Free The System #2 by Shelbi Wescott Page B

about Joey that pigeonholed him as the type to capitalize on other people’s death for profit. Perhaps that was part of his cunning; it was easy to trust his honest face, his genuine laugh, his sheepish smile. Combined with his bumbling monologues that displayed questionable intelligence, Joey was likeable enough.
    Maybe under different circumstances, Ethan and Joey would be pals. But with the pain in his leg escalating, it was difficult to focus. Ethan just wanted Joey to leave.
    “Spencer—” Joey mumbled and then his eyes shifted to Ethan; he blubbered out a small laugh, his hands still in his front pockets, he shrugged—which Ethan understood as some sort of apologetic action, designed to endear himself. “Hey,” Joey said to Ethan, derailing his own conversation by officially acknowledging Ethan’s presence. Then he shifted his attention back to Ainsley. “Spencer wants to meet with us when you have a second. Your mom wanted me to make sure you were there for it. Something about…” he looked at Ethan again—then looked away, “a plan? In case—”
    Ainsley turned toward Ethan and muttered a barely audible apology for Joey’s interruption, but Ethan mustered his energy to wave his hand dismissively. “Don’t mind me,” he said with a twinge of annoyance, and turned his head away from them.
    Ainsley motioned for Joey to move back out into the hallway. Even though she shut the door, he could still hear their hushed and hurried conversation—Joey’s voice rising and falling, with Ainsley replying in quick, short staccato bursts. After a moment he heard steps tromping away and then Ainsley slipped back inside his room.
    She sighed and looked at him—assessing the damage done. “Sorry. That was…”
    “No, I definitely get it,” Ethan replied. “One little surgery and I don’t get to be included in house meetings.” He closed his eyes; her silence was the answer he needed, but when he rolled his head over to look at her, Ainsley was just standing there—her expression blank and unrevealing.
    “Think what you want,” she said after a moment, “but it’s not like that. We just want you well. When you’re well, attend as many meetings as you want.”
    Ethan didn’t have the energy or the interest to push the issue further.
    Without warning, his door burst open again and Teddy darted up to the side of Ethan’s bed, Darla following on his heels.  
    “Hey there, kiddo,” Darla said to Ethan as she scooped Teddy up and walked over to Ethan’s side. She crouched down, her rambunctious five-year-old on her knee, and held out her hand. Ethan grabbed it and gave it a squeeze. “The doc’s on her way up. I know you need to rest and relax without entertaining a whole crowd, but…”
    “It’s like I’m a stranger in my own house,” he said to her.
    Darla smiled a reply. “I guess it’s not really your house anymore.”
    “Don’t remind me.”
    Teddy slipped away to a corner of Ethan’s room that housed a used collection of Star Wars figures. Ethan’s love for Luke Skywalker started when he was in late elementary school. His father introduced him to the otherworldly tales. While he had outgrown playing with the action figures and racing around his house with his plastic light saber, he had never outgrown the way the stories made him feel—the themes carried him year after year. There were clear battle lines between good and evil and the corruption of power; Ethan liked knowing who to root for.  
    “Did you ask to play with those things, Teddy?” Darla chastised in her mom-voice without taking her eyes off of Ethan.
    Teddy kept playing with the figures, bending a miniature light saber around inside Obi Wan Kenobi’s hand.
    “Who’s this?” Teddy asked and held the guy up for Ethan to see.
    Ethan smiled. “I’ll tell you all about those, little man. Later. Okay?”
    Teddy, satisfied, spun back to the toys, ignoring his mother’s request for permission.
    “So,” Darla continued.