have time for this, especially not today."
"I'm sorry," Don mumbled. But he wasn't, not really. He knew he probably shouldn't have thrown the first punch, but he couldn't stand Phil standing there, looking so smug, like he owned the damn school. The whole fight had lasted only two blows; Phil's shot had sent Don tripping backward over Charlie, and then the teachers were there. Charlie was crying by then, not because he was hurt, but because of the blood on Don's lip.
"The only reason you weren't suspended is because that boy owned up to egging you on," Margaret said. "Three days of detention is bad enough. I don't know how I'm going to get you home tomorrow – or Thursday, in fact, since Charlie's got his tutor and Lyddie will be at piano."
"I'll find a ride," Don said.
"You can ask your father," Margaret said curtly. "Explain to him how you got yourself into this mess."
Don took a deep breath. "Did they tell you he was poking at Charlie?"
Margaret didn't reply. She glanced to her left and pulled onto the street.
"Mom. Don't tell me to look out for him and then get mad at me when I do."
"So."
Don looked up as Lydia stuck her head in his doorway. "So," he answered.
"First day of high school was interesting." She came into the room and pulled out the chair to his desk, sitting down backward. She was wearing faded pink pajamas and her hair was in two neat braids. She looked five years younger than she had that morning. "Charlie's bawling, you're bleeding, and I'm sitting next to Mark Patrick in Earth Science, who is really cute, but has really bad B.O."
Don smiled in spite of himself. Lydia always made him feel better, even when she wasn't trying, even when he wasn't quite aware he was feeling down.
"Was Daddy really pissed?"
"Not as much as I thought he'd be," Don replied. "He told me I could find my own ride home and if I couldn't, he'd pick me up on his way home. At six. And that as long as I was serving detention, I wasn't going anywhere else, either."
"Phil Bruitt's a jerk, Donny," Lydia said. "You did the right thing."
Don shrugged. "Didn't seem like it was right or wrong. It just was … there wasn't anything else to do."
His sister nodded thoughtfully.
"But Charlie has to keep his mouth shut," Don went on. "He overheard them talking about football practice and I think he thought he was trying to help. He needs to just mind his own business. And speaking of, where is Charlie?"
"Making numbers," Lydia said. "I think he's trying to figure out the exact angle you can throw a punch and knock someone out."
Don burst out laughing. Lydia snickered at him. Two doors down, Charlie looked up at the noise. He thought briefly about going into Don's room to ask what the joke was, and then, the numbers pulled him back in and he bent over his notebook, almost instantly forgetting there had been laughter at all.
