Page 61 of The Other Brother

I’m aware Mum’s hovering in the hallway. She coughs, and Cody finally looks away from me, shuffling his feet.

He turns away and jogs down the front steps, raising a hand in farewell without looking back.

I walk away from the door with this unsatisfied feeling. I get it a lot with Cody. Especially when we’re saying good-bye.

Mum raises her eyebrows when I join her in the kitchen. “Are you sure you shouldn’t be paying him?”

“Nah, Mum, it’s fine.”

“So, he’s just tutoring you out of the goodness of his heart?”

“Yeah, he’s a good person.”

Good.

That word doesn’t come even close to describing Cody. But now isn’t the time to contemplate the other words I should use in its place.

Chapter16

The next few weeks fly by in a blur of school, tutoring sessions, and Cody.

Cody’s busy getting ready for his concert, working so hard, practicing nearly every spare moment he gets. He’s stressed about screwing up. On my urging he sends me audio files of some pieces he’s preparing, and I send him back crazy interpretations of the music to amuse him. Like, I decide Mozart’s piano sonatas were composed to be a treatment for constipation back in the day.

Wednesdays quickly become my favorite day. We spend most of the time studying—in fact; I got a B+ on my first quiz. I don’t know who was more amazed, Mrs. Steinberg or me. But we also veer off on these random chats.

I tell Cody stuff I’ve never told anyone, not even Harvey and Oz. Things like how I’m sure Mum only had me so Dad could have his own biological child and how sometimes she gives out the vibe that we both owe her, and that’s part of the reason I think Dad caves to her in arguments even when I know he agrees with me. And Cody talks to me too. About the pressure he feels to live up to his parents' and teachers’ expectations. About how Appleton sometimes feels like this enclave of white privilege that churns out clones and he never feels like he fits, so he’s always putting on an act.

Sunday is his big concert. I check the time all afternoon, imagining Cody getting ready to perform. I wonder if he has some kind of pre-performance ritual that he does, like top sports people before a big game.

I don’t want to distract him, but I want him to know I’m thinking about him.

Eventually around eightish, I decide to message him.

good luck break a leg and all that

Even if he doesn’t see it before he performs, he’ll know I was thinking about him. For some reason, that’s important to me.

Within a minute, my phone beeps with his response.

not worried about my limbs currently because think I just puked up my stomach lining

I stare at his words.

Shit. What can I do to help?

I know nothing about how to calm nerves down before a performance. The last time I was on stage was the year five play. And I was a tree, which meant the spotlight wasn’t exactly focused on me.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I call him.

“Hey,” he answers.

“Did you really just pray to the porcelain gods?” I ask.

“Yep, there was some serious worshipping going on.” Cody’s trying to make his voice light, but I can hear the vein of tension running through it.

“Is that normal for you before a performance?”

“Normally I feel a bit queasy, but I’ve never thrown up before. Now I’m shit scared I’ll throw up on stage. Give the audience a different kind of performance than the one they’re expecting.”