Will- 3

                                    

                                          
Adam is late to dinner. I can't comment on the fact that his hair is wet, because my hair is wet. I can't tell him he was late getting home, because I took a few detours through some parks and was also late getting home. I can't complain about the pounding rain, because I am the pouring rain. (Alright, Will, back it up.) Nonetheless, I'm perturbed by how my brother's gone from 'in puberty' to 'vow of solitude', and when he stabs his peas, he aims for the jugular. Pea juice rolls down the cheeks of the peas' mutilated bodies like tears, and my brother looks on with his head in his hand, merciless.
                          
My mother has been carrying on a conversation with my father, the kind that is so mundane that anyone can join in and no one would want to. My mom's strained smile turns on me. "How was your first test, honey? Are things going alright in Algebra?"
                          
	"It's a pre-test," I say. "They're not grading it." 
                          
	"Okay," my mom says.
                          
	"And it'll be fine," I add. I move grains of rice around the plate and into my mouth, their soft, buttery flavor melting like snowflakes.
                          
	My father extends his fork in my brother's direction. "Adam, how's Algebra 2?" 
                          
	My brother shrugs. After folding his utensils over each other, he says, already picking up his plate, "I'm on dishes."
                          
	"I can help," I add, already lifting my own plate. I half-expect Adam to reject it outright, but he just fixes me with this dull, sad stare, almost like the one he was wearing earlier when he was talking on the phone. 
                          
	"More the merrier," Adam says. We wash dishes together, beneath the torrent of water, and Adam watches his bubble-coated hands the whole time. He usually whistles while he works. He's better than you'd expect, given he's tone-deaf otherwise. Once we were walking home and he whistled at a bird, which sung back. We will never know if it was a coincidence or not, since it flew away directly after, primarily because we started yelling like idiots afterwards. Adam just smiles smugly when I mention it.
                          
	It doesn't come up tonight. 
                          
	Adam handles the pans while I dry them, and we're done within ten minutes. Our parents 
                          
have relocated to the living room, where they're bantering again, this time about Back to School Night and poker on Friday. When we finish, she catches Adam and I halfway up the stairs.
                          
	"Would you all like to watch a movie tonight?" asks my mom.
                          
	"I have homework," I say.
                          
	"Yeah, that," Adam says.
                          
	"Alright, I understand. High school's a big deal. You two must be very busy," she says, giving us both a kiss on the cheek.
                          
	"No kidding," says Adam. When we're done receiving a lethal dose of affection, I give her a hug and then bound up after my brother, who is already in our room, slouched against the bedframe, fingers flickering over the phone screen. 
                          
	"Videogames?" I ask, falling back onto my bed.
                          
	Adam is immobile. "I actually do have homework."
                          
	"I don't see you doing it," I prod.	
                          
He clicks his phone off and throws his bag onto his bed, ignoring the messy desk our parents set up for us in the corner of our room. Papers spill across the bed, and he proceeds to organize them into a neat file, stamping their bottoms against a textbook as he sizes them up, and then he puts them down, staring straight ahead at the papers. 
                          
I get out my own homework. By homework, I primarily mean classwork I didn't do in class. I would get to homework, but I don't understand what I'm supposed to be doing, which is somewhat of an impediment. After pulling up French on Google Translate, I lean over the side of the bed, towards Adam. "Are you doing okay?"