Page 63

“What?”

The equations toppled into a heap as Bren scanned his homework. He’d made it to ten, then skipped up to thirteen, fifteen, all the way up to twenty-three.

“Fuck!” The word stretched out as he thudded his head against the table. He groaned and lifted his head enough to bring his mug to his lips, only to find it heartlessly empty.

The dying animal in his throat was definitely on its last legs.

“Here,” Arlo said, sliding his notebook across the table. “I’m on eighteen. Just maybe double-check my work so you’re not copying garbage.”

Bren groaned into the dining room table then forced himself upright with his pencil in hand. After two months under Nat’s exasperated tutelage, he was able to tell that at least two of Arlo’s equations had run into trouble along the way, even if he’d got the answer right.

“You’re good at a lot of things, Arlo, but maths isn’t one of them.”

“Bren! My math skills?” A.J. cried as he whirled around with his hand on his heart. “How could you?”

The trace of a smile flickered across Bren’s lips as he copied out the lines that didn’t need fixing. By the time the lad sat down, he’d worked his way up to question eighteen and took the fresh mug with a sigh of thanks.

“Enjoying your first Hell Week?”

Bren had initially waved Arlo off when he’d mentioned Hell Week before the start of midterms—a lifetime under the shadow of the Irish Certs made anything less than that laughable. With midterms over last Friday, they were already five rehearsals deep by Tuesday, the week had earned its name.

“Ask me if I make it out the other side.”

He ignored the fact that his grades would be the final piece of evidence Mam would consider before giving him the go ahead to apply for an extension on his six-month visa. He liked to think he’d done his best, but between the musical and waking up with anxiety sweats twice a night, some of what he’d crammed into his brain had gotten lost in the shuffle.

Arlo fussed with his mug as Bren gave him the least exhausted smile he could. “I’m sorry. I mean,” he let out a breath and threw on a smile that went all the way to his eyes, “thank you for doing the musical with me.”

Bren gave Arlo’s shoulder a push. “What else would I be doin’?”

“Studying?” Arlo offered.

Bren groaned and let his head thud to the table. “Have we got time for a break before rehearsal?”

Arlo flipped open his phone and grumbled. “More like time for a couple more questions so there’s less to do when we get back.”

The table was comfortable enough. Maybe he’d leave his head there while his body waited around for the five minutes he was on stage.

“I amn’t doin’ maths after midnight.” He scooped their binders. “I'll finish up after warmups while I watch the Arlo show. Then you can copy off mine. If you ask nice, like.” He shoved the binders into his bookbag and gave a nod. “Might be able to get a start on that essay for English, too.”

Arlo coughed into his mug and set it down with his chin dripping.

“You okay there?”

Arlo nodded. “It’s just—” He wiped the honey-coloured droplets with the sleeve of his jumper, eyes wide like he’d heard a dirty joke for the first time. “You’re a nerd.”

“What?”

“Well, first, you’re going to musical practice.”

“Yeah, because you’re—”

“And you’re gonna sit with the teachers and do homework that’s not even due yet?”

He took a swipe, but Arlo hopped back, looking more smug than common decency permitted.

“You’re on thin ice, lad.”

“Good thing I’m Canadian,” Arlo said. “A Canadian with a nerdy Irish boyfriend.”