“So, what’s the first step?” Gavin says with artificial interest.
Assuming he’s trying to prove some sort of point, I ignore him completely and gesture to the wooden slats. “Take that piece and put it together with the other piece with this peg-looking thingy.”
Instead of doing what I tell him to do, he just stares at me, mouth agape.
“What?”I say, enunciating every letter of the word. “God, you’re more annoying than cystic acne, the kind that has its own heartbeat.”
“Like, what am I supposed to do with that? You’re not making sense.” He throws his hands out to his sides. “It’s like you’re not even trying.”
“Put those two pieces of wood together with this thing.” I repeat myself louder and slower, pointing more intently to the items.
Despite my very clear and very concise explanation, Gavin remains dumbfounded, which, honestly, says more about his intelligence than mine. “How about this?” he says, exasperated. “Don’ttry to interpret the instructions. You’re just making yourself sound incompetent. Instead, why don’t you read them out loud, verbatim?”
“Gavin.” I stare directly into his pupils. “There are no words, just these badly drawn cartoon people. See?” I shove the instructions page in his face.
He pulls his head back, then takes the instructions sheet from me. After staring at it for a long time, he’s at a loss for words.
“Bet my interpretations don’t sound so bad now, do they?” I say with my arms folded across my chest.
“Aren’t you the one who said it’s not hard to assemble furniture and that all you need to do is…What’s the phrase you used?” He taps a finger to his lip. “Oh, that’s right. ‘Just follow the instructions.’ ”
“Ugh, you’re so annoying!” I crumple the instructions sheet and throw it at him. “If you’re so smart, then you figure out what this means.”
He catches the balled-up instructions and glares back at me. “You said it was easy, so you figure it out.” Toss.
“No,youfigure it out.” Toss.
If I’m being real, I’m not sure I can figure it out. And I’d rather sleep on the probably bloodstained floor another night before admitting that to Gavin.
With neither of us willing to budge, we leave the pile of plywood on the floor. I storm into our room and slam the door behind me. Now I understand why this furniture is so cheap—there’s only a fifty-fifty chance you’ll actually manage to assemble it into something usable.
—
“How was your meeting?” Gavin asks when Mom and Dad get home later that evening.
“Long,” Dad says.
“And dusty,” Mom says, shaking the fabric of her blouse.
“Did Mr.Ahn give you any indication of how long it would take for the judge to decide after the appeal?” I ask.
“It could be anywhere from a couple hours to a couple days,” Dad says. “Mr.Ahn thinks it may come down to our reputation.”
“That means, while we’re meeting with Mr.Ahn to prepare for the appeal the rest of this week, you’ll have to keep a low profile,” Mom says.
A low profile? That phrase does not exist in my vocabulary. “What if I come up with a pseudonym? With my full lips and my high cheekbones, I could easily be a Claudia or Shosh—”
“No.” Dad is quick to cut me off.
Gavin snorts, and I scowl at him.
“Mr.Ahn thinks we shouldn’t give false identities,” Dad continues. “They would only make us seem guilty.”
“Besides, it’s too late. Officer Hartford already knows your name after you gave it to him when he issued you the warning,” Mom adds, suddenly shifting the focus to me.
My shoulders sheepishly sag. “Again, it was an honest mistake.”
“Even so, Mr.Ahn says that we’re being painted negatively in the press. I believe he used the termunlikable.” Mom’s eyes ping-pong between me and Dad.
