Invisible Sun

Chapter Twenty-One: Double Standards

"Dexter, you have the habit of saying just enough about a thing to get your way," his mother sighed softly.

"So does DeeDee! We learned it from Dad." He gestured at his father and shook his head, quietly amazed that this was an issue only now. "You never ask further. I tell you something and you accept it. You and Dad don't dig any deeper than the surface of anything I say, so what am I to think except you don't care? I don't tell you more because I know if I do, you won't listen to me anyway or misunderstand and not allow me a chance to explain before you pass judgment."

His father folded his arms, on the defensive. "You don't listen very well either, young man."

"You don't listen at all!" Dexter shot back, rising out of his seat. He was enraged as never before.

"Dexter-"

"Can you even tell me what I just said?" demanded Dexter, not caring that he interrupted his father or raised his voice. "You didn't see when I showed you my laboratory! You don't hear me when I tell you about my work. You haven't listened to me all summer! I've told you everything I've done and what's happened to me and you haven't heard a thing I've said. I asked you for help Friday night and you laughed at me!" His gloved fist struck the tabletop as he gave full vent to his fury. "You laughed, Dad, and you ignored me and you said it was a joke! You never listened! You never cared! You only want me when it's convenient to have a genius for a son. Other than that I may as well not exist for you!"

His father gaped, shocked at his vehemence, shocked that his son saw through him so completely, shocked at himself and his own conduct as he realized he had indeed laughed and dismissed a plea for help. At the time, it had seemed too fantastic to be believed. There was a hint of fear in his eyes, too, at Dexter's choice of words, a lingering guilt and anxiety over what his son might know or have guessed over the years.

"It just . . . seemed so impossible," he stammered.

"WHY?" demanded Dexter furiously. "Why is anything impossible? You've seen what I've done and what I can do! Or you would have seen if you opened your eyes! I don't recognize the impossible!"

"Dexter," Utonium said quietly, silencing the boy's anger with a word. The other adults stared in surprise at their son's reaction. They had never seen that red-hot temper quelled so easily or so completely. For his part, Utonium was quietly thrilled to see the boy so impassioned again, even if all he felt was anger. It was better - and more productive - than brooding depression.

"Please sit," asked the Professor, reaching his hand out to the boy to soothe him.

Slowly, with a show of reluctance, Dexter obeyed.

"Thank you." He turned to Dexter's parents, trying desperately hard to ease the tension and contain the emotions running so high, especially in his friend. Dexter was exhausted and on edge and for the first time Utonium got a glimpse of the high-strung boy genius on the defensive. Knowing Dexter as he did and knowing what kind of weapons the boy harbored, Utonium was well aware that an attack must soon follow and he feared the assault would be the equivalent of unleashing a full nuclear arsenal. That might be satisfying for Dexter, but it would not solve anything.

"If I may," Utonium began, deliberately speaking in a low, slow tone. "I think there's been a terrible breakdown in communications. Dexter came to my house Friday night in an extreme state of distress and fatigue. I suspect this has been building for a while." He looked at Dexter for confirmation and the boy nodded, shielding his eyes as he leaned into his hand. "The occasions when we've talked, I always gotten the feeling you were under a lot of strain. It wasn't just school?"

"No," said Dexter, grateful for his understanding. "You know the situation with my finances and . . ." He left the thought unfinished, waving his gloved hand to encompass all the rest of his troubles.

"You said classes were going well," his mother said.

"The AP classes are going very well," Dexter replied.

"Dexter, you're evading the question," Utonium admonished in the gentlest of voices. "What about the rest of your classes? You told me you kept getting detention for not paying attention."

He sighed. "My other classes are so simple and boring I can't pay attention, Professor. If I work on something else the teachers get angry even when I finish the class work. I can't get them to understand that I know what they're talking about. Better than they do in most cases," he muttered. "I don't know if they feel threatened or intimidated, but they seem to resent me and are determined to force me to conform and be as average as the rest of the pupils. I refuse."

"You're not being challenged, in other words."

"Not by fifth grade."

"Fifth grade may not be where you belong." He looked to the other adults at the table. "Elementary school may not be the best setting for your son."

"We sent him to college when he was eight," his father volunteered.

"That was a disaster," Dexter sullenly provided.

The Professor shook his head. "College may not be the thing, either. School may not be the thing. At least not right now."

"He's got to finish his education," insisted his mother.

"Yes, and as his parents, it falls to you to decide what exactly what would be best for him. I question what sort of education he's gaining at the moment, seeing as how he's at odds with the very people he's supposed to be able to trust the most, and who should have his best interests in mind."

Not even they could miss the pointed look that accompanied this criticism.

"You do need the social skills," Mom said. She gave him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, honey, but you don't get along well with others."

"Why is it always my fault?" Dexter countered hotly. "How come they don't ever have to get along with me? Why am I always the misfit? I don't bully and I don't tease, but I'm expected at all times and by everybody to rise above the abuse I receive and find a means of getting along and I'm always to blame when we don't. Just because I'm smarter. I'm still eleven! The Professor is the only person in my life who seems to remember that and I manage to get along perfectly well in his household." He glanced at his father. "Dad always told me to stand up to bullies. Well I have, but this year's bullies happen to be my teachers. Please, Mom, tell me exactly what social skills I'm supposed to be gaining from this experience. I'm very curious."

"Your teachers?" His mother frowned, her voice betraying her confusion and disbelief. "But . . . they wouldn't."

He stared at her, thunderstruck by the sheer lame, stupidity of this statement. "Then I deserve to have detention three times a week at least? Because that's exactly what's been happening if you haven't noticed."

Even his parents saw the injustice of so much punishment, and they exchanged a concerned look.

"What did you do?" wondered his father in a voice calculated to lighten the mood. It was a dismal failure.

Dexter gave him a look of pure disgust. "I breathed, Dad. Did you not just hear yourself? Why am I to blame? Why don't you ask what happened as opposed to what I did wrong? Why am I always accused?"

"You never said anything!" his mother exclaimed.

"And again, it's my fault. You never asked why I was late all the time!"

She lowered her gaze with a sad little sigh. "You're right. I haven't. But you could have tired."

He stared at her. "I'm tired of trying. Why does it always have to come from me? Why doesn't anyone else here ever try?" He pointed at the dark-haired man beside him. "Professor Utonium is the only one besides DeeDee that ever took my side in anything. He's the only one that ever saw my side. You actually wonder why I didn't tell you more." He shook his head, dumbfounded that these were his parents. "The more I explain the less you want to understand. He offers help whereas here I have to beg for it!"

His father pursed his lips, defensive under such a blistering assault. "Dex-"

"He's right!"

They all turned at the unexpected voice. DeeDee stood in the doorway of the kitchen, and they realized she must have been there for some time. She was not prone to displays of strong emotion - being far more inclined toward levity than gravity - but right now she was angry and it showed in her face and body language. Behind her, tense and intense, ranged the three Powerpuff Girls. It was plain that they had heard the whole, heated exchange. Their arms were folded defensively and they were all glowering to hear someone they considered family being criticized.

"Dexter always has to fight for the things you do for me or let me do," DeeDee said. "You let me do what I want, but you always make Dexter do things that you want. It's not fair. He was all excited about getting the patent last week and you don't even know what it was for! He's never been happier in his whole life than this past summer, and he's never been more miserable since he started school and you don't even see it! Neither of you."

She stepped over to her brother and leaned over his chair to hug him from behind. Dexter allowed her embrace without protest, leaning back into the hold of the person who had loved him best and longest. They were nothing alike. They had almost nothing in common. They drove one another out of their minds. But their devotion was absolute, and their love for each other was without question.

Dexter reached up and covered her hands with his, and that simple gesture spoke volumes to the young girl. Rarely did he initiate touch even with her, but when he did it was a sign of his desperate need for comfort. Utonium saw it, and instantly he was grateful that DeeDee had been listening.

DeeDee looked at her parents as if she had never seen them before, a frown creasing her brow as she came to an understanding of what was happening, of what had been happening for her brother's lifetime. Always the favorite, always the princess and the golden child, she had never really given their conduct much thought until this moment. In truth she rarely gave anything much thought unless forced to, but she did have her own brand of common sense and it could not be denied that she cared very deeply for her brother and would defend him to the last.

"He's right," she repeated, shocked. "Dexter's right. You don't see him except when you want to. You've never really seen him, have you? Even when he was a baby, I was the one always watching him and reading to him and you didn't even come to his first day of school, Mom. I took him." She looked between her mother and father, anxious to be proven wrong. "You reward me for good grades, but you just expect them out of Dexter. You let me stay up late when I was his age now, but you won't let him do the same thing. It's not fair. It's . . . it's almost like you didn't want another kid."

Gently, Dexter loosened her hands as he stood. He looked up at his sister with a sad little smile and quietly said,

"They didn't."

She gasped, her blue eyes opening wide, and she reached for him with both hands. "Dexter!" Out in the hall, the three young girls exchanged appalled glances, unable to understand how anyone could not want a person as witty and talented and smart as their Dexter.

"It's all right, DeeDee," he promised her with dignity and poise far beyond his years. His was a strange serenity born of pain and acceptance. He looked at the three pretty and indignant girls in the hall, each of them ready to spring into action on his behalf, each of them his sister, then at the dark-haired scientist that had forced his way past every barrier he had so carefully erected and who had wept for him and with him, and finally back to his tall and lovely sister that adored him so. "It's all right. I know where I am wanted, and by whom."

And without so much as a glance at his crushed and speechless parents, he turned and walked away, stepping through the back door to the darkness beyond.