Page 10 of One More Chapter

I literally do not comprehend protons, neutrons, and electrons

Annnnnnd the only sport I’m good at is baseball, so gym was out

Penelope

But numbers?

Anthony

They make sense

Penelope

I get that.

Anthony

What’s it going to take for you to “get” comic books?

Maybe write a little superhero love into one of your books?

Penelope

*sighs*

I hear Clark Kent *is* pretty dreamy…

Anthony

Woman. DC????

You KNOW I’m a Marvel man

Are you trying to rile me up????

Penelope

Trust me, Anthony, you’d *know* if I was trying to rile you up…

ANTHONY ELLIS

would like to FaceTime…

five

anthony

Time flieswhen you’re having fun. Or, in my case, when you’ve buried yourself into a project so deeply that you barely come up for air. With my dad’s crew helping out as often as they can, the framework and roofing came together in less than a month. I’ve been working after hours on my own, and things are looking ahead of schedule. By the time August rolls around, I’ve barely had enough time to think about much more than building my house, and moving into my temporary place.

With the last of her rentals finally moved out, I have the all-clear to move into my mom’s old townhouse. I don’t have much to bring over—clothes, necessities, and a few knickknacks. Avery kept the furniture—and the apartment, for that matter. Luckily, the place comes fully furnished. I won’t have to buy cheap pieces, and can focus on saving a couple bucks to furnish the new place to my liking once it’s ready.

I plan to spend this first weekend of August settling into my temporary home, and then I’ll finally clock into school mode. It’s the one boundary I’ve put into place: Summers are for me. During the year, I work well before and after contract hours, coming in early to tutor and lesson plan, staying late to grade and coach baseball. I more than earn my summers off. I evendisconnect my school email from my phone until I have to use it again.

I pull into the two-car driveway of the townhome that has been in my family for as long as I have. It’s the place Mom raised me after I was born. I might not remember it, but most of my baby photos were taken here. I’m glad it’s still around. I step out of my truck, lofting my backpack with all of my move-in essentials—chargers, toothbrush, laptop, socks—over my shoulder. I loop my keyring around my index finger, catching it as I approach the attached door in the garage, and slide the key into the lock.

I frown. It doesn’t catch. The door was unlocked already.

I shrug, pushing through the door. Mom must have left it unlocked after checking out the renters. Not a big deal.