#sharing now

Jeremiah’s smile had always come easy, and it certainly did now. He knotted his fingers together in his lap and threw his attention to the conversation. “Letter said Isaiah’s been causing trouble?”

“Unfortunately, yes. He’s not taking his work seriously, making frankly inappropriate things and insisting it’s part of the assignment. I’d hoped detention would put an end to it, but so far, no luck. I was hoping his parents – or yourself, I suppose – could talk some sense into the boy.”

He nodded in what he hoped was a sagelike manner, as if this made sense to him. Of course it did! His parents were stressed lately, for reasons they hadn’t shared with the brothers just yet. Jeremiah had decided to do this one thing, as much for them as for Isaiah: he always intercepted the mail from school, acted on it where he could. Phone calls with disguised voices, forged signatures, interviews avoided with so many excuses he couldn’t remember even half of them. When he’d first started using his power, one of the go-to uses had been to get himself and Isaiah out of trouble. Just because Is didn’t talk to him anymore, didn’t mean he couldn’t keep up the habit. “I think I can talk to him for you. At least see what’s up.”

The teacher eyed him from behind thick-lensed glasses. She’d taught Jeremiah four years ago, not that she seemed to remember him. After all, he hadn’t wanted to take shop. Mostly he’d spent the lessons bothering her about how she saw with the combination of safety glasses and spectacles. Yeah, he asked the meaningful questions. “Right. I trust you have this handled, Mister Pope. Or can at least approach your family to coordinate an appropriate solution, should you fail.”

“Sure, thanks,” Jeremiah agreed, getting to his feet. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The woman showed him out of the office, to where Isaiah awaited his presence. She left, and Jeremiah was left to follow his little brother out of the school building. Near the bike rack – because they didn’t want to walk to school, thanks ever so much – Jeremiah reverted himself back to a teenager with a, “You’re making dicks out of wood, aren’t you?”

“So what if I am? You’re not my real uncle.”

Jeremiah very nearly groaned aloud. Nearly. He repressed it at the last possible moment. “You want to be the one to tell mom that Barbull wants you suspended because of creative differences?”

Isaiah snorted. “You want to be the one to tell mom that the only reason she doesn’t know that already is ‘cause her precious oldest has some weird ability to be older than he is?”

“Oh, yeah, ‘cause she’ll believe it if either of us tell her. Epitome of trust, captain dick.”

“You’re the dick, dick! What, you trying to save me from the shop teacher? She couldn’t see two feet in front of her without those glasses, I’ll be fine.”

“If you get yourself suspended – !” Jeremiah stopped, closing his eyes. “Look. Look. Mom’s been really stressed lately, with that performance review or whatever, plus grandma being grandma. Can you maybe wait til that’s over before you get into more trouble?”

Isaiah was unchaining his bike, clearly not interested in listening. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from you. Remind me who it was who saw Resident Evil without mom’s permission when they were thirteen?”

Fortunately – or unfortunately – Jeremiah knew he was getting through. The tense shoulders gave it away. “That’s not the point right now, and you know it. Isaiah. Is. Look at me. C’mon.”

It took a long beat, but the second Isaiah dropped the bike lock, he knew he’d won, at least for the moment. Isaiah’s eyes on his weren’t patient and understanding, and he immediately folded his arms in a fit of defensiveness. Jeremiah didn’t care; it was still progress.

“Is. Mom and dad have both been stressed as hell lately, you know that. If you got into trouble in school, it’d make them more stressed, and they’d take it out on you. Just trying to stop that from happening right now, okay? That’s all. I’m not trying to trick you or whatever.”

The younger was clearly still suspicious, but it seemed to fade. His shoulders slumped, at least, and his arms fell by his side. “Alright, fine. I’ll stop making dicks in class. At least until mom calms down.”