Riding the Universe by Gaby Triana Page B

Too much on my mind right now—brain salad.
    â€œRight,” he says breathlessly. I could snatch his confusion right out of the air and twist it into a knot. “You’re completely right,” he says again, only this time, it’s as if he remembershe does have better things to do. He gets up and brushes his jeans off.
    â€œSee you at school?” I ask.
    â€œYeah. See you at school.”
    I’m not sure what just happened, but I am glad we decided to ditch tutoring today, even though it probably burned Sabine to see us missing.
    Gordon goes back to his car. I get up to stretch. Maybe a buffer comment will help things. “Thanks for following me,” I call out.
    He raises a hand. I want to hear him say, “The pleasure was all mine, Chloé,” but he doesn’t.
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    Try wrapping your mind around ionic compounds when your house sounds like a baby torture chamber and your mom and godmother are arguing over possible reasons for the symphony of shrieks. I watch from the counter.
    â€œIt’s gas.” Mom explains her breast-milk theory for the fiftieth time in the last four days. “I put too much garlic in yesterday’s chicken.”
    â€œ Non , Vero, they’re just tired.” Marraine sets down a Rubbermaid of something she cooked for us and opens it. Is that lasagna I see? Yes! She looks at Baby Carl. “See how his eyes roll back, and that cry—that cry is not one of pain, it’s exhaustion.”
    Papi, smelling of today’s catch and the garage again, breezes by on his way into the kitchen. “Have you worked on the leak yet, hija ? The puddle of oil in the garage is a little bigger,” he says above the shrieks. “What about the tune-up?”
    â€œI’ll get started this weekend, Papi. I swear.”
    â€œSwear, swear…” He mumbles something about waiting too long, and don’t come crying when I break down in the middle of nowhere, but I can’t quite hear due to the twinsies’ colic concerto. Even after he grabs his water and heads toward the garage, he’s still talking about how “Harleys tend to leak oil…” and “responsible ownership of a motorcycle,” blah, blah, blah…
    I cannot think worth a crap in here.
    The element symbols jumble around in my mind, forming stick figures that dance in circles, mocking my knowledge deficiency in their jubilation. How does Gordon understand subject matter fifty times more difficult than this in his honors, AP, and IB classes? I try to shake it off and ignore babies Carl and Sagan (ugh), but they just take their screaming to new heights.
    I put down my pencil and go to my mom with open arms. “Let me have one so you can eat.”
    â€œI’m fine, honey. Marraine’s here.”
    My godmother smiles, and the wild hairs that frame her face bounce around. “Yes, go, Chloé, you need to study. We’ll handle the babies.”
    â€œYou sure?” I ask them. They both nod. I know my mother would love nothing more than to have a five-minute break, and I would love nothing more than to handle my screaming baby brothers instead of studying for chemistry, but they’re right—I have a goal. I need to stick to it.
    â€œI’ll be in my room,” I say, gathering my stuff.
    Marraine tries putting Baby Carl in the jaguar-on-a-branch position, face down, draped over her forearm, asMom tries the shoulder bouncy-bounce with Baby Sagan, who looks like he’s about to pass out from how red he’s turning. My mother looks over at me apologetically. “You can help me at bedtime.”
    I head down the hall to my room, throwing my book and folder on top of my bed. I stop at my computer just to check messages, but end up browsing sites way longer than is reasonably necessary. On one of my mother’s zodiac matchmaker pages I select Sagittarius for me, Leo for Gordon, and wait for the analysis. I don’t even