“Coming!” I shout back.
There isn’t another option. Gretchen wants less than nothing to do with me—she made that a thousand percent clear. And I have a loving, normal family waiting for me out there, expecting me to be the same old Grace I was yesterday. That’s who I have to be right now.
Normal, I tell myself as I drop my brush back into the drawer and slide the whole thing shut. I can do this.
In the dining room, I find Mom, Dad, and Thane sitting around the table. There’s a steaming pile of pancakes, a pitcher of warm maple syrup, and a platter of greasy bacon. I force myself into the routine of an ordinary family breakfast. As I drop into my chair, Mom hands me the pancakes.
“Delicious,” I hum, inhaling the tasty aroma. So much better than eau de monster.
No! I’m not going there.
I fork a short stack of pancakes onto my plate, smear them with butter, and smother them with maple syrup. Thane waves the plate of bacon in my direction.
“Ha ha,” I say, pushing it away.
He dumps half the bacon onto his plate. “Oink, oink.”
“Thane,” Mom chides.
“It’s okay,” I insist. “I’m used to it.”
“That’s my girl,” Dad says. “Now, kiddos, tell me about week one. Any horror stories to share?”
Horror stories? Absolutely. To share? Not on your life. Even if I can accept the fact that I’m not insane, there’s no way I can tell anyone about seeing monsters. Or meeting my sister. As much as I believe it to be true, I don’t think anyone else would.
“Nothing exciting,” I say between bites of pancake. Ignor-ing the topic of my unwelcoming fellow students, I focus on academics. “Alpha has some awesome electives choices. Tae Kwon Do and Operatic Singing.”
“Very impressive,” Dad says with a nod. “And which classes are you electing to take?”
“Computer Science,” I say.
Thane mutters, “Duh.”
I throw a piece of pancake at his forehead. He dodges it, like the hairbrush, and it flies past him and onto the floor.
“And I’m thinking,” I say, as if my brother isn’t acting like an idiot this morning, “maybe . . . Yearbook.”
Even though I’ve already picked my electives, part of me can’t help protecting myself against potential disapproval. Ms. West did say I could still change, and if Mom and Dad think Yearbook is a bad idea, then maybe I should.
Mom fills my glass with orange juice. “That sounds like fun,” she says. “It’ll be good for you to have something less academic.”
Dad smiles, and I release a relieved sigh.
“I agree,” he says as he grabs a piece of bacon off Thane’s plate. “And what about you, Thane? How was your first week at Euclid?”
Thane shrugs, his entire body stiffening at the question. He hates talking about school because it inevitably leads to talking about his nonexistent plans for the future. “Met a cool guy. Made the soccer team.”
A cool guy. As if that’s all there is to Milo. As if he’s not beautiful and sweet and fun and— Okay, so maybe Thane wouldn’t say all those things, but they’re true.
Of course, by now Milo probably thinks I’m a flake for disappearing last night. Imagine if he knew I’m a descendant of a mythological monster too. Full-scale freak.
“You know,” Dad says to Thane, “my company has a highly respected internship program.” He takes a sip of coffee. “You should consider applying.”
My head drops and I keep my eyes glued to my plate. Dad and Thane have this continuing battle about Thane’s future. My brother has no plans to go to college, and for environmental-engineer Dad and retired-lawyer Mom, that’s a little hard to swallow. Thane doesn’t like to talk about his future at all. He’s more a live-in-the-moment guy. I know Dad has the best intentions, but whenever he goes down this path, it never ends well.
“No thanks,” Thane says.
Even without looking, I can feel his tension. Dad should really let this go.
“I wish you would consider it,” Dad says. “It’s an excellent opportunity to—”
Thane shoves back from the table and stands, sending his chair crashing to the floor. “I said I’m not interested.”
He’s out the front door before anyone can say a word. I give Dad a sympathetic look, even though I wish he would leave Thane alone about the future planning. Thane will figure things out eventually. None of us can make that happen any faster.
Mom takes Dad’s hand across the table. “It doesn’t help to push him, Sam,” she says.
Dad shakes his head. “I know, but I wish . . .”
We sit in silence for a few minutes, letting our breakfast get cold. When I can’t stand it anymore, I say, “He’ll come around, Dad. You know he has stuff to figure out.”
“I know.” Dad gives me a sad smile. “But I’m his father. I feel responsible for helping him do that.”
I get up and give Dad a hug.
“You are helping him,” I say, squeezing extra tight. “He just isn’t ready yet.”
“Thanks, Gracie.” Dad pats me on the back.
We go back to eating our breakfast in silence. Unfortunately, the lack of conversation gives my mind the freedom to dwell on everything that happened last night. I don’t know why I do this to myself—go over and over stuff I can’t do anything about—but it’s like a compulsion. When Mom and Dad get up, I leap at the chance to busy myself with clearing the table.