Free Wake by Abria Mattina Page B

poor soulless bastard.”
    I grab her by the upper arm and start to tow her away. I drag her into the kitchen and deposit her on one of the stools facing the island. “Stay.”
    “Do you treat all women like dogs?”
    “Only the bitches.” I sit down and open my textbook. I’ve taken Mom’s snapdragon planters away from the windows for this and lined them up along the island. We’ve got three pots of soil to play with; more if we separate the plants even further. The goal is to construct a microcosm of pollution before we compare it to actual pollution in the area. We have to do the math for our hypothesis and projections before we can decide how to violate the soil and in what order. I term that process ‘plant raping’ and Willa asks if tampering with the seeds counts as child molestation.
    Elise overhears the question on her way by and stops in front of the kitchen door. “What are you talking about?” she demands shrilly.
    “Church.”
    “Jem.” She stamps her little foot.
    “Go away.” She gives Willa and I this narrow look and traipses into the kitchen to get a snack with conspicuous slowness. About halfway she gives up on giving me a dirty look and simply glares at Willa.
    “Call me if you want milkshakes,” she says, and with her current expression even the kind offer sounds like a threat. I smirk and thank her and tell her to get the hell out.
    “Sorry,” I say when she’s out of earshot. “Elise is…protective.”
    Willa nods. “She knows I’ll kill you.”

Willa: February 22 to 28
     

Saturday
     
    The Harper house has a pretty sweet setup. I guess they’re affluent, him being a doctor and her being an architect. The house shows signs of being newly built. It’s missing some of the final touches on the exterior, and the interior fixtures are still shiny with newness. I fall in love with their kitchen the minute I see it. Granite countertops, a huge fridge, an island with a separate sink, cupboard space that goes on forever, and a gas range that looks pristine. They have a dishwasher too! If I lived here I would never leave this room. I have to really focus on homework to keep from gawking at their appliances—their toaster looks high-tech enough to launch its own space program.
    Jem and I are narrowing our hypotheses when a tall woman with black hair and more pencils than hands comes down the hall toward the kitchen. Three of these pencils are sticking out of her hair, one is behind her ear and another juts out of her pocket. She yells, “Are you kids getting hungry?” up the stairs, and when she turns she jumps at the sight of me.
    “You didn’t tell me we had company,” she scolds Jem.
    “She doesn’t count. Just pretend she’s part of the chair.”
    “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Willa Kirk.” I lean over the island and hold out my hand to shake. Mrs. Harper has a writer’s bump the size of a grape.
    “Call me Ivy. Would you like a sandwich?”
    Ivy declines any help to make sandwiches for an afternoon snack, but watching her go about it, I notice that she’s sort of scatterbrained. She loses her butter knife three times and mixes up what kind of sandwich she’s making for whom, but blunders through it with a smile on her face.
    “Mom’s got a one-track mind,” Jem says. “Architecture and nothing else.”
    “Oh hush,” she scolds him fondly. She slides a sandwich to me across the island. “What are you guys working on?”
    “Soc project.”
    Ivy’s eyes go wide. “So you’re his partner. We’ve heard so much about you.”
    “Really?” I look at Jem out of the corner of my eye. He’s concentrating awfully hard on his homework, but he still looks ready to die of embarrassment.
    “You’re the one with all the soup recipes, right?”
    “That’s me.” On that note, she invites me to work magic in her fantastic kitchen. I don’t even care that I’m making cancer food for my project partner—she has Wusthof knives! And her blender isn’t missing a