ANDERSON “ANDI” ROE:
Keep them safe. I promised. I promised and I—
“I checked your measurements.” Ivy held the diagram in front of my face. “It’s gonna work.”
I blinked. “You could read my handwriting?”
“Just barely,” she grinned, and I smiled, too.
Supplies covered the carpet. Wood planks, rusty door hinges, tangled wires and a battery-operated megaphone. I catalogued in my head. It would be enough, wouldn’t it?
Ivy sat on her knees, watching me. She’d spread out papers full of numbers and rough drawings in front of her.
“Remind me why we’re making your pressure-plate alarm,” she asked, “and not my bicycle-powered dish washer?”
“It’s a better use of our materials.”
“You think it’s silly.” She crossed her arms.
“I think it’s, uh….unique.”
She gave me a look.
“It’s a great design,” I told her.
She rolled her eyes, held out her hand. “Where do I start?”
I handed her supplies. “Screw in these hinges. I’ll wire the button to the megaphone.”
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We worked in silence. Just the scrape of her screwdriver, the stretch-and-tear of electrical tape, the click of metal on metal. Slowly, almost against its own will, those crude diagrams came to life.
When we finished, Ivy stacked the papers, set them on my desk. “Maybe we can bury it tomorrow.”
“Sure. After we make sure it works.”
I tucked the contraption under my bed, and Ivy flipped through her book, asked if I wanted to hear a fun fact, and I told her I did.
According to Ivy, if all the sun’s light were directed at Earth, the oceans would dry up in seconds, earth’s crust would liquify.
I frowned. “That’s not fun.”
“It’s crazy, though.” She held the book to her chest. “That’s kinda fun, isn’t it?”
“Maybe for you.” I smiled. “Thanks for the fun fact.”
⚙⚙⚙
My chipped mug. A reused tea bag.
I sat at the kitchen table, watching the candle flame flicker, casting strange shadows around the room. The papers in front of me were blank. I’d meant to design another project, but my mind kept wandering.
Keep them safe. That’s what I promised Mom and Dad.
Late at night, at the kitchen table. I sat in the same chair I always sat in. Mom had been crying, and Dad was trying to seem calm, but the lines between his eyebrows, his clenched jaw, gave him away.
“We’re in debt,” he told me. Just me. Not Elise, even though we were twins.
“They’re putting us in the Mandatory WorkForce.”
“How long?”
“We don’t know.” My mom’s face crumbled, and I remember sucking in a breath, biting the inside of my cheek.
Dad made me promise to keep my sisters safe. He handed me his crossbow—the only weapon in the house. He showed me how to crank the handle, draw the bow.
“We’ll work off our debt. Come back home. Just keep them safe.”
The dim kitchen lights, a soft yellow. Part of me had felt almost excited to have that responsibility. They were taken a week later.
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Same kitchen, same chair, different night.
Elise pulled a chair back, sat across from me. “Can we talk?”
I pushed the blank pages away.
“I think I know how to get them back.” She set a flyer in front of me. A man in camo, arms around his parents. Bring them home. Serve the Corps.
Elise said, “It’s just four months. I can pay off the rest of their debt. I can bring them home.”
The flyer: deep fold marks. Something twisted inside of me.
My voice sounded much sharper than I intended. “Are you insane?”
“I figured you’d say that.”
“We just need information. We can scrape together some money. You don’t need to be so”—I lowered my voice— “reckless.”
“I’m not reckless.”
“You’re going against our plan.”
“You mean your plan.” She rolled her eyes. “If you can even call waiting a plan.”
Ouch. I wanted to spit back, they made me promise. Instead, I lowered my eyes and studied the table’s corroded varnish.
“And I don’t want advice! I wanted someone to talk to.” She glared at me. “It was just an idea anyway.”
I scoffed. “Your idea is messed up.”
“I was brainstorming!”
“Don’t do this.” I handed back the flyer. “Promise me you won’t do this.”
She shoved the flyer into her pocket.
The candlelight wavered.
“Fine. I promise.”
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and then Add to home screen.