Page 21 of The Beta Test

“Braden!” I call out as I answer the call. “It’s about time! I love and miss you so much!”

Shuffling and distant laughing answers me. I wait a moment.

“Brae?”

More shuffling, like the phone is sliding against fabric. Despite the heat, I turn down the A/C to try to hear better.

“—maybe Granada. I’ve heard good things.” That sounds like a girl’s voice.

“Why can’t we go to Seville?” Someone asks, sounding masculine, but definitely not Braden.

“Because Tricia is usually right.” That was definitely Braden’s voice.

Tricia.

The air whooshes from my chest in an anguished squeak. My fingers begin to ache from how tightly I’m holding the phone. I want Braden to talk to me and tell me that he loves and misses me just as much as I love and miss him. Is that asking too much? Instead, I overheard… whatever that was. Why is Tricia with him and why is he defending her?

“Ugh, you two are so gross,” a girl replies. “Let’s go get something to eat and decide this later.”

'You two?' Someone who knows them both said 'you two' like Braden and Tricia are a package deal. My stomach turns.

More scratching noises, then the call drops.

Braden butt-dialed me.

Granada? Seville? Those are cities in Spain. My brain scrambles to make this make sense. Why is Braden talking about traveling to Spain with Tricia? He's supposed to be at MIT, buried in coursework. Since when does a first-semester freshman have time for European travel plans?

My phone buzzes before I can spiral any further—a reminder that Hunter's school bus stops outside our house in five minutes. Crap! There's no way I can make it home in time, even if I drive double the speed limit, which means the bus isn't going to drop him off. They'll take him back to the school and call my mother, which will set off a chain of events that will further complicate my life.

With a heavy sigh, I throw my car into drive and turn toward home, passing yards already littered with fake cobwebs and jack-o-lanterns, praying the bus driver is late for once.

The bus is not late. I know because Mom is currently lecturing me through my phone while I sit on the side of the road in my car—with an empty gas tank. No, I’m not joking. The gas light has been on for two days, and I've ignored it because I've been too busy. Dad always kept this car topped off—I remember him saying only irresponsible people let the tank hit empty. Guess I qualify now.

“Avery James, what has gotten into you lately? I know it’s not always fair how I have to depend on you to take care of your brother. I know that. But I can’t walk away from a shift in the ER every time there’s a problem.”

“I know, Mom. I’m sorry.”

A part of me wants to defend myself so badly, but the image of my dad on Instagram pops into my mind. My mom has a lot on her plate too, and some of it I can definitely relate to. My dad and Braden apparently use the same playbook, taking off to distant lands and canoodling with unknown females.

“Why aren’t you at home?”

I freeze. If I tell her about being irresponsible enough to get stranded with an empty tank, she will get even more stressed and might hire a babysitter for Hunter AND me. Even though my parents don’t pay me a lot for watching him, I depend on that income. Losing my mother’s trust would be a monumental setback. I’ve been saving up with the intention of flying out to visit Braden for spring break, which is now very much under reconsideration. Even still, I don’t want to stress out my mom or give her a reason to cut off my only current income.

“Um, I spent a little extra time on an art project today.”

Technically true, though that time was spent trying to shove it into my car.

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

I can hear the sounds in the background get louder on her end of the call. She likely opened the door of whatever room she was briefly hiding in to see if anyone needed Dr. James.

“Mmmm.” I reply, noncommittally.

“Av, I need to go. I talked to the school and they know you’re coming to pick up Hunter. Text me when you’re home. Love you.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

A glance up and down the road orients me as I slip my phone in my pocket and consider my options. The nearest gas station is probably a mile or two away, which means it will take me at least a half hour to get to the school, after walking down and back with a gas canister. That’s way too long, but what can I do? I have no other choices.