the benches on the front walk, phone in one hand and screen turned up like he’s waiting for a message, a pen in the other hand so he can write on the sheaf of papers on the binder in his lap. Still looks like he’s falling asleep. He might need a ride home. Or maybe he’s just smart and knows it’s better to wait until the parking lot clears out to try to leave. I stop outside the doors and watch him for a moment. I could offer him a ride, but that would be strange. Eliza Mirk does not offer rides, and no one asks her for them.
When he starts to look up, I turn away and hurry out to my car.
CHAPTER 4
Apocalypse_Cow: are you working on the next page right now?
MirkerLurker: No—finished one earlier. Now sitting in the car going to my brothers’ soccer game. Only have my sketchbook.
emmersmacks: Bummer
emmersmacks: Hey did you get my care package
MirkerLurker: No! You sent another one? You didn’t have to do that, Em!
emmersmacks: :DDD I love sending stuff to you guys!! Besides this ones got good stuff in it
Apocalypse_Cow: when do they not have good stuff in them?
Apocalypse_Cow: also where’s MY care package???
emmersmacks: Oh calm down youre getting one too dummy
emmersmacks: E youre going to be around for the Dog Days livewatch right
MirkerLurker: Duh. The day I miss Dog Days is the day I eat my own foot.
Apocalypse_Cow: *takes screenshot*
Apocalypse_Cow: let it be known on this day that if eliza ever misses dog days, she will eat her own foot.
emmersmacks: Masterminds would love that one
emmersmacks: Creator of Monstrous Sea eats own foot over teen soap opera
Apocalypse_Cow: tacky teen soap opera.
MirkerLurker: Tacky teen soap opera? Yes. Wildly entertaining? Also yes.
emmersmacks: Amen
“Are you texting your boyfriend again?” Sully nudges up against my side, putting his chin on my shoulder. At his words, Church pulls away from the car window on my other side and leans in too. I slam my phone facedown on the sketchbook in my lap.
“Stop reading over my shoulder,” I snap. “And it’s not my boyfriend. It’s just Max and Emmy.”
“Oh, just Max and Emmy,” Sully says, making air quotes. “Sure.” Church snickers and copies the air quotes a second later.
“Be nice back there,” Mom chirps from the passenger seat. Dad makes a sound of agreement.
We pull into the parking lot of the gym where Sully and Church play indoor soccer. The half-hour drive went fast thanks to Max and Emmy, but I don’t look at the phone again until the two nightmares climb out of the car. Then I follow Mom and Dad into the building, with my nose in the phone.
Apocalypse_Cow: but seriously tho, dog days is the worst
emmersmacks: Not worse than the second season when Chris got with Ben
Apocalypse_Cow: chris got with jason in the second season, not ben
emmersmacks: Says the guy who doesnt watch Dog Days
Apocalypse_Cow: . . .
emmersmacks: Ah how the mighty have fallen
I snicker. Dad looks over his shoulder at me. “What’s so funny, Eggs?”
I turn off the phone and press it to my sketchbook again. Annoyance pings over my humor, little dark spots in the lightness. “Nothing.”
Until I’m sure neither Mom or Dad are looking back again, I keep the phone down and my eyes up. This gym is more like a warehouse than anything. A big empty room with movable walls as dividers between different courts. Volleyball, basketball, tennis. The place is huge. In the center is a walled-in soccer field with bleachers and everything. I take a picture and send it to the chat.
MirkerLurker: This place is actual hell.
emmersmacks: My sister hangs out at one of those gyms
emmersmacks: They make me want to shower
Apocalypse_Cow: that is weirdly specific, ems. sorry for your luck, e.
MirkerLurker: When I die here, bury me with my art.
Apocalypse_Cow: songs will be sung. potential mourned. someone will have to notify the fans, of course. as head security admin for the ms forums, i accept this responsibility.
emmersmacks: When did you start calling yourself Head Security Admin
emmersmacks: All you do is ban trolls
“Oh, Eliza, look.” Mom’s hand brushes my shoulder. I look up and find her examining a poster on a board by the gym entrance. Dad and the boys have already taken off toward the soccer field, where the teams warm up for their game. “They’re starting tennis lessons soon. I really think you’d love tennis—it’s a solitary game, and it’s great exercise.”
“No,” I say, and go back to my phone. She gives up immediately.
We’ve evolved this process steadily