PETER MOON’S SEVENTEENTH birthday. He thought his family would be sick of bringing it up by now, but like every awful year they burst into his bedroom singing the same song at the same time, but in different keys. It was even worse than the horrible iPhone alarm that woke him up in a panic every morning.
At least Mr. and Mrs. Moon didn’t have their hands wrapped around a camera like they had when he was younger. For years Peter had refused to be in their silly YouTube videos, and they eventually gave up on recording him. It was only a matter of time before they’d give up on him next.
And then there was Grace.
Oh, Grace.
His little sister had always loved singing happy birthday to Peter when they were younger. Surprising him was one of her favorite hobbies. She’d draw Peter surprise paintings, bake him surprise cookies to show off her baking skills—although they both knew it was their mom doing the work, and would sometimes offer him a surprise compliment, but Grace didn’t have the enthusiasm to surprise him anymore. Today she leaned against the wall of his bedroom, singing happy birthday so quietly he couldn’t hear her over Mr. and Mrs. Moon’s booming voices. Grace’s eyes trailed along a cream-white envelope in her hands.
“Happy birthday to you!”
Peter waited until the vocals faded completely before sliding his feet out from under the sheets. “You guys are up early.” He reached for his phone, but his hand met nothing but the cold wood of his nightstand.
“I know you don’t get enough sleep.”
Peter caught sight of the blood-red phone case in Mrs. Moon’s spidery fingers. Great.
“And on your birthday,” his mom continued, “you really should wake up well-rested.”
“I get exactly seven and a half hours a night.” Peter gripped the sides of his mattress, eyes on the shaggy carpet. He hated how that was a lie. “What’s the time?”
“Hm?”
“Mom.” He raised his chin to face her. “Please.”
Silence.
“Awesome. I’m late.” Peter held his palm out, waiting for Mrs. Moon to drop his phone onto it, which she did. He gritted his teeth, bracing himself before checking his screen for the time. It was past 8:30, which meant school had already begun. “Are you kidding me? My attendance was perfect this year.”
“It’s a nice day. We were thinking you and Grace could take off school for a family trip to the beach.” Mr. Moon smiled.
“Really, Dad? The beach, of all places?” Peter frowned at Grace, who instantly crossed her arms, encouraging him to go along with their silly plan. It was easy for Grace to take a day off from school as a twelve-year-old in sixth grade, but high school was much less forgiving. “I can’t miss class.”
“That’s exactly our point. You work so hard, and you deserve a break.” Mr. Moon tried to set a hand on Peter’s shoulder, but Peter jumped out of bed, dodging his sympathy.
“That’s not your decision to make.” He headed for his dresser and opened a drawer of perfectly-folded shirts. Gosh, what should I wear? Normally he’d wake up at 5:00 to get ready and study before school, but now it was already 8:36. He’d have to accelerate his entire schedule now, and he hated rushing. He wouldn’t be able to do his morning stretches, look over his homework assignments for a third pass, or even play his favorite song on the guitar. It took Peter an average of fourteen minutes to bike to class, so even if he left now he’d be at least twenty minutes late. If only his family would honor his schedule for once.
Mr. Moon retreated to the door. “Your favorite breakfast is waiting for you.”
I don’t have time to overthink this. Peter grabbed a scarlet t-shirt and slammed the drawer shut. “Pancakes, right.”
He waited for the receding footsteps of his parents to disappear before scanning the jeans in his second drawer.
“Is this your life now?”
Grace was still standing against the wall. She could never mind her own business. Always asked him questions and tried to teach him morals as though she could possibly understand life more than he could.
“I don’t know.” Peter grabbed a pair of blue jeans and threw the random outfit onto his bed. “Is it your life to find out?”
Grace held an envelope in the air, locked between her middle and pointer finger. “It’s from that girl.”
“How wonderful. Another letter from dear Isabella.” Peter approached Grace and snatched the envelope from her hand. “When is she gonna stop this?”
“She’s trying to be nice.” Grace squinted. “I think.”
“She’s only doing it because her all-knowing parents tell her it’s the right thing to do.” Peter frowned at the return address. Ravensburg. Even the sight of the town’s name in writing got on his nerves. Those mega-rich families in Ravensburg always thought of everyone in Brookwood as a charity case.
“Sure, keep thinking that.” Grace slowly backed out of the room. “And happy birthday by the way.” She paused to close the door in front of her, and her face vanished in a swipe.
Peter tossed the letter into a metal bin standing at the side of his desk. Inside were stacks of unopened envelopes from the same girl. For nearly two years she’d been writing to him and receiving no replies back. When would she get the point? And who even mailed letters nowadays anyway?
I don’t know why I bother keeping them.
Peter shook his head to restructure his mind. He needed to focus on getting to math class as fast as possible, not stressing over another stupid letter. After changing into his red shirt and jeans he fumbled to his desk and opened the top drawer to reveal an assortment of supplement bottles. Normally he’d take only a few at a time, but today he pooled a capsule from each bottle into his hand and chucked them into his mouth at once, chugging his tall glass of water to send them down his throat in a steady stream.
His textbooks formed a straight tower on his desk, ready for his next study session. Peter scooped the school supplies into his backpack with a lazy arm and rushed downstairs. He hadn’t missed a morning studying session in months, but now he’d broken his streak because his own mom had turned off his alarm.
Mr. and Mrs. Moon sat in the dining room and watched Peter emerge from the end of the spiral staircase. He made a turn for the entryway, his sneakers squeaking against the marble floor.
“Wait!” Mrs. Moon raised her voice, hands landing against the glass dining table louder than she’d meant to, judging by the slight whine that slipped between her lips before saying, “It’s your birthday.”
Peter stopped, eyes running along the abstract wooden carvings in the front door. He gripped the straps of his backpack tighter as Mrs. Moon spoke again.
“At least have breakfast with us. Look—Grace even made this for you. Maybe you can drink it instead of that gross health tea you always have.”
“It’s wheatgrass juice, Mom.” Peter turned around to see Mrs. Moon holding a mug of mystery fluid with a giant dollop of whipped cream on top. If Grace had made the drink, it had to be hot chocolate. When they were both in elementary school, they’d sit in front of the fireplace together binge-watching episodes of Avatar: The Last Airbender by the dozen, topping their drinks with whipped cream whenever the last blob melted.
Peter approached the stretched dining table, a majority of the cushioned white seats resting untouched for years. He was embarrassed to admit that the concept of drinking hot chocolate was enticing—but it was.
“Mom made it,” Grace corrected with a glare. “Not me.”
Mrs. Moon set the mug onto the table and sat. “But it was your idea.” She’d say whatever it took to bring Peter and Grace together, and it made them both eager to crawl into a dark cave and die.
Grace crossed her arms as Mr. Moon pushed the hot chocolate across the table—closer to the side that Peter stood by now. Peter took the mug, but the moment he brought the drink to his face, the smell wasn’t as pleasant as he remembered it being. The sickly sweet aura of sugar killed off the spark he’d originally felt, and nausea struck him. He lowered the drink from his lips.
The stack of pancakes on the table told him the true story. He knew what this was really about. His parents weren’t being nice to him because today was his birthday. They were using his birthday as an opportunity to push him to change. Their real mission was to bring back the old Peter Moon, and he wished that for once they’d accept him for who he was. But if they couldn’t grant him acceptance even as a birthday present, when would they ever?
“Do you want some bacon too?” Mr. Moon asked.
Peter noticed himself slouching and straightened his posture. “You know I’m pescatarian.”
“And why?” Grace hadn’t touched the plate of pancakes in front of her. She drew lines in the syrup with the prongs of her fork. “Why are you avoiding meat all of a sudden?”
“It’s not all of a sudden. It’s been almost two years.” Peter shook his head, regretful for approaching the dining table in the first place. He set the hot chocolate onto the transparent table with a satisfying click and took a step back. “I gotta go.”
“I’ll drive you.” Mrs. Moon stood from the table a second time. “It’ll be faster.”
“Not worth the trouble.”
“Your school’s on the way to work.”
“I already sit in a classroom for seven hours a day.” Peter slipped his white sneakers on and leaned over to tie them, sparing an extra moment to ensure that each lace hung at an equal length. “At least biking can make up for some of it.”
At exactly 8:42, Peter stepped onto the tiled terrace and shut the door behind him. He checked the time on his phone as he approached the glimmering red bike leaned against the exterior wall. It was one of his personal goals to have perfect attendance this year—he wrote it in his planner and everything—but now he’d messed it up. And on his birthday too.
Yay seventeen!