Candor by Pam Bachorz

say.
    “Be good, son,” he says. His usual good-bye.
    Nia’s got a book open on the table. She’s highlighting it yellow. It makes her look like a Candor girl chasing a perfect GPA. For a second, she reminds me of Mandi.
    Then she shows me the book with a twinkly smile. “Look. My new masterpiece.”
    There’s a yellow checkerboard pattern across the two pages. I don’t think it has anything to do with the exciting chapter about the nature of savanna climates.
    “Never destroy school property,” I say. Or my brain says. Another Message, flying out of my mouth.
    Her smile fades. She sets the book down and flips the page. “You missed a good time in the sprinklers,” she says.
    An image of her dancing naked in the water pops in my head. But even my imagination refuses to put me there next to her.
    “You’re mad.” I worried that she would be. Then I told myself I shouldn’t care.
    But I do.
    “Not mad, not surprised,” she says.
    “Fine. Sorry. I just had to go.”
    “I stayed there for an hour,” she says. “The sprinklers never turned off.”
    A fresh swell of guilt fills my gut. I could have switched the sprinklers off, at least. Or told Mandi to do it.
    “But then I peeked under my boot. It was all gone. Without me even knowing, it washed away.” She streaks her highlighter in a new pattern on the book.
    I don’t know what to say. I sit in the chair across from her. Pick up her earth-science book. It’s the easiest science course Candor offers.
    “They’re making me repeat a bunch of stuff,” she says. “I pretty much missed the last two years of high school.”
    “Where were you?” Although I pretty much know.
    “Places you’ve never been.” She tries to smile, like it’s a joke. But her lips tremble. She stares at the table.
    “I could help you catch up,” I offer.
    “You’d have to keep me awake first.” Her smile makes my mouth go dry.
    “I … could try.” Weak, Oscar. Weak.
    “Was tonight your idea?” she asks. “Did you make your father do this?”
    “No. But he told me we have to hang out.” Great. Make her think you don’t want to be with her, Oscar. Can I say anything right tonight?
    Her eyebrows flick up and down. “So you’re the positive influence my mother was talking about.”
    “That’s me. Pretty ironic, huh?”
    She shrugs. “Not really. Seems like you’re pretty good at being good.”
    “I’m only good when it’s useful.” I toss the book on the floor. “Screw this.”
    “Okay, then.” She slaps her book shut and leans back in the chair. Crosses her arms and stares at me.
    “What?”
    “What next, rebel boy?”
    “Um.” I can think of a few things I’ve done with plenty of girls. But none of them seem right with her. I don’t know where to start.
    “How long until he’s back?” she asks.
    “Hours, if we’re lucky.” Twenty minutes if we’re not.
    “Then let’s start with the grand tour.” She slides her palm over the glossy table. Her fingers leave streaks. “I want to see opulence.”
    “Big word. I bet you’re good at Scrabble.”
    “Dad’s an English professor. There’s too much pressure. When I was six, I ate the X tile.” She mimes popping something in her mouth and swallowing.
    “I ate the yellow guy from Candyland in kindergarten,” I tell her. I’d forgotten until now. “Well, half of him. Just the head, really.”
    She laughs. A real laugh. It makes me think of strawberries and bubbles.
    We start in the laundry room. I show her the panel that controls all the lights and music in the house. The digital readout says Dad’s Music Mix 9 is playing. Your basic reinforcement Messages. “Music. Minimum volume,” I say.
    The house goes quiet—almost. You can barely hear the music. It’s possible to ignore it, if you want. Though your subconscious will keep listening.
    Nia rolls her head back and closes her eyes. Her shoulders sag. “Thank you. I’m so sick of music, all the time.”
    “Are you listening to my