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  As he said this it occurred to Parker that he was being slightly hypocritical, but he decided there was no need to mention that he had considered doing the same.

  I just don’t understand why he was being so mean to you.

  Parker sighed. He’s an idiot, okay. I’m fine and there’s nothing you can do. Then something occurred to him. Except don’t tell Dad what happened.

  Emma raised an eyebrow—a neat little trick that Parker, to his frustration, hadn’t been able to master. He’s going to find out anyway. You skipped class. And you’ve got a black eye.

  I do? asked Parker. He put his hand up to his face and felt the swelling. Well, maybe he’ll find out, but he doesn’t need to know what started it. Don’t say anything about the cafeteria, and I’ll think of something to explain the black eye. Okay?

  Emma didn’t say anything, but Parker could tell by the way her lips were pursed that she wasn’t convinced. He tried again.

  Look, Emma, don’t you think Dad has enough to worry about? It was one of those things, and I’m fine. He’s stressed with his new job, and I don’t want him to have to worry about me, too.

  Emma bit her lip. I hadn’t thought of that. . . . Okay, I won’t tell him.

  Promise?

  I promise.

  Thank you, said Parker, turning to the window.

  But if it happens again, I’m going to tell him. I don’t care what you say.

  Parker shrugged. Fine. He switched off Effie. He’d deal with that matter if, or when, the time came.

  * * * * * *

  Back at their house, Parker went straight to his room while Emma stayed downstairs watching television. By the time their father came home, two hours later than planned, Parker had taken a shower and changed into clean clothes. He felt better. Best of all, his father didn’t seem to know anything about what had happened at school that day. If he had, Parker was sure he would have brought it up the moment he’d walked through the door. The only question that his father asked was about his eye, which was now a deep mottled purple and black and which Parker explained was an injury from gym class. His dad had seemed satisfied by the answer.

  Relieved, Parker sat down to eat the lukewarm pizza their father had brought home with him. They all turned on Effie (one of its benefits was being able to eat and talk at the same time), and then, before either Parker or his father could say a word, Emma started the conversation in exactly the same way she did every night.

  What did you do today? Emma asked her dad.

  Their father looked up from his slice of pizza and smiled. You know I can’t talk about that.

  Please? Just a little clue?

  Their dad shook his head. Sorry.

  This was a new thing. In England their father had worked in scientific research for a university and had always been able to discuss what he was doing, even if neither of them understood a word of what he was saying. Back then Emma had never been interested. The moment he wasn’t allowed to discuss his job, however, Emma had wanted to know everything. Parker, though just as curious, accepted the situation. He knew this much: that his father’s work was some kind of collaboration between the governments of a number of countries and that, before accepting the job, he had been asked to sign a confidentiality agreement. Based on his previous work, Parker guessed it might have something to do with medical research, possibly cloning, but he understood that, for now anyway, his father couldn’t talk about it. Unlike Emma, he didn’t see any point in pushing the matter.

  You can’t tell us anything? Emma pleaded.

  It’s just boring government stuff. You’d be very disappointed if I told you.

  Emma grinned. Tell me and I’ll tell you if you’re right.

  Good try, kiddo. Now, why don’t you two tell me about your day, he said, turning to Parker.

  Parker tensed. I can’t. I signed a confidentiality agreement, he said with a shrug. He hoped he sounded less anxious saying this than he felt. He obviously did, as Parker’s father laughed.

  Very funny, he said. Then, to Parker’s enormous relief, he turned to Emma. And you, did you sign any confidentiality agreements today?

  Nope, said Emma. And off she went. Once Emma started talking or signing, nobody else ever got a word in edgewise. Sometimes this was annoying; today it was a relief.

  Emma told her dad about the new sign language she was learning (Parker hadn’t known that they used a different version here; apparently, even signing had an accent), and then—without a pause—about being picked to go to a swimming tournament the following Monday. Back in England, Emma had represented her county in swimming. The swimming coach had called her in that morning to tell her this was evidence enough of her abilities for her to earn a place on the school team without a trial. It was the first that Parker had heard of it—the incident with Aaron had probably distracted her, he guessed.

  As Emma chattered away, Parker pressed down twice on his wrist. By doing this when a call on Effie was active, Parker could hear what his dad and sister were thinking, but they couldn’t hear him. Two presses and they could hear him again. Keeping it pressed for two seconds hung up the call. It sounded complicated, but over the years, Parker could mute his thoughts midconversation and back again without a second thought.

  Can we get some chickens?

  Emma had moved on from telling them about her day without, Parker noted gratefully, a word about what had happened in the cafeteria or the fight that afternoon.

  Chickens?

  Yeah. Not many.

  What’s not many? Two?

  Multiply by five, said Emma.

  Ten! That’s a lot of chickens, Emma.

  Emma stuck out her bottom lip in a sulk. You said I could get an animal when we got here. You promised.

  That has been the hardest thing for Emma, thought Parker: handing her collection of injured birds and animals over to their neighbors when they moved.

  His father was obviously thinking the same thing. Okay, fine. You can get some chickens as long as you take care of them.

  Emma nodded enthusiastically.

  I mean it. I don’t have time to be taking care of one chicken, let alone ten.

  I’ll do it all. Promise.

  And where are you going to keep them? We’ll have to get some cages.

  Emma’s eyes widened in horror. No! They have to be able to roam free.

  I’m not sure that’s a good idea. They could get lost. Or eaten.

  Parker’s going to make an alarm for me, to stop other animals from getting in or out of our yard. And he said it won’t hurt them.

  Parker’s dad turned to him. Can you do that?

  Parker nodded. I think so. I just need a few bits from the hardware store.

  Okay. We’ll get them on Sunday. After we visit your mother’s . . .

  There was a pause. Parker’s dad didn’t like to say grave. And it wasn’t a grave anyway, though Parker didn’t know what to call it either.

  After we visit your mother.

  You’re not working? asked Parker and Emma at the same time.

  No. I have a very important meeting tomorrow, but after that things should get quieter.

  What’s the meeting about? asked Emma.

  Their dad shook his head. Nothing interesting. But it is important, and I have a lot to do before it. In fact, if it’s okay with the two of you, I might go in for a couple of hours later.

  What, tonight? asked Parker.

  It’s just for a bit. I’ll do as much as I can here, but there are some things I have to do in the lab. He looked up at the both of them and rubbed his forehead as if in pain. I’m so sorry. I know I haven’t been around much. I’ll make it up to you this weekend. We’ll celebrate the end of your first week at school properly. We can . . .

  Parker could see how bad his dad felt. It’s okay, Dad, he said, we understand. Anyway, we’ve been invited to my friend Michael’s house tomorrow. Can we go?

  Oh. Well, great! I’m glad you’re making friends. Parker’s fathe
r paused. Except I don’t know if I can drop you off. Can I talk to his parents?

  Parker walked over to the side table and picked up the piece of paper that Michael had given him.

  Parker and Emma watched as their father called the number and asked if he was speaking to Michael’s mother. There was a short conversation and, before Parker could ask if he could pass the phone to him to speak to Michael, his father had hung up.

  His parents are working away, but that was the housekeeper.

  Housekeeper? Parker turned to Emma, and they both shrugged at each other in surprise. Michael hadn’t said anything about a housekeeper.

  Anyway, she sounds very nice, continued his father. She said that they can send a car to pick you both up and drop you home later.

  Really? asked Parker.

  Apparently so. If there’s any problem at all, call me at the office. I’ll step outside when I can and call you on Effie to make sure you got there fine.

  Parker nodded. Effie needed a good signal to work. The building his father worked in received no signal at all.

  Emma jumped out of her seat and wrapped her arms around their father’s neck.

  I love you, Daddy.

  Parker’s dad smiled. I love you too. I’m very lucky to have you both.

  He undid Emma’s arms from around his neck and stood up.

  If you need anything in the night—anything at all—you can call the office. I’ll be back before you wake up.

  When are you going to sleep? asked Emma.

  I’ll be fine. Can I leave you two to tidy everything away and get ready for bed?

  Parker nodded, and their father gave them each a kiss on the head. He picked up his bulging briefcase.

  I’ll come say good night in a bit, he said, walking out. Before he had even left the room, Parker’s dad had turned Effie off. Parker guessed it was because his mind was already back on his work.

  * * * * * *

  That night Parker lay in his bed thinking about everything that had happened at school. No matter which way he thought about it, he couldn’t see how the situation in the cafeteria could have turned out any different. Whether today or any other day, Parker would have had to speak in front of the class at some point. His classmates would always have picked up on his accent and teased him about it.

  Parker wondered, as he often did, if it might have been different had his mother been here. It was an easy question to answer. Parker already knew that, if his mother were still here, they wouldn’t have moved. She had loved their house far too much to ever consider leaving it.

  Parker pressed down on his wrist.

  I wish you were here, Mum, he thought.

  There was no answer, of course—there never was—but Parker liked to imagine she was listening anyway. He had never told his dad or his sister that he did this. In fact, he was the only one of the three who didn’t talk about their mother all the time. Emma was always asking what their mother would have done or said in every situation, and Parker’s dad would only talk about her in the present tense. It annoyed Parker sometimes—the fact that his dad did this—but he guessed it was just his way of coping. Emma’s was to ask questions, and his was to talk to his mother via Effie. In a way, none of them had ever let her go.

  He leaned over the side of his bed and turned off his bedside lamp.

  “Good night, Mum,” he said. He pressed down on the middle of his wrist once more and fell asleep.

  CHAPTER SIX

  48:10

  At precisely eleven o’clock the next morning, a long black car with tinted windows pulled up outside Parker’s house. Both Parker and Emma stared out the window by the door as the driver, an older man in full uniform, including hat, stepped out and made his way to their front door.

  “Wow,” said Parker as he put his coat on.

  “His parents must be millionaires,” signed Emma.

  Parker nodded in agreement and picked up the bike that was resting on the wall. He wheeled it out behind Emma and turned to lock the door.

  “Are you Parker and Emma?” asked the driver.

  “Yes,” said Parker. “Hi.”

  “Hi, I’m Brendan. I’m here to take you to Michael’s house. Let me take that for you.”

  Parker thanked him as he handed his bike over. He followed the driver to the car.

  “I’ll put this in the trunk,” said Brendan, opening the passenger door. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

  Parker climbed in behind Emma and ran his hand along the sleek gray leather interior.

  “Can you believe this?” signed Parker as he slid in beside Emma and put on his seat belt.

  Emma giggled and pointed to the television screen in front of them.

  “You can turn it on if you’d like; the remote is in the pocket next to your seat.”

  Parker looked up and saw that Brendan was watching them in the rearview mirror.

  “Thanks,” said Parker, picking up the remote.

  “Right. You both have everything you need?”

  Parker nodded.

  “Good. Sit back and enjoy. We’ll be there in approximately twenty minutes.”

  With that, a wall of black glass rolled up behind the driver’s seat and the engine started up.

  * * * * * *

  It was raining when they arrived, but neither the downpour nor the gray skies did anything to lessen the impressiveness of where Michael lived. Parker and Emma, both now ignoring the television screen, peered out the window and watched as the car rolled slowly along the driveway, past tennis courts, a golf course, a swimming pool with a waterfall and slides, and acres of landscaped gardens.

  “Did he tell you it was going to be like this?” signed Emma.

  Parker shook his head. “I had no idea. He didn’t say a thing,” he signed back.

  “I wonder what his house . . .”

  Emma’s question was answered before she had a chance to finish asking it. Michael’s house—though it wasn’t a house like any Parker had ever seen—was a wide curved structure of glass and wood that rose from the ground like a snake emerging from its underground lair, and wound three quarters of the way around a lake. The movement of the rain running down the glass panels coupled with the reflection of the rippling waters of the lake made the entire structure appear as if it were moving, alive under the elements. Parker and Emma, transfixed in open-mouthed amazement, watched as Brendan drove slowly around the lake before coming to a stop under a glass canopy that curved out over the driveway. There, standing by a set of open glass doors, was Michael, waving enthusiastically.

  “Hi!” said Michael, opening the passenger door before Brendan had even turned the engine off.

  “Wow,” said Parker, climbing out of the car. “You didn’t tell me you lived in a mansion.”

  “Oh, it’s not really a mansion. But thanks,” said Michael dismissively. He smiled at Emma as she climbed out behind Parker and pressed down on her wrist, a frown on her face.

  It’s a bit much, she said via Effie.

  Parker narrowed his eyes at his sister.

  “Emma says she loves it,” he said to Michael.

  Michael looked at them both in turn. “But she didn’t sign anything.”

  It was only then that Parker realized his error. He hesitated. “I can kind of tell what she’s thinking.”

  “How?”

  Parker was beginning to realize that Michael was not somebody to let anything get past him. “I just can. It’s a deaf thing—we’re close.”

  “Oh, like twins?”

  Parker nodded and Michael shrugged.

  “Neat. Come on, let’s go inside.”

  Parker waited for Michael to walk ahead of him. He turned to Emma and gave his brow a theatrical wipe with the back of his hand.

  Close call, he said on Effie. Turn it off?

  Emma nodded and pressed down on her wrist to hang up their call.

  * * * * * *

  The inside of Michael’s house was as spectacular as—if not more s
o than—the outside. Parker was sure that Michael must have known how impressive his house was to his visitors and yet, as they made their way along the building, he played it down to such an extent that Parker started to wonder whether he was too modest to make a fuss or so accustomed to this lifestyle that he saw nothing out of the ordinary about it. He didn’t know Michael well enough yet to know which one it was.

  Parker looked up at the hexagonal panes of glass that formed the dome of the living room, hypnotized by the movement of the raindrops racing down all around them. “Why can’t I hear anything?”

  “I think they’re double-paned or something.”

  “How do they clean them?” signed Emma. Parker translated.

  “Window cleaners,” said Michael. “Obviously.”

  “Doesn’t it get hot?”

  “Not really,” said Michael. He pressed a switch on the wall, and every one of the glass panes turned from clear to opaque, enclosing the three of them in a dull gray dome.

  “Unbelievable,” said Parker slowly.

  “Not really. It’s not that big a deal—it’s actually pretty simple technology. Anyway, come on. Let’s go up to my room,” said Michael. He switched the panes back to clear and walked off before Parker or Emma had a chance to ask another question.

  * * * * * *

  Parker shouldn’t really have been surprised by Michael’s bedroom, and yet he was. For one thing, it was by far the biggest bedroom that Parker had ever seen. It was so large, in fact, that bedroom didn’t seem an adequate description of it, although it did contain a set of bunk beds built into a deep recess in one of the walls. The room was teardrop-shaped with a long wall of glass that curved around the widest section of the space. At the far end—where the teardrop ended, a spiral glass staircase led up to a mezzanine floor that looked out over where they stood.

  A friend of Parker’s parents had once mentioned over dinner (back when his mother had been alive and they’d still invited people around for dinner) that if you want to know what a person is really like, take a look at their bedroom. It was an observation that had stuck with Parker (that same day he had quietly taken down all the posters of his once-favorite cartoon astronaut), and he thought of that observation now as he looked around Michael’s room. It was immaculate. There was not so much as a pen out of place. This was in stark contrast to Parker’s own bedroom; his idea of tidying up was to push everything into a corner or, for special occasions, under the bed and into the wardrobe. Parker wondered if the room looked like this only because Michael had a housekeeper to tidy up after him, but this question was answered when Michael picked up Parker’s jacket from where Parker had thrown it on the bed and hung it in a hidden wardrobe behind the wall by the door.