The bright sun makes her want to shove her face back in the textbook—but after that cat fight, she’s a bit too on-edge to read and fully comprehend anything. As such, the best she can do for now is look down at the ground and leave everything else behind. The best option for now is to go it alone on foot while thinking about how she’ll get her grades back on track; talking to a group of her friends on her way home is a sure way to slow things down. Just need to think now, she tells herself, pushing the glasses up her nose.

It’s then when she realizes that before she can get on with science homework, there are a few other things that need to be taken care of—like homework for all her other classes. So long as her brother isn’t home to make loud phone calls, she should have no trouble getting everything else out of the way.

Bssszz!

For a second she thinks the sudden noise is someone trying to speak to her in the most annoying way possible—but with a flinch, she realizes it’s just a gnat buzzing between her ear and shoulder like it can't decide which part of Jocelyn it wants to crawl on. Some ways away from over her shoulder, Elizabeth and Rachelle have already picked themselves up and walked back to the bench. A little relieved yet still annoyed, Jocelyn scoffs and swipes the bug away before continuing back home.

Who does that little sissy think she is? she begins to wonder. Images of Elizabeth getting right up in her face makes Jocelyn completely forgetting about the upcoming schoolwork. If she seriously thinks I’m gonna bother Martin about helicopters, she’s wrong. In any case, Martin wouldn’t tell her something like that if she were to simply ask; that kind of information almost always comes out by accident.

Interrupting her thoughts, the barely-audible sounds of drills and jackhammers from the other side of the nearby canyon walls pull her right back to reality—where she finds herself surprised to pull her eyes from the ground and discover she has auto-piloted into her neighborhood block. From there she takes a look through one of her house's windows and finds Andrew has not returned. She honestly can't tell if she's relieved that she won't have to listen to his business calls or further aggravated that he won't be able to help her with this next big assignment. Again she takes a look over her shoulder, but sees once again that nobody is headed her way. Perhaps now would be a good time to get back into that textbook from earlier.

Right when she's about to take the book out of her bag, she catches a glimpse at the home adjacent to her own and realizes she has some Friday chores to take care of. Suddenly excited over what would otherwise be a regular responsibility, she tells herself, Oh yeah—Martin! Were this any other chore, she would have pushed it off until after she was finished with her homework, but Martin is a different case entirely—or at least he would be if it weren’t for this past week’s troubles with Jocelyn’s journal.

Thinking of her journal, Jocelyn quivers as a sudden sense of dread plagues her mind. Oh yeah…Martin, she silently repeats. I really hope he’s not still upset…

Assuming she’s tough to knock on his door, this will be the first time the teen has been to the old man’s house since she was caught possessing a journal with some personal thoughts, plans, and what was supposed to be classified information from Dr. Martin Leigh. The kids who’d pulled Jocelyn’s journal out of her bag only really only did it to find some “exposing” information about her, but they only got so far before Mr. Armstrong took the journal from them and discovered just how exposing it really was—not just for Jocelyn, but for the Majorana Research Facility: a place she'd told him she wanted to work for when she’d attended his class last year.

Fortunately for her, Jocelyn did not get detention or suspension, but she did get a talking-to from Armstrong. The fact that this man knew Martin quite well meant he was willing to give both him and Jocelyn a free pass so long as this journal—as well as anything else she’d written down with classified information—was destroyed beyond repair.

At this point, all the papers have been shredded; Jocelyn even double-checked. The last thing she wants is to end up like Robbins—but right now’s not the time to think about such things, and she knows this. That in mind, Jocelyn takes a deep breath and starts making her way to Martin’s front door.

Normally this is the point where she tells herself, Things will be better once we hit it off, but today she’s not so certain. She gets the feeling that any of the cynicism he usually reserves for jokes or anything of that nature would be directed right at her today. Not helping her anxieties is the fact that there's only one way for her to find out if he is still bitter about that.

Before she can fully swallow her pride, Jocelyn—now at his doorstep—sets her backpack down at his porch, making herself feel half as heavy as before. For a moment her anticipation leaves her breathless; the thump her bag makes on the floor may as well be a knock on the door in and of itself. That thought in mind, she steps forward and raps the face of Martin's door twice.

“Just a minute!” a low voice calls from the other side. Considering what time of the day and week it is, the man probably knows just who it is waiting for him.

Jocelyn can hear every step he takes toward the door—each one sounding different from the one that preceded it. It usually goes that there’s a normal step, then a baby step, normal, then baby—on and on until the door finally opens. And in front of her comes a man whose presence alone makes her feel a little bit better every time—even now.

Upon opening the door, he takes a step back on his bad leg—the prosthetic one—before greeting her with a soft, “Hey there, Jocelyn.” That isn't quite the greeting she was expecting; it's much more tame and a lot less snarky than she's used to—and that concerns her.

Most other people of Jocelyn's height would have been concerned with the fact that Martin could literally crush her were he to fall over—or that he has to wear an amputation that he barely manages to cover with his shorts, but to her, this is a sight for sore eyes. It would have been quite off-putting to imagine him looking any different.

Before she can realize it, a moment has passed and the silence between the two neighbors is starting to grow tiresome. Jocelyn can’t even figure out just how much time has passed before Martin takes a baby step back on his hollow, prosthetic limb, moving aside so she can step in.

Without another word, Jocelyn takes an inward step and a deep breath. As always, the smell of Martin’s house stimulates her senses of history and nostalgia. Thirteen years from her birth until now have made quite a difference in how this house looks on the inside; not seeing her towering father right by her made quite the difference, as well. She can still remember the last few days Martin and her father collaborated over anything and everything the Majorana Research Facility assigned them. If not that, they would work on just about any theoretical project they could think of.

All the renovation that had happened since then has left this house with the scent of years’ accumulation of cigarette smoke covered up in disinfectant spray. It’s not the way a house should smell, but if it brings Jocelyn closer to her father, she’s happy with it.

Back in the present day, the only person in the room with her now is Martin—who still manages to tower over her even after all these years. It seems some things will never change. Yet even when taking the man’s size into account, Jocelyn doesn’t feel it necessary to squirm under his silent stare—though it is starting to become a little bothersome.

There’s something Jocelyn hasn’t seen in awhile: Martin’s silent stare. Since when is he silent for this long? It isn’t because of the issue with the journal, is it? Jocelyn wonders. Oh, of course it is…duh!

Though she’s partly afraid his gaze will pierce right through her skull, Jocelyn proceeds to return his stare, failing to keep her eyes as cold as his. How does he manage to keep them like that? she wonders, having not seen him stare at anything this long since she had done something stupid at the age of ten. Jocelyn learned then and she’s relearning now that trying to have a staring contest with him is about as pleasant as throwing acid in your face.

At long last, the silence finally breaks when Martin clears his throat and points his finger at his visiting neighbor. The suspicious scowl on his face turns into a knowing smile when he wags his pointer and declares, “Your hypnotic mind tricks don’t work on me, young lady—now downstairs with ya!”

That little quip is all it takes to brighten Jocelyn up a little. Oh thank God, she thinks to herself, repressing a sigh. There’s the Martin I know.

A smile turns up the corner of Jocelyn’s mouth as she suddenly remembers what she’s here for. “Oh—right!” she responds with a chuckle. It’s immediately after saying this when she notices the obscenely large stack of papers on Martin’s desk—a stack that had completely slipped through her fingers while walking inside. “Uh…” she tries responding further, but is somewhat mesmerized by the stack. “And I’ll leave you to do…whatever that is.”

For a moment Martin doesn’t realize what she’s talking about—but once he puts the dots together, he can’t help but laugh. “Oh—that ugly thing?” he snorts, pointing at the stack. “Yeah, uh…that’s an interesting story.”

“What’s an interesting story? That entire stack or the story of how you got it?”

“Wait…” It takes Martin a minute. Once he fully understands her joke, he purses his lips and shakes his head.

“Downstairs with me?” Jocelyn asks with a smirk.

“Downstairs with ye—and me clothes.”

As if on cue, Jocelyn walks toward the door he’s pointing at and nearly stubs her toe on the dirty clothes hamper he has set for her to take down. From there she proceeds to make her way downstairs, her thoughts suddenly plagued by images of these past few days. Once she loads the washing machine, she makes her way back up and is pleased to be greeted by the house’s regular smells once again—only now these negative thoughts are keeping her from relishing just how nostalgic this little house makes her feel.