a while. Probably not this summer. Which means . . .” Ware’s mom straightened. “Don’t worry, Ware, I’ve got your summer all planned out.” Ware saw her brighten with the energizing pleasure schedules always brought her. “No, Mom, please,” he tried. Schedules made him feel as if he were being sucked into a pit of tar. “I’ll drop you at the community center on my way to work. You’ll take the three forty-five bus home. You’ll bring lunch, because we’re not paying for the junk they serve there. Now on weekends . . .” The light seemed to dim over his head. Apparently the city wasn’t content with ruining weekdays—they had weekend Rec, too. Weekend Wrecked, more like. His mother was just explaining dinners when he managed a gurgle from the tar pit. “No!” “Excuse me? No, what?” “Rec. I want to stay home. Vashon is around until August, and Mikayla is—” “Ware. You’ll go. Now, we’ll both stop home for dinner most nights in between shifts, but—” “I’m old enough to—” “You’re going to Rec. Now, sunscreen before you 18
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