Al, Charlie’s monster of a cat. Since Charlie babied him to the moon and back, Al preferred being called “Albert” but, sour history aside, Virgil would’ve felt weird calling something so small by a name that belonged to an old man. (No offense, Mr. Einstein.)

Last year, when he and Charlie were making the communicator for the cat, Charlie brought him over to Virgil’s house one afternoon and Virgil caught the little beast trying to get at Amy’s hamster. He swiped at him briefly to scare him away, but he never could’ve predicted the cat remembered that. The first thing Al said to him when the communicator worked was, “Don’t like.”

Oh, the good old days. When the sentences were much shorter.

Al leapt from the hood to the passenger’s side window with a light clack of claws. Perched like a gargoyle, tail flicking with purpose, he lowered his face inside the car. He meowed, and the light on his translator turned green after it processed the sound.

“You late this morning,” the communicator crackled.

Virgil pinched the bridge of his nose. Great. Sounded like Charlie upgraded the programming so Al could say you. He gave the cat an exasperated look. “Hello to you too, evil Furby.”

Al’s head tilted slightly. “Shirt wrinkled.”

Virgil looked down. His shirt was wrinkled. “Okay, that’s not fair. You don’t even wear—never mind. Where’s your owner?”

“Coming.” Another meow, followed by a continuation of the outfit inspection. “You . . . look mediocre.”

The cat’s voice box distorted the sarcasm just enough to make it worse.

“That’s what we’re doing with our latest upgrade?” Virgil asked. “Attacking the guy that made that talking possible for you? What are you even doing out here?”

“Looking at weather.”

“Go do that from a sunbeam like a normal cat.”

Just then, the front door opened, and Charlie bounded out, backpack bouncing, hair slightly damp from the world's fastest shower. He paused when he saw Al on the window-sill.

“Albert!” he called. “Come back inside!”

Al gave Virgil one last look, tail swaying in what felt like a passive-aggressive eff you, and meowed. “Have bad day.”

Virgil frowned; he wasn’t sure if he heard correctly or if the communicator was acting up. To be fair, he wouldn’t be surprised if the cat actually meant that. Al jumped off the car, sauntering away with another tail flick that felt like the equivalent of a mic-drop.

“See you when I get home, Albert!” Charlie waved then slid into the passenger seat, breathing hard. “Sorry. He figured out how to open the basement door again. I swear he’s smarter than most of the students at school.”

“Well, your highly intelligent and emotionally manipulative cat called me mediocre before I’ve had a chance to wake up — speaking of which,” Virgil said as he pulled away from the curb, “the new update gives him bigger words too?”

“Yeah, beta testing’s going great!” Charlie said brightly. “The translator still can’t distinguish when Albert tries to say I, but he can say—”

“You, I heard.”

“It’s been useful having a companion to talk about my latest invention with.”

Virgil mentally braced himself. Charlie was about to start a whole spiel, there was no way of getting around it.

“This isn’t about sauce again, is it?”

“Cocktail sauce. And no, it’s not about that. It’s about — Well, I’ll wait until tomorrow before I tell you. I’ve been working on the calculations all summer. I had to simulate paradox loops using a mirror system and route the math through Summerton’s old cloud backup — don’t ask — but today I’ll find out if it works by using one of the Science Club’s computers. The formula’s clean. It’s just a matter of testing.”

Virgil had no idea what he was saying. “So while I was adding music to my new iPod, you were . . . what?” He had tried to think of the most insane invention from a movie. Using an example from one of Charlie’s favorite movies felt appropriate. “Building the DeLorean in your backyard?”

“You could say that,” Charlie said with an amused grin. “But, ah! Stop it! I’m not telling you more right now!”

“Hey, that’s fine by me.”

They talked school schedules instead. Charlie apparently had two study hall periods, courtesy of Principal Tolkan. He absolutely loved how the cat communicator brought good PR to the school what with all the articles and dedicated news segments. He figured if he gave Charlie free reign to use the Science Club’s equipment and he came up with something else, he’d be able to get more funding for the school. All Virgil could think was that he could’ve been spared the judgment from that despicable cat that morning if he’d known he didn’t need to pick Charlie up.

“Oh! It looks like we’re both in Home Ec for fourth,” Charlie mentioned casually.

Virgil wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing yet. On one hand, Charlie’s inventions occasionally exploded (burst into flames, same thing). On the other . . . he might be good at creative recipes? He tried to remain optimistic, even though optimism hadn’t been working out well so far today.

When it came to Virgil’s schedule, his only gripe was having health before lunch and PE during A-days.  It was concerning. Rumor had it that it was common to throw up after watching a birthing video during the “babies” section of the course. He worried that on those days, he’d probably end up fainting in PE from not having anything in his stomach.

As Virgil pulled into the parking lot, he wondered if he should care about that in his last year of high school. Should he just throw in the towel and say “screw it,” starting right then and there? Sporting a wrinkled shirt on his first day of school would be a good way to start going out with a bang, right?

. . . Nah, he couldn’t do it. He could feel Charlie frown at him as he started to unbutton the wrinkled shirt he’d layered over his long-sleeve.

“What? Your cat made me feel self-conscious.” Virgil tossed the button up in his back-seat. “Ready to go?”

“Yes, I can’t wait to get into the lab.”

Charlie was prattling off his to-do list for when he reached it, or something like that. Virgil wasn’t sure. He spotted Derek’s truck and was paying attention to the students around them, making sure he wouldn’t run into him or Stephanie on the way in. As they approached the main entrance, a familiar engine broke his concentration. Zeke Thompson was bringing his motorcycle up on the sidewalk as opposed to the designated motorcycle spots.

Virgil was sure he was breaking some kind of rule, but as always, he wasn’t gonna start mouthing off. Zeke was the tallest person in school, towering over the teachers even. Further setting him apart was this darkness that made Virgil uneasy. Hair, clothes — heck, even his expressions. Always scowling, glaring, or frowning like anger was his default setting. 

So, Virgil felt absolute horror when Charlie decided to ignore all that and scold the guy. “Hey! You can’t do that—!”

Virgil slapped a hand over his mouth faster than Charlie could add E=MC-squared. He wanted a chance to have a life after high school, thank you very much.

“That’s a great bike.” He gestured with his other hand. “Lots of shiny, chrome, geary parts.”

Charlie had the gall to hmmph! against his hand in the middle of his barter for their lives. “You know, I was thinking about getting a bike myself, I really like the idea of just, speeding down a highway on a death trap — not that your gorgeous specimen of a machine is a death trap! I’m sure, with my luck, I’d end up accidentally choosing a death trap, you know—?”

Zeke had finally took his helmet off, shaking his hair from eyes that were so piercing, Virgil instantly lost his voice. So much for “bartering.” The look he gave them was both a warning and a dare to try to make him move. He didn’t even need to say anything. Virgil frantically shoved Charlie to the side because there was no way in the greater Salt Lake County he was going to try to get near him. As soon as they were far enough away, he smacked Charlie’s shoulder.

“Do you have a death wish?! That guy could fold you in half with his bare hands, Charlie! Your cat already gave me a hard time this morning, please try not to get me killed.”

Charlie slapped his hands away. Pretty ungrateful, if anyone asked. He did just get them out of the first pickle of the year. But knowing Charlie, more would come. 

“Fine.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you at lunch.”

According to my research, you had to have a very specific cable to be able to connect your iPod to your car radio. So I imagine that here, Virgil doesn't quite have that yet. I dunno. That's all I got for this one.