Numbers. Fucking numbers. I stare down at the mock exam paper, the equations, fractions, and percentages all blending and blurring into one. I hate numbers. I can hear Mum behind us stirring a pot of soup and Dad in the garden mowing the lawn. I look up at the clock. Five fifteen. I have another forty-five minutes to get this shit done before I can escape. Glancing across to Jake, I find his head down, his pen darting across the paper—as if his brain is working too fast for his hand to keep up. Probably is, the brainy bastard. I slip down my chair and kick my leg out, catching him on the shin. He stops writing. Looks up at me. His green eyes, a perfect match to mine, stare at me tiredly. I grin, harder when I spy his killer smile, and take my pen to my mouth. Slip it between my teeth. Start thrusting it back and forth. His lips purse as he tries in vain to hold back his laughter. He fails, snorting over his math paper. Of course, Mum’s quick to whirl around, abandoning her soup, to find out what the disturbance is. And, of course, she’s quick to reach her conclusion, despite it being Jake falling apart in his chair. “Jesse.” She clips me around the ear, and I flinch but smile wider. “Stop distracting your brother.” “I had a tickle in my throat,” Jake says, fast to defend me as always.

“It’s fine, Mum.” “Sure you did.” She gives him a fond smile and goes back to her soup. “You’ve forty minutes left.” I glance at Jake’s paper. He’s on the last page. Kicking him under the table again, I get his attention and then point to my own paper. The first page. Then I shrug. He shakes his head in despair, peeking across the kitchen cautiously. Mum’s in the pantry, out of sight and earshot. Jake knows I could do this shit if I put my mind to it. I just can’t be bothered; I have better things to do. And I want to get on and do them, for fuck’s sake. Jake turns his paper over, back to the first page, and I lean across to see. “What are you doing?” Amalie whispers, appearing beside me. “Cheating?” “No. Using my initiative.” I flip my little sister a wink and send her on her way after a quick peck on the cheek. Thirty minutes later, I have all the answers I need. “Done,” I say, slapping my pen down on the table. Mum looks over her shoulder, her face suspicious. “Done,” Jake mimics, refusing to look at her. I jump up from my chair, keen to escape. “I’m going.” I’m out of the kitchen before Mum can protest, grabbing my jacket and shrugging it on as I jog down the hallway to the front door. “Jesse,” she yells after me. “We have guests arriving.” “Which is exactly why I’m going out,” I mumble to myself, not slowing my pace. I swing the door open. And come face to face with our guests.