The Psychological Mystery of Thomas King

Chapter Two: The World is So Predictable... When You're Like Me

Thomas

I groaned, my head dropping to the kitchen table.

"I'm assuming you didn't get enough sleep?" My mom asked, coming down the stairs. I shook my head.

"Hopefully Ava got way more sleep than me." I said, lifting my head up.

"Did I hear my name?" My sister asked, loudly coming down the stairs.

"Nah. You probably imagined it." I said, sarcastically and almost laughed.

Oh, the irony.

But was I the only one imagining things? Now that wouldn't be fair if I was the only one. One traumatic memory was enough for me. Immediately after the thought, I heard a faint sound of a crash, the sound of metal against metal. I shook my head, getting rid of the noise that I knew was only in my head.

As usual, Ava strode into the dining room, like a model.

"Ha ha, very funny Thomas." She said, taking an apple from the fruit bowl and taking a small bite out of it. "Come on, we're gonna be late."

"I'm coming." I said, and took my bag from my chair. Did I have breakfast? Eh, it doesn't matter. I didn't have much of an appetite anyways. Ava got into the passenger seat of our station wagon and I got in the driver's seat. The song that's playing on the radio was "Sweet Child O' Mine" by Guns N' Roses. I raised the volume a little louder.

Along the way, Ava suddenly asked, over the music,

"Don't you think this whole situation is... strange?" I glanced at her, frowning in confusion.

"What do you mean by strange?" I asked, turning down the volume of the radio, so I could hear her better. There's no way she knew about the dream and the supposed ghost in the bathroom.

"I mean with everything that happened this past summer. Mom and Dad barely fought with each other and they suddenly got a divorce. Don't you think that's strange?"

"Oh. I don't know." I said, glad that she wasn't referring to what happened last night. "Maybe we just missed some signs?"

"What 'signs?'" Ava asked, making air quotes with her fingers at the word "signs." "They both seemed really happy. It didn't seem like they were fighting at all."

"I don't know, Ava." I said. "I mean we were busy with stuff. We're in high school. High school's pretty stressful. Maybe we just missed something. Besides, didn't you notice those looks that Dad would sometimes give her?"

"What looks?" My sister asked, confused.

"See? That's exactly what I mean." I said, proving my point. "Dad would sometimes give Mom these weird looks, almost like he was mad at her about something."

"I guess maybe I did miss those." She said. "Then what about the house?" Ava changed the subject. "It doesn't look like how she used to describe it."
"Hm, you're right." I said, wondering.

"Exactly." She said, "She used to tell us stories about her playing with the neighborhood kids, her strict parents-"

"Her financial problems." I added.

"Right." She said, "So if Mom wasn't shy to tell us everything about her childhood, then how come the house we're living in right now isn't painted blue with an red maple tree in the front?"

"I don't know." I said, starting to get slightly irritated. "Maybe she moved around when she was younger. Why are you even asking me these questions? It's not like I know the answer to the-" I'm cut off when a car drove a little too close to my car. I swerved the vehicle, my heart pounding. Ava yelled at the driver from her window and looked concerningly at me. My hands are shaking and I had a flashback of that devastating car accident that took place when I was five years old.