Strange Squared

Chapter One

My parents are weird. I've known that for a long time and have come to accept it and almost embrace it. Sure, every kid thinks their parents are weird, especially at thirteen. Jack's dad listens to the strangest music and dances like he has no self-respect. Tom's parents decorated their entire kitchen with cow decorations. Cows. Cow print towels, cows on their mugs, a cow oil painting. Even their dish scrubber is a cow. Not denying that that is weird. It totally is. And it kind of creeps me out.

My parents are just weird in a different way. A way that nobody else can even hold a candle to.

My parents are some kind of secret government agents. I'm sure of it even though they've never told me. How can I be so sure? A few reasons. One, I asked them once. Completely came out and said, "You're both secret agents, aren't you?" one night during dinner. Neither of them batted an eye. Mom's fork didn't even pause half a second on the way to her mouth. Of course they denied it completely and gave me the typical line. Mom works for the World Bank and Dad is in politics. Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Their reactions were too normal. No shock, no surprise. I was pretty sure that wouldn't be the response any other parent would have if their kid just asked a question like that out of the blue. So, I used some of the stuff we learned in science class. The whole, create a hypothesis, test the theory stuff. I asked two of my best friends to ask their parents the same thing. It was like I'd figured. Their parents all stared in shock or laughed like the question was ridiculous. They all asked where their kid came up with that crazy idea. Mine? Mine just discounted it as unimportant.

Second, they have some really weird work hours. When I was little it bothered me that at any point in the evening one of them could simply need to leave. No warning and no real explanation. Usually their departure was preceded by a phone call. When I was younger I accepted the lies that went along with the sudden disappearances. Now, while I don't question them, I don't believe them either. It's one of the things I've learned from my parents, I guess. I know when to keep my mouth shut. We're not a really big sharing family.

Then there's the whole safety situation. Most kids when they're little learn what to do in a fire and where to go. They know the safest room in the house to hide in when there's a tornado. When it comes to emergency numbers their own and 911 are the important ones. Me? I learned what to do if my parents didn't come home one day. I learned who to call if I felt like I was in trouble and something didn't feel right. Not the "I'm lost and don't know where to go" kind of trouble. Not the "some kid is picking on me" kind either. They were talking about the serious variety of trouble. The life threatening kind. Totally normal, right? Yeah.

Oh yeah, and the lying. Not their lying. Mine. I'm a really good liar. Probably not something I should brag about, but whatever. I know it's true, and it's come in handy on more than one occasion. Of course no matter how good of a liar I am, I can't get past them. Most parents are good at picking out when their kid is lying. Mine are more than good. They're freakishly, unerringly, ingrained lie detector test good. At least when it comes to me. I haven't had much of an opportunity to see how well they do with other people. Well, except some of my friends and even I can usually tell when they aren't telling the full truth.

Lastly, and most importantly, I'm their son and I live with them. I count myself as pretty observant. I know how to read both of my parents, at least to a certain extent. Everything they do is really tiny, but I picked it out a few years ago. It's like they can silently communicate with the subtlest facial movements. Even surprise, anger, nervousness are communicated in minute changes when they want to hide something from me. Unfortunately that's pretty often, so I've gotten real good at picking them out. Maybe that makes it fortunately. I don't know. I've been working on cracking the code they sometimes use when they're talking to each other about something I assume is work related and I'm in the room. It's not like a stupid little kid's code that everyone knows is a code. Like with everything else, my parents are more subtle than that. They simply leave out a lot and assume the other can fill in the blanks. Sometimes they're busy discussing something that makes sense, but I'm almost positive they're talking about something else entirely. There can't be that many questions about whether a package will arrive on time, yet they managed to have a really long conversation about it anyway.

They think I don't know. They think they've managed to hide their weirdness and convinced me that they definitely don't work for the government in some way. I let them believe it. Like I said, I know when it's worth it to bring something up and when it's better to just keep it to myself.

Lately things have been a little strange. Or stranger, I guess.

Mom and dad are really preoccupied tonight. Typically dinner in our house is full of conversation. Tonight most of that conversation is nonverbal between them. Dad tries to carry on the normal stuff with me, but it sounds forced. Maybe that's just because mom isn't joining in as often. She's quieter than usual. Of course that's not all that strange in itself. We've had a lot of dinners where mom's quiet. Dad less often, but he gets in those moods sometimes too. My eyes flicker back and forth between them like I will somehow be able to read the odd tension there. I know what it feels like when they're fighting, and this just doesn't seem like that kind of tension. Something else is going on. I don't ask though since they wouldn't tell me even if I did. Instead I sit and watch, carefully, so they won't realize that's what I'm doing. Mom's only picking at her food, and when Dad wanders past her into the kitchen he rests a hand on her shoulder briefly. It's not much, but it's enough to confirm my suspicions.

My mind is reeling the rest of the night as I try to figure out what could be causing this change. It's a good thing I finished my homework hours ago. I never would be able to concentrate on it now. They're pretty distracted, so I'm curious how much attention they are paying to me and the time. If I don't do anything to indicate that it's my bedtime and don't draw too much attention to myself, I may be able to say down here longer. It totally doesn't work. Even distracted, Mom is way too on top of things. She kisses the top of my head like always and sends me off to bed. On the way to the stairs I pass my dad's office. He's on the phone, his face creased in concern. Before I can stand there watching he spots me and presses the phone to his chest, silencing the person on the other end and pausing the conversation.

"Night, Mick."

"Night, Dad," I call back and trudge up the steps.

I can hear the deep tones of his voice again, muffled and quiet, before I get up three steps. When I reach the top of the stairs I get ready for bed and close the door to my room. My parents can send me upstairs to bed, but they can't actually make me sleep. Even if they could I'm not sure I'd be able to anyway. My head is still spinning. I lie there, arms tucked behind my head, and think. Hours pass, and I'm still not really tired. No, that's not right. It's more like I'm tired, but I can't fall asleep. Just as I break down and decide to try, really try, to relax I hear the quiet creak of weight on the stairs. My parents are going to bed. Slowly I slip out of my own bed and edge toward the door. I'm supposed to be asleep, but if I'm quiet they won't find out that I'm not and I could learn something.

The creaking on the steps stops, but I don't hear footsteps. They paused on the landing.

"Arthur…"

My mother's voice, quiet and pained. I rarely hear it sound like that. Concerned. Weak. That's not my mom.

"It's going to be fine, Joan. Come on."

"What did he say?"

Now there are footsteps, and as they head toward their room I lose their voices. Slowly, very slowly, I turn my doorknob and open the door a crack. I press against the open space and strain my ears as hard as I can. It doesn't help very much. I still can't hear the words, but at least I can make out the tone of their voices. They both sound worried, almost anxious. I swallow hard and pull my door shut again.

I was right. Something is definitely going on.