I lift my hand.
"Thank you for the hospitality, Merit." Luck walks toward the table. He introduces himself to Utah, Honor, and then Sagan. When he gets to Moby, he kneels down in front of him. "You must be my nephew."
"I'm a nephew?" Moby asks. "Merit said I'm a bastard."
"Almost a bastard," I correct.
"Luck," my father says, interrupting the introductions. "Can we please sort this out first before you make yourself at home?"
Luck stands up and puts his hands on his hips. "Yeah, sure. But . . . I just woke up from a four-hour nap. Kind of already made myself at home." He laughs, but he's the only one laughing. I have to hand it to him. Luck is cheerful, if anything.
He follows my father to Quarter Three. I'm sad they're moving the conversation out of Quarter One. I was enjoying it.
"Sounds like your day was productive," Honor says to me. "At least you weren't wasting away your entire life by sleeping all day."
I can put up with a lot, but Honor's snarky attitude about my decision to stop going to school is my boiling point. I toss my roll back on my plate. "Tell me, Honor. What have I missed this week that's going to miraculously prep me for life beyond high school?"
"An opportunity to graduate, maybe?"
I roll my eyes. "I can get a GED before Christmas."
"Yes, because that's a reasonable alternative to a scholarship," she says.
"You want to talk to me about reasonable?" I challenge. "Does your new boyfriend know how reasonable you've been when it comes to your past relationships?"
Honor's jaw clenches. I've hit a nerve. Good. Maybe she'll back off.
"That's not fair, Merit," Utah says.
"Whatever," I mutter. I tear off a piece of my bread and pop it in my mouth. "Of course you're going to defend her. She's your favorite."
Utah leans back in his chair. "I don't have a favorite sister. I'm defending her because you always get too personal with your attacks."
I nod. "Oh, right. I forgot. We like to sweep things under the rug and pretend Honor doesn't need therapy."
Honor glares at me from across the table. "And you wonder why you have no friends."
"Actually, I don't wonder that at all."
The raised voices coming from Quarter Three interrupt our sibling bonding. It's too muffled to make out what they're saying, but it's clear that Luck and Victoria aren't having the homecoming Luck was hoping for.
"Did anyone else notice how strange his accent was?" Sagan asks.
"Thank you!" I say. "It's so weird! It's like his brain can't decide if he grew up in Australia or London."
"He sounded Irish to me," Utah says.
Sagan shakes his head. "Nah, that was just the kilt playing tricks on you."
I laugh and then glance down at Moby, who is still seated next to me. He's looking down, so I can't see his face. "Moby?"
He doesn't look up, but he sniffles.
"Hey. Why are you crying?"
Moby sniffles some more and then says, "Everyone is fighting."
Ugh. Nothing can make me feel worse than when Moby is upset.
"It's okay," I say. "Sometimes adults fight. It doesn't mean anything."
He wipes his eyes on his shirtsleeve. "Then why do they do it?"
I wish I had an answer for him. "I don't know," I say with a sigh. "Come on, let's wash up and I'll tuck you in." Moby has always been a great sleeper. He's been sleeping in his own bedroom in Quarter Two since he was two. His bedtime has always been seven, but I heard Victoria tell him a few days ago that she would change it to eight in a few weeks.
The rest of us don't really have a bedtime. My father likes us to be at the house on school nights by ten, but once we're in our rooms, he never checks on us. I'm rarely ever in bed before midnight.
I take Moby to the bathroom and help him brush his teeth and wash his hands. His bedroom is right across the hall from where Luck is staying, which, by the sound of the shouting continuing in the other room, might be my father's office again within the hour. Victoria puts Moby to bed most nights, but occasionally he'll ask for Honor, Utah, or me to do it. I enjoy tucking him in at night, but I only do it when Moby specifically asks for me. I don't like to do Victoria any unnecessary favors.
Moby's room is whale-themed, which I hope changes before he starts having sleepovers. It's bad enough he was named after a murderous whale, but for Victoria to actually go so far as to extend the theme to his bedroom is just asking for Moby to get bullied.
Moby likes the whales, though. He also loves that he was named after a whale. Moby-Dick is Victoria's favorite book. I also don't trust people who claim for a classic to be their favorite novel. I think they're lying just to sound educated, or they simply haven't read another book beyond high school English requirements.
My favorite book is God-Shaped Hole. It's not a classic. It's better than a classic. It's a modern-day tragedy. I've never read Moby-Dick but I can almost bet it doesn't leave you feeling like you have less skin than before you opened the book.
I tuck Moby into his bed, pulling the whale-themed blanket up to his chin. "Will you read me a story?" he asks.
It's not entirely inconvenient so I nod and grab a book from his bookshelf. I choose the thinnest one, but Moby protests. "No, read 'The King's Perspective.' "
That's a new one. I glance back at the bookshelf and scan through them but I don't see one with that title. "It's not here. How about Goodnight Moon?"
"That's for babies," he says. He picks up a stack of pages from the table beside his bed. "Read this one. Sagan wrote it." He shoves it toward me.
I take the pages from him. They're stapled together in the top left corner. In the center of the front page it reads: The King's Perspective
By Sagan Kattan
I sit down on the edge of the bed and run my fingers over the top of the page. "Sagan wrote you a story?"
Moby nods. "It's a true story. And it rhymes!"
"When did he give you this?"
Moby shrugs. "Like seven years ago."
I laugh. Moby is the smartest four-year-old I know, but he cannot, for the life of him, grasp the concept of time.
I move to the spot next to Moby and sit against the headboard. I normally don't make myself this comfortable when it comes to tucking him in, but I might be more excited about story time than Moby is tonight. I feel like I'm in on one of Honor's boyfriend's secrets and it makes me way more excited than it should. I pull my knees up and rest the pages on my thighs. "The King's Perspective," I say aloud. I glance down at Moby. "Do you even know what perspective means?"
He nods and rolls over onto his side so that he's facing me. "Sagan said it's kind of like putting someone else's eyeballs inside your own head."
"Pretty close," I say. "I'm impressed."
I am impressed. Not so much with Moby, but with Sagan for taking the time to write him a story. And for obviously explaining its meaning.
Moby sits up and flips the page for me. "Read it!"
On the next page is a picture of a bird. It looks like a cardinal.
"Is the story about a bird?" I ask Moby.
"Just read it!" he says.
I flip the page again. "Fine. No spoilers."
The King's Perspective
There's a story of a King
And this story is very true
Some say it's just a rumor
Some say it's just a ruse
They called the man King Flip
But that wasn't really his name
His name was Filipileetus
But that's too hard to say
King Flip had a penchant
For really expensive things
He liked anything shiny
And anything with bling
He had the nicest castle
Out of all the lands
But that didn't stop him
From wanting one even more grand
So he bought a town called Perspective
And made the people build
him a castle
At the top of their highest mountain
He didn't care if it was a hassle
When the work was finally done
He decided to go inspect it
But when he arrived in the town of Perspective
It was exactly as he'd left it
He couldn't find a castle
It wasn't on the mountain
It wasn't on the beach
It wasn't on the mainland
He immediately grew angry
And sought his just revenge
On all those who had fooled him
On the town, his army did descend
When the people were all dead
A red cardinal then appeared
"King Flip, what have you done?
You killed good people, I do fear."
King Flip tried to explain
That the town deserved to die
For his castle was never built
Or he would see it with his own eyes
The bird said, "But king, you merely assumed.
You didn't even try
Look from a different perspective.
Don't just look from your own two eyes."
The bird then led him over to where
The castle should surely be
He then moved aside a boulder
And King Flip fell to his knees
For inside the mountain was the castle
The most magnificent one ever built
King Flip couldn't believe his eyes
He quickly became wrecked with guilt
He had killed so many people
People he should have protected
Simply because he couldn't see
The castle from their perspective
"Hide their bodies!" King Flip yelled.
"Hide every last one!
Put them inside the mountain.
And then close those doors for good!"
The king's army hid the bodies
And King Flip fled the land
He went back to his old castle
And never spoke of Perspective again
Some say this story isn't true
Some say the town never existed
But look at any map and you'll see
There is no longer a town called Perspective.
I flip back to the first page of the poem, a little in shock by what I just read. This is a children's poem? This is just as morbid, if not more morbid than the art he creates. And the fact that Moby now believes it's a true story!
"You know this is fiction, right?" I look down at Moby but his eyes are closed. I didn't even notice he had fallen asleep while I was reading. I place the story back on his nightstand. I turn off the light before I leave the room and head straight to Quarter One. Sagan is in the kitchen helping Honor wash the dishes. "What is wrong with you?"
They both look up at me, but I'm staring at him.
"Is that an open-ended question?" he asks.
"You slaughtered an entire town of innocent people!"
He nods as registration marks his expression. "Oh, you read to Moby."
"That's disturbing! It's his favorite story now."
"What are you talking about?" Honor asks me.
I flip a hand in her morbid boyfriend's direction. "He wrote a poem for Moby, but it's the worst children's story I've ever read."
"It's not that bad," he says in defense. "It has a good message."
"Does it?" I ask, flabbergasted. "Because the message I got was that a materialistic ruler wasn't happy with the peasants he hired to build his castle, so he slaughtered them all, hid their bodies in a mountain, and went on with his happy life."
Honor makes a face to show how disturbed she is. I make it a point never to make that expression. Seeing it on her lets me know how unappealing it would be on me.
"You completely missed the message, then," he says. "It's a poem about perspective."
"What are we talking about?" Utah asks as he walks into the kitchen.
"The story I wrote for Moby."
Utah laughs as he grabs a soda from the refrigerator. "I loved that story," he says, right before he takes a sip. He wipes his mouth. "I can't listen to this all night," he says, referring to the arguing still coming from Quarter Three. "Want to go swimming?"
"We're in," Honor says, referring to Sagan and herself. "Anything to get out of this house."
They all look at me. No one verbally invites me, but with the way they're all looking at me, I assume this is their way of asking if I'd like to come along.
"I'm good," I say, turning down their nonverbal invite. I've never gone swimming at the hotel with Honor and Utah before. It's gotten to where they don't even invite me, but since I'm standing right in front of them they probably feel pressured. When I turn them down, Honor almost looks relieved.
"Suit yourself," she says, tossing the dish towel on the counter.
Sagan is still looking at me, but with a touch of curiosity in his expression. "You sure you don't want to come?" he asks.
The fact that he looks like he'd appreciate my company makes me want to change my mind. With Honor and Utah, it's obvious they prefer to hang out without me. They don't find my presence an added bonus. To them, my presence is an inconvenience. But the way he's staring at me, it seems he might actually value my presence.
It confuses me. It makes me want to go swimming with my siblings for the first time since they started going the day Utah got his license.
The bedroom door to Quarter Three opens and Luck appears. He walks into the kitchen with his hands shoved in his pockets. My father and Victoria are close behind. My father clears his throat as he addresses all of us.
"Luck will be staying with us for a while. Victoria and I would appreciate it if you would all make him feel welcome."
It's odd, because even though it seems Luck won this argument, his demeanor says otherwise.
"Welcome," Utah says to him. "Feel like going swimming?"
"You have a pool?" Luck asks.
Utah shakes his head. "No, but there's a hotel in town with an indoor heated pool and Honor has connections."
"Nice," Luck says. "Let me grab some shorts." He begins to walk out of the kitchen, but turns to me. "You're coming, too, right?" Luck says this as if it's a plea not to leave him stranded with the rest of my siblings.
I am the only one he's had any interaction with beyond an introduction. I nod. "Yeah, I'll come."
Sagan is just about to round the corner when he hears me accept Luck's invite. He looks over his shoulder at me with a moment of pause, but then continues walking.
"Where's Moby?" Victoria asks.
"I put him to bed already." I let that be the end of our conversation as I head toward my room.
Earlier today I was regretting running into Luck at the store, but now it seems I might finally have a friend in this house. I never go swimming with Utah and Honor because they never seem to want me to, but I'm afraid if I don't go tonight, Luck will bond with the three of them and I'll be odd man out again.
I grab a one-piece and an oversized T-shirt and head back into the hallway. Sagan is walking out of his room and pauses when he sees me. He opens his mouth, but before he says whatever he's about to say, Honor opens her door. His mouth clamps shut.
Now I'll be wondering what he was about to say for the rest of the evening.
They follow Utah and Luck outside. I stop by the bathroom and grab a few towels. Before I reach the front door, I look up at the statue of Cheesus Christ.
I wonder if God answers prayers before they're asked of Him? Is that why Luck is here? Is he the distraction from Sagan that I prayed for earlier?
"Are you responsible for His sacrilegious outfit?"
My father's voice jolts me from my thoughts. He's standing a few feet away, staring at the statue.
"Nope," I lie. "It must have been an immaculate conception of wardrobe."
I go to close the front door and I hear my father's muffled voice
from the other side. "If the Cowboys lose, you're grounded!"
The Cowboys chances of losing are good. The chances of my father actually following through with a threat are not.
Chapter Six
One of the most utilized vehicles in our driveway is the Ford Windstar. It holds seven people, but at the rate our household is growing this month, we'll need an upgrade soon. I was the last one to the van but Honor's boyfriend sat in the back and left one of the middle bucket seats open for me. Luck is in the other one. Honor is in the front passenger seat and Utah is driving.
We live in the middle of nowhere, in a town too small to be significant enough for a hotel with a pool. It's twelve miles to the nearest store and even farther to the hotel we're heading for. This will be at least a fifteen-mile drive. But in a rural area like this, it'll only take thirteen minutes to get there.
"So . . ." Utah says. "You're Victoria's brother?"
"Half brother," he specifies.
I chuckle under my breath because he seems to want to claim Victoria as much as we do.
"Where are you from?"
"Everywhere," Luck says. "Victoria and I have the same father, different mothers. She lived with her mom and I lived with our father and my mother. We moved around a lot until my parents divorced."
"Sorry to hear that," Honor says.
"It's fine. Happens to everyone," he says, matter-of-fact.
No one follows that comment up with a question.
"You didn't tell me you had an identical twin, Merit," Luck says, directing his attention at me.
"You talked the whole time we were in the car," I respond, looking away from him and out the window. "Wasn't much room to fit in my whole life story."
"Not true, because your life story was precisely what I was trying to get out of you," he says with a laugh.
"And you didn't get very far, did you?"
"Far enough to know all about the guy you have a crush on," he says.
My head snaps in his direction. I raise an eyebrow in warning, letting him know he went too far with that comment.
"Wait," Honor says, turning around in her seat. She looks at me. "You have a crush on someone?"
I roll my eyes and look out the window again. "No."
"Who is it?" Honor says, directing her question at Luck.
I scratch at my jeans nervously, hoping he doesn't open his mouth. I don't know him at all. He might get a kick out of embarrassing me.
"I can't remember his name," Luck says. "Ask Merit."
Honor turns back around in her seat. "Merit doesn't tell me things like that." Her voice is accusatory.
I glance at Luck and he's staring at me. "You two have a weird dynamic for identical twins."
"No we don't," I disagree. "There's a false stigma attached to twins."