today?” Maggie asked.
I swallowed a bite of food, deciding that dry pancakes were the more practical choice. “It’s a school day. My plan is to attend school, like I do every school day. Why?” (Technically inaccurate, being that there were days I hadn’t attended school on a school day, e.g., days when I was sick.)
“Just wondering if there’s anywhere I should avoid. You know, places you might blow up next.”
“That’s enough, Maggie,” Father said, pointing at her with the spatula.
Maggie smiled sweetly.
My intention was for there to be no more explosions, on that day or any day. Unless, of course, a future experiment called for it.
Mother buzzed into the kitchen, briefcase in hand. She wore a blazer with a purple shirt underneath, which meant she was anticipating a busy day. Purple was her power color, worn whenever she needed a boost of luck.
“You have time to eat?” Father asked.
Mother opened the pantry. “Barely. I’ll just grab a myTality Power-Up.”
She unwrapped the energy bar and ate while standing at the counter.
MyTality™ was Mother’s latest venture, following an aromatherapy business, a yoga studio, and her involvement with the church before that. She usually lost interest around the five-year mark—it was unfortunate for my siblings and me that our names were chosen during her religious phase.
“Big day?” Father asked.
“Recruiting,” Mother said. “And lunch with a member of my downline this afternoon. What are your plans today?”
“Gym, grocery store, and a meeting about next week’s bake sale.”
“Bake sale?”
“For Maggie’s softball team.”
“You also said you’d pick up my acne medication,” I reminded him.
“Right,” Father said, snapping his fingers. He pulled out his phone and added the errand to his schedule. “You know, you could do that yourself if you learned to drive.”
The syrup-less bite of pancake in my mouth grew even drier. “I don’t want to discuss that right now.”
“Honey,” Mother said to me, “I really wish you’d give the myTality line of acne products a chance.”
“I’d prefer to stick with dermatologist-recommended options,” I told her, for what must have been the tenth time.
“Well, think about it,” she replied. “I’m off now! Someone needs to wake up Ishmael.”
She moved around the kitchen doling out kisses before grabbing her briefcase and venturing forth to sell questionable health products to the masses.
“Which one of you wants to wake your brother?” Father asked.
“Not it,” Maggie replied instantly.
I sighed. “Why should we bear the responsibility of getting Ishmael out of bed? He’s seventeen. If he can’t wake up for school, he should face the consequences.”
“That’s true,” Father agreed. “But then how will you get to school?”
Point taken.
I grudgingly stood, bracing myself for the Herculean effort of getting Ishmael out of bed.
“Hey,” Father said before I left the kitchen. “You still need a ride from debate team this afternoon?”
I didn’t look him in the eye. “Today’s meeting was canceled.”
“Wasn’t last week’s canceled too?”
Canceled only in the sense that I’d skipped it to work on my seismograph.
“I think you’re misremembering.” Before he could call me on the lie, I said, “I better get Ishmael now.”
“Ask him what he plans to blow up today!” Maggie called as I hurried from the room.
Interview
Subject #2, Magdalene (Maggie) Hofstadt: Of course I knew my brothers blew up the field. I figured it had something to do with one of Gideon’s experiments. And I wasn’t the only one who thought so, by the way. No one believed that meteor story. No one.
Event: Immediate Aftermath (Cont.)
When I stepped through the doors of Irving High School, I still hadn’t gotten a chance to check my seismograph reading. Maybe that was for the better. I should forget the explosion. It was much more important to concentrate on my studies—more important than ever, since Sara Kang’s GPA had alarmingly surpassed mine, jeopardizing my chances of being valedictorian.
Unfortunately, it turned out ignoring the explosion wouldn’t be simple. When I checked my phone between second and third periods, I had a text from Cass. (Cassidy Robinson, age sixteen, my longtime best friend.)
CR: A METEOR CRASHED INTO YOUR HOUSE LAST NIGHT???
I stopped in the middle of the hall and briefly shut my eyes.
Ishmael.
Ishmael, who’d never managed to keep his mouth shut about anything. How many people had he told? What exactly had he told them?
I fired off a text to Cass saying no, that was not the case, and I’d explain at lunch. Then I opened my phone contacts and sent another message.
Text Conversation
Participants: Gideon Hofstadt, Ishmael Hofstadt
GH: Are you telling people about last night?
IH: no1
IH: i mean
IH: kinda
IH: but just like 2
GH: