teapot flowers

Part 4

Olivia Walters, sitting in detention

Early the next morning, I could feel myself tossing back and forth. It was a dream, I knew it was a dream and I didn't need to worry, but even though rationally I knew it was all fake, I still couldn't shake the fear. I tried to wake myself up but I couldn't. I tried to call out but my voice was silent. Finally, the alarm on my phone went off, which was just what I needed to wake myself. I bolted up, my eyes wide open, my heart racing, and my body drenched in sweat. All I could do was hold myself and rock back and forth, trying not to cry. I can't cry, for if my eyes are red or swollen Peter will know something is up. I need to be tough for him

Although Peter is only a kid, he is as observant as a hound dog. If he gets a hint of something he will hunt it down, not stopping until he knows it all, and I only just barely avoided his scent with the train incident. I took a quick shower to cool down and then went downstairs to start my routine.

Mornings are always the same at the beach house, nothing changing much from day-to-day. I can't complain though since this everyday life is like a dream come true compared to the apartment-jumping we did with our parents. I get up and make breakfast for Peter and me; it's his favorite meal, so I make a lot to make sure he is eating enough. Then I do some chores, water my plants, and do some studying before school. You see, in Brazil, most schools have their times divided into three groups: morning, afternoon, and night. We have school from 12 to 5, which means we have mornings and evenings free.

Peter and I go to the same school, Rio International. It's pretty fancy for Rio and expensive too but I guess my parents don't really care too much about prices; honestly, they probably google-searched which school had a dual language program and clicked the closest one to our beach house. I guess when you are as successful as they are you have to make sacrifices.

I was elbow-deep in flour and batter when Peter called out "irma!" He came running around the corner saying "olha olha, look here!," and presented an announcement he found on his phone, "Riichiro Inagaki is coming to the Rio science fiction convention!," he said barely able to contain his excitement. "And who is that one again?," I asked, kneading my dough aggressively. "Irmmma~ come on, you know he is one of the best SciFi manga writers ever! I am sure I have told you about him before."

"I am sure, but you have also told me about all the others too. And frankly, cricket, they are starting to blend together." I said, giving the final touches on the bread. Peter went into the ever-familiar pout position, draping his body on the counter. "Que chato, you are the worst."

He must have got a whiff of the bread because he suddenly perked up. "Ah, is that sweet bread? It smells amazing!"

"Yes, it's for breakfast tomorrow," I answered with a smile. "Awww, you really are the best sister in the world, you know that?" Peter began raising his head in his hands. "Ok, brown noser, what do you want?" I questioned, dubious of his praise. "Nothing really, I just wanted to know if you wanna go with me Saturday. Mr. Inagaki has never come to a science fiction convention in Brazil before so this is a once in a lifetime kinda thing."

"Saturday, as in tomorrow? What's the catch?"

"Irma, who do you think I am?" He said with a nervous laugh."I just thought we could spend some quality bonding time."

I just gave him the look and waited until he would break. "Ok, ok, geez, is that some psycho superpower?" Peter said, giving in. See? It works every time. Olivia sixty-eight, Peter zero...