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“Can I come?”
“No.”
James blinks up at me—his face a puzzle of genuine confusion.
From an outside perspective, one good look at his face would make you wonder if he has heard me at all. Sometimes, it makes me wonder if the younger boy suddenly went deaf the moment he heard something he didn’t like. Though, the more I take him in, the more I realize this isn’t the case.
It wasn’t that 11-year old didn’t hear me; it was almost like my initial 'no' was something of a negotiable matter.
That somehow he could wiggle his way into annoying me for the whole of the day. Which seemed to be a common trait in this family.
Already, I feel the bubbles of impatience burst every blood cell in my body. My mind attempts to work countermeasures to refrain myself from saying anything too cruel for a child so small. Ella most likely wouldn't appreciate me pitching my half-brother halfway across the world because he tended to ask too many questions with that same look of pure, semi-innocent, curiosity hammering into his young features.
It was going to be a long day.
“Please,” I hear the 11-year-old say, hands clasped tightly together. “I swear I’ll be super quiet. You won’t even know I’m there!”
I breathe in another sigh. “Now that would be the first real miracle of the New Republic.”
At this, he grins. Grins.
I study him, and can’t help but conclude that there had to be something wrong with him if he thought my sarcasm were words of encouragement. Times like these make me wonder if he had been dropped on the head as a baby. There is no way someone in this lifetime could be so sickeningly optimistic. It was simply impossible. And yet, the impossibility stands stubbornly before me with a pleading look that makes him look like a wet dog.
I try not to roll my eyes as I turn around, stepping forward on the cold, plated ground in hopes of cutting free from this headache of a conversation. But a smaller set of feet seemed to follow suit, the echo of each step mirroring my own. James seemed to have the audacity—or the stupidity—to still keep following. The little one with a jacket far too big, and dirty blonde hair sticking out in three different directions was following along like his life depended on it.
In place of what was supposed to be an exasperating, 11-year-old brother was a menace that seemed to superglue itself to my shadow.
I stop. Turn around. Lower my voice. “James. Today is—“
“Dangerous?” He says so brightly that it’s blinding. “I like dangerous.”
This time, I actually do roll my eyes.
“No,” I correct, a click in my jaw. “Today is boring.”
“Boring?”
“Yes.”
“That’s fine,” he smiles, the act overcrowding his smaller features. “I like boring.”
I stare at him for second too long, and can’t help but wonder—I haven’t the faintest idea how Kent can deal with the stubbornness of this child. It’s almost inhuman how he does not waver as quickly as he should. Most children would have given up by now. They would have tired of the lack of response and reaction. I do not understand how he has not become restless from following me around and getting nothing done. How is it that he has not run off to do whatever a boy his size would do?
Then, a thought crashes into me, hurling me into a new kind of despair: I suppose James is not like most children.
He, unfortunately, will not waver.
It is painfully not in his limited vocabulary. And the fire in his blue eyes only seems to solidify this fact.
Where was Ella when I needed her?
Though, I suppose if Ella were here, she would probably encourage me to take James along. To get to know this part of my life that had been crudely taken from me by my father.
Our father.
I sigh. “Fine.”
If possible, James smiles harder. His entire face lights up, and he almost looks like he is about to hug me before I take a careful step back. This, however, doesn’t faze him. He only seems to further lighten up, his familiar blue eyes sparkling with excitement.
Each turn of his childlike emotion hits me like a stun gun.
“Alrighty,” James says, grinning from ear to ear. “Where are we heading? Is it somewhere cool? Oh, I hope it’s cool. I would love—“
I place a hand in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. “You can come with me. But you have to stay behind me.”
“Okay,” he slowly nods, noting each of my words.
“And you don’t speak unless spoken to.”
James makes a motion at his lips, pretending to zip them shut for dramatic effect.
“You don’t touch anything either. You also don’t—“
“Breathe?” he cuts in, crossing his arms with a ridiculous smirk.
“Yes,” I frown. “Preferably not.”
James snorts. “Okay, Mr. Edgelord.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me? Do you even know what the word means?”
James shrugs, bounces off his heel a little. “Uh, yeah. I heard Kenji say that to you a few times.”
Kishimoto. Of course. Why am I not surprised?
I make a private, efficient mental note: keep Kenji as far away from James as humanly possible if I want to put any sense into my half-brother. I can’t imagine any good coming from those two spending too much time together. The thought of it almost sends a chill down my spine.
James is still staring at me, his eyes boring into my very soul to pry as many answers out of me. I don’t need my power to read what James is feeling. The bulk of it is written all over his face—as if splattered in permanent marker for the world to see.
“So…?” James trails off, giving me a look. “Where are we heading?”
I exhale. Sharp. “Fine. Since you want to know so badly, I will tell you. I was heading down to depart on a helicopter.”
James’ eyes pop wide open. Cartoonishly so. “Wait—really? Are we actually going on a helicopter? Like… flying? Up in the air?”
“Yes,” I say, tone flat. “I was going to head on and take the helicopter to survey outposts and abandoned sites. See what of the rubble left by the rest of the Reestablishment can be restored.”
“That. Is. So. AWESOME!“
How can someone far too small for his age be so loud? The noise of him could rival Kishimoto.
“I mean, all up in the air? Like super high, right? Looking down on everything? That sounds so amazingly awesomely cool!”
This is the billonth time this child has said "cool." I find myself making another mental note to throw a thesaurus and accompanying dictionary at his head if it means shaking sense into him.
“None of what just came out of your mouth was grammatically correct,” I say, my voice a little clipped. “And,” I add, turning away from the boy once more, motioning for him to follow, “None of it is fun. It’s tedious. Hours of staring at rubble from the air and making notes.”
“But we’re flying,” James insists with a tune, bouncing a little in his steps as he tries to follow. “We’re gonna fly over a bunch of ruins. Like actual explorers. How cool.”
“You said that already,” I say, turning a corner. James follows quickly behind, catching his breath in the process. Surprisingly, he’s managed to keep my pace. Only treading a little behind.
We push past a set of doors before we’re greeted by the cold kiss of air from another expansive room. A few more steps again, and we're almost there.
“So…do I get to look out the window and everything?”
I try not to scoff at the ridiculous question. Of course, he could look out the window. Where else was he to look?
“That would be the only qualified thing you would be able to do.”
James laughs, undeterred. “Best. Day. Ever.”
I take a final look at him, his presence radiating with pure joy. The sight of it strikes me harder than I expect—so hard I nearly falter, my heel catching, balance foolishly slipping for a mere moment.
A whole day is awaiting.
A whole day to be spent with my little brother.
It’s a truth so unfamiliar I hardly know what to do with it.
A few moments pass, and the two of us are greeted by a pair of mechanical doors. I press my hand against one of the biometric scanners, and James gazes at it with a look of awe. In that very moment, the metallic doors hiss open, greeting us with harsh, cold air.
I briefly turn my head toward James, taking in his reaction as he looks toward the launch pad. I raise an eyebrow at his curious expression before fully turning my head away, my feet clicking against the hard concrete of the outside world. I breathe in a sigh. My chest a little heavier than I would like to admit. James comes up beside me, and without looking, I know he is still smiling.
“Holy crap!” James exclaims, tilting his head skyward and pointing a finger in the air. “Wow—“
“Language,” I reply, my posture stiff, my tone flat.
“Sorry,” he giggles, not sounding remotely apologetic as his eyes widen at the helicopter drawing closer.
I look up to see the gray sky split with an even grayer machine descending toward our way. The blades churn into the polluted air with a violent kind of storm, wind whipping against us until James uses both forearms to shield his face against the harsh pressure.
Then, in the moment of its landing, without a second to beat, an all too eager and far too fearless James bolts toward it. In a flash, before he makes his moronic retreat, I catch him by the collar in a swift motion. I yank him back before he could get himself hurt, and the boy stumbles as a result. He startles with a dramatic “oof,” as he glances up toward me. He looks at me with a laughable protest lined within small features.
“Give it a second,” I say coolly, releasing him from my grip.
James wobbles for a fraction of a second, regains his balance and nods a few times. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry.”
I say nothing as I straighten my jacket against the punishing wind. The helicopter properly lowers itself on the ground with a metallic thud. It roars a bit before settling into a relentless churn.
James’ eagerness is spilling out of him at an alarming pace as he impatiently waits beside me. Without thinking, he takes a half-step forward before remembering himself and glances up at me.
I give him the briefest nod. That’s all he needs.
He dashes ahead, practically skipping with joy as his little frame cuts across the storm of dust. I calmly follow a few steps behind.
The closer we get, the louder the thing becomes, air thrumming against our skin. James seems unbothered by all as he throws his arms out, shouting over the sound.
“This is insane! I feel like we’re in the action movies Kenji always talks about!”
“Don’t listen to everything Kishimoto says,” I tell him, my voice firm against the noise.
James laughs, unbothered. Or oblivious. I cannot gouge out which, his emotional intensity too great to be real.
“Come on,” he beams brightly, “you can’t tell me this isn’t awesome.”
This certainly wasn’t cool. I have been in plenty of helicopters growing up. They have been nothing but a nuisance to travel with. They’re small, brutish and far too loud.
I tell James none of this, of course. I don’t think Ella would approve of me killing his enjoyment over simple facts.
In a few short steps, we finally reach the open door. I greet the pilot with a brief nod as we begin to enter. James is practically in before I catch him by the shoulder, steadying him before he climbs in without thought.
“Careful when you’re getting in,” I say, though the words are nearly eaten away by the engine.
James seems to hear me anyway as he tips his head back at me and somehow grins wider. “Relax, Warner. I got this,” he shouts, before adding quickly. “But thanks for not letting me eat dirt.”
Eat dirt..?
I shake my head at the odd expression as we finally enter, sitting down. I pass James the headphone gear, and we buckle up just as fast.
I take one final look at my brother, and somehow, in the chaos of it all, I almost smile.
It was certainly going to be a bothersome day.