Free A La Carte by Tanita S. Davis Page B

that?
    â€œSim…” I make a disgusted noise and pick up my backpack. “Would it kill you to show up and take your
own
notes?”
    â€œProbably,” Sim replies.
    â€œWish it would,” I mutter. I slap the notebook on the desk between us and go back to my sudoku.
    â€œThanks, Laine, I owe you one,” Sim says, as he always does.
    Actually, he owes me
two
, but who’s counting? What’s a little homework-sharing between friends? I glare at the computer screen, safely directing my irritation toward its blind, glassy eye. This is stupid. I know I shouldn’t just let him treat me like this. I should say something. I should just open my mouth and say,
Simeon Keller, you can’t have a party without inviting me
. Right. Like that would make me look cool and fun to hang out with and invite-able.
    Never mind.
    For once, Sim actually seems to be working…seriously. Every time he puts down his pen or turns a page, I expect for him to say something, something like, “Hey, Laine, I’m having this party.” But he doesn’t. He doesn’t say a word.
    A tangible silence crouches between us. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this quiet.
    It’s after five when Mom comes downstairs, and I think she’s startled to find that I’m not alone. Sim and I haven’t said a word to each other in over an hour.
    â€œMy goodness, this physics thing must be serious. Did you guys want any gazpacho? It’s not a hot item on the service tonight, but it’s tasty.”
    I shake my head. “Not yet.”
    Sim yawns. “Hey, Mrs. Seifert,” he says. He glances at me, flicker-quick. “I’m done with your notes, Laine. Guess I’d better get going.”
    My mother immediately sits down on the corner of her desk. “Simeon. Wait a moment, if you would. I feel I owe you an apology—about the other day.”
    I shoot her a startled glance. Oh, Lord.
Not now, Mom.
    Simeon looks blank for a split second, and then that easy smile warms up his face. He pats my mother on the arm. “Mrs. Seifert, my mother always says that I trespass on your hospitality, so…”
    Mom looks upset. “Simeon, you and Lainey have been
bosom buddies
for so long—”
    â€œMom!”
    â€œâ€”that we feel like you’re practically family, but I just feel more comfortable with—”
    â€œMrs. Seifert. Really. There’s nothing to apologize for. About. For which to apologize.”
    Sim’s grinning now, and I suddenly just
itch
to slap him and remove that smug I-just-scored-here look from his face. He thinks he can always finesse himself out of anything, that he’ll always have lackeys like me to take his notes for him and people like Mom totally fooled into believing he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread. But I know how he really is. The words tumble out before I can stop them.
    â€œYeah, Mom, Sim’s fine. He’s feeling great. He’s giving a little housewarming party at his new apartment this weekend, even.”
    Thunk.
Bull’s-eye. Sim shoots me a dirty look.
    Mom looks floored. “A new apartment? Simeon, you have your own place?”
    â€œWell, not
really
,” Sim hedges, glaring at me. “It’s just a little something I’m setting up, uh, since I’m turning eighteen pretty soon.”
    Pretty soon? Sim has another two months just like I do.
    â€œYour parents are brave souls.” Mom smiles uncertainly. “A place all your own. Wow. And you’re going to pay your own bills and keep food on the table by yourself?”
    â€œWell…” Sim stalls. “It’s just, um, halfway my own place. Just sort of a trial thing.”
    Mom nods thoughtfully. “Well, I hope you make your mom and dad proud.” I make a derisive noise as my mother continues. “So I guess congratulations are in order. Is your party a potluck, or are you just having