Free Antsy Does Time by Neal Shusterman Page B

me, because it makes you think that somewhere there’s this magical family where everyone gets along, and no one ever screams things they don’t mean, and there’s never a time when sharp objects should be hidden. Well, I’m sorry, but that family doesn’t exist. And if you find some neighbors that seem to be the grinning model of “function,” trust me—that’s the family that will get arrested for smuggling arms in their SUV between soccer games.
    The best you can really hope for is a family where everyone’s problems, big and small, work together. Kind of like an orchestra where every instrument is out of tune, in exactly the same way, so you don’t really notice. But when it came to the Ümlaut orchestra, nothing meshed—and the moment Mr. Ümlaut walked through the front door everything in that house clashed like cymbals.
    It started with the dinner conversation. From the moment I heard the key turning in the lock, all conversation stopped. I glanced at Gunnar, who stared into his food. I turned my eyes to Kjersten, who turned her eyes to the clock. And when I looked to Mrs. Ümlaut, she didn’t seem to be looking at anything at all.
    Mr. Ümlaut came into the kitchen without a word, noticed there was a guest at the table, but didn’t comment on it. He took out a glass and dispensed himself some water from the refrigerator door.
    â€œYou’re home,” Mrs. Ümlaut finally said, bizarrely stating the obvious.
    He took a gulp of his water, and looked at the table. “Chicken?”
    Without standing up, Mrs. Ümlaut reached over and pulled out his chair. He sat down.
    I took a moment to size the man up. He was tall, with thinning blond hair, small glasses, and a wide jaw that Gunnar was starting to develop. There was a weariness about him that had nothing to do with sleep, and he had a poker face that was completely unreadable, just like Gunnar. To me that was the most uncomfortable thing of all. See, I come from a family where we wear our hearts on our sleeves. If you’re feeling something, chances are someone else knows about it even before you do. But this man’s heart was somewhere in a safe behind the family portrait.
    â€œI don’t believe we’ve met,” he said to me.
    His cool gray eyes made me feel like I was on a game show and didn’t know the answer.
    â€œAntsy, this is my dad,” Gunnar said.
    â€œPleased to meet you,” I said, then silence fell again as everyone ate.
    I don’t do well with silence, so I usually take it upon myself to end it. My brother says I’m like the oxygen mask that drops when a plane loses air pressure. “People stop talking and Antsy falls from the ceiling to fill the room with hot air until normality returns.”
    But what if normality is never going to return, and you know it?
    I opened my mouth, and words began to spill out like I was channeling the village idiot. “Working today? Yeah, my dad works on Saturdays, too. We got a restaurant, so he’s always working when people are eating, and people are always eating—of course that’s different from being a lawyer, though—isn’t that what Gunnar said you do? Wow, it must have been hard work becoming a lawyer—a lot of school, just like becoming a doctor, right? Except, of course, you don’t gotta practice on dead bodies.”
    I was feeling light-headed, and then realized I had said all that without breathing. I figured maybe I should have put my own oxygen mask on first before helping others, like you’re supposed to.
    Gunnar didn’t say anything—he just stared at me like you might stare at a car wreck you pass on the side of the road. It was Kjersten who spoke.
    â€œHe wasn’t at work,” she said, almost under her breath.
    â€œMore chicken?” Mrs. Ümlaut asked me.
    â€œYes, please, thank you.” But even as I tried to plug up my mouth up