Beautiful Dreamer

Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Three hours later, Aubrey and I sat at my kitchen table amidst an array of flashcards, textbooks, and containers of Chinese takeout. She was helping me study—or at least, trying to—and I was scarfing down a bowl of flat noodles. However, there was considerably more eating going on than studying, and I was interrupting Aubrey between definitions and mouthfuls to explain more about my newly discovered sister.

“So all this time, you never knew about her?” She regarded me with a look of intrigue, shuffling through the flashcards for a new term.

I shook my head. “Nope, nothing. Which is weird, because you'd think I'd have heard something from someone.”

Nodding slowly, Aubrey made an affirmative sound. “Ethnocentrism,” she said, reading off another lined card.

“Something about....central ethnicity?” I guessed. She sighed.

“'The idea that one's own cultural, national, or religious group is superior to or more deserving than others.'”

“Close enough,” I declared, pointing my fork at her.

With a withering glare, Aubrey put down the stack of cards on the table in front of her and reached for her glass of water. I continued eating guiltily, already steeling myself for the lecture that I knew was about to come.

“Parker, have you studied at all?” she demanded. “You've only gotten two right out of twenty cards, and your midterm is tomorrow. How do you expect to pass this if you don't even know the vocabulary terms?”

I shrugged, letting a smirk gloss onto my lips. “With sheer brilliance and my incredible supply of raw talent?” Instead of the laugh I was hoping for, Aubrey fixed me with a dry stare. I let a long breath escape my lips. “Well, I've kind of had a lot on my mind, you know?”

I forked another layer of noodles, driving little holes into the food. It was true; I had had a lot on my mind. Maybe nightmares and creepy men and dead relatives weren't enough to validate failing my exam, but at least it gave me something resembling an excuse.

“At least try to do well, okay?” Aubrey said. “I'm only doing this because I genuinely want you to pass your classes.”

“I am trying,” I muttered. “I'm trying to finish my dinner.”

Aubrey rolled her eyes, releasing a reluctant snort and pushing her dark bangs out of her eyes. She stood up from the table, grabbing her empty plate and heading for the sink.

“On a scale of one to ten,” she said casually, “how badly will your mom kill me for feeding you greasy takeout?”

I thought about it for a moment. “Eleven, probably.”

“Then let's not tell her about it, yeah?” She leaned against the counter and began to rinse the evidence off her plate.

“Weeell,” I dragged out, biting my lip in mock consideration. “I suppose I could keep my mouth shut...if I get a study break. Which, might I add, is well deserved.”

Aubrey turned to me, hands on her hips and eyebrows raised. “You conniving little blackmailer,” she gasped, masking a chuckle. “Fine, thirty minutes. But that's it, and no telling.”

“Mhm, 'course,” I mumbled through a full mouth, “mum's the word.”

Thirty minutes, of course, quickly turned into forty-five, which turned into an hour, which eventually turned into me and Aubrey chilling in my room, talking about Rosemary.