Chapter 55: [2.28] The Gremlin on the Fourth Floor Demands Tribute
The drive back to Kensington took longer than usual.
Traffic on the Jersey Turnpike crawled at a pace that would make snails feel athletic. Some kind of fender bender near Exit 6 had transformed three lanes into a parking lot. I spent forty minutes staring at the same minivan’s bumper sticker. "My Child Is An Honor Student At Somewhere I Don’t Care About."
Good for them.
My mind kept drifting back to Cassidy’s room. To that ridiculous bet I’d just agreed to.
You can make me do whatever you want. No complaints. No attitude. I’ll even wear a collar if you ask nicely.
I gripped the steering wheel harder.
What kind of rich girl makes a bet like that? With her tutor? Her employee? The guy who literally signed a contract with her family?
The kind who thinks she’s going to lose, that’s who.
Cassidy Valentine fully expected to fail. She’d internalized it so deeply that she was already planning her punishment like it was inevitable. The collar comment wasn’t a threat. It was a surrender disguised as provocation.
Damn it.
She was trying to make me uncomfortable enough to back down. To prove that she had power over me even in defeat. Classic defense mechanism. If you’re going to lose anyway, make losing look like winning.
I didn’t back down.
Partly because I’m stubborn. Partly because backing down would have proven her right about everything she believes about herself.
Mostly because the look on her face when I said yes was worth approximately ten thousand dollars.
Her brain actually crashed. I watched it happen in real time. The arrogant smirk froze. Her eyes went wide. A flush crept up her neck and spread across her cheeks like wildfire.
For about three seconds, Cassidy Valentine had absolutely no idea what to do.
Beautiful.
But now I had a problem.
If I helped her too well, if I actually succeeded where seven tutors failed, I became her pet. Not her assistant. Her pet. For an entire day. Subject to whatever whims that chaotic brain of hers could conjure.
And Cassidy’s whims were... unpredictable.
She wouldn’t do anything too crazy. She was a billionaire heiress with a reputation to maintain. Surely she understood boundaries and appropriate behavior and...
Who was I kidding.
This was the same girl who shoved me into a shower stall to hide from cheerleaders. The same girl who threw a pillow at my face during a tutoring session. The same girl who dressed up as her sister to send me on a wild goose chase across Manhattan.
Cassidy Valentine absolutely would do something that crazy.
I could see it now.
"Isaiah, carry me to class."
"Isaiah, bark like a dog in the cafeteria."
"Isaiah, tell everyone you’re my personal servant and you love it."
Actually, that last one might happen regardless of who won.
Whatever. I’d deal with it when the time came. The most important thing right now was getting her invested in school. Actually engaged with the material instead of treating every lesson like a prison sentence.
Competition worked. I’d seen it in her eyes when I proposed the point system. That hunger. That need to win something, anything.
Time to build a lesson plan that would make educational theory professors cry.
Traffic finally started moving around Exit 8. I merged into the fast lane and pushed the Lexus up to seventy-five. The engine purred like it was barely trying.
I still wasn’t used to this car.
The Lexus handled like a dream compared to the subway. No delays. No crowded platforms. No mysterious smells from the guy standing too close. Just leather seats and climate control and a sound system that could probably cause structural damage if I cranked it high enough.
All borrowed.
All temporary.
All dependent on whether I could work a miracle with a girl who’d been told her whole life that she was broken.
No pressure.
My phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen.
Iris:ARE YOU ALMOST HOME
Iris:THE SUSPENSE IS KILLING ME
Iris:DID YOU GET IT
Iris:ISAIAH
Iris:ISAIAH ANSWER ME
Iris:I WILL DIE
I smiled despite myself.
Me:Driving. Patience.
Iris:PATIENCE IS FOR PEOPLE WHO AREN’T WAITING FOR SPY X FAMILY VOLUME 8
Iris:THIS IS A LIFE OR DEATH SITUATION
Iris:ANYA NEEDS ME
Me:Anya is a fictional character.
Iris:TAKE THAT BACK
Iris:SHE’S MY DAUGHTER
Me:You’re fourteen.
Iris:AND SHE’S MY DAUGHTER
Iris:THE MATH WORKS OUT
The math absolutely did not work out. But arguing with Iris about anime logic was like arguing with a brick wall that had opinions and internet access.
I pulled into our apartment complex around 9:30 PM. The building looked the same as always. Weathered brick. Flickering hallway light on the second floor that nobody ever fixed. Mrs. Delgado’s cigarette smoke drifting from her cracked window.
Home.
The word still felt strange sometimes. This cramped two-bedroom wasn’t really home. It was a waypoint. A temporary stop on the journey to somewhere better.
But Iris was here. So it was home enough.
I grabbed the shopping bag from the passenger seat. One Cowboy Bebop volume for me. One Spy x Family volume for the gremlin upstairs. Plus some snacks I’d picked up from a convenience store near the turnpike.
The stairs creaked under my feet. Second floor. Third floor. Fourth floor. My legs knew this climb so well I could do it blindfolded.
I reached our door and knocked twice.
It flew open before my hand finished the second knock.
Iris stood there in oversized pajamas covered with cartoon cats. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun that had clearly been redone several times throughout the evening. A pencil stuck out from behind her ear, forgotten.
"GIVE IT TO ME."
"Hello to you too."
"ISAIAH."
"Nice to see you, dear sister."
"I WILL TACKLE YOU."
"The manga is in the bag. If you tackle me, the manga gets hurt."
She froze. Eyes narrowed.
"You wouldn’t use Anya as a hostage."
"Wouldn’t I?"
Her face scrunched up. The internal conflict played out across her features. Violence versus precious manga.
Finally, she stepped aside.
"Fine. Enter. But only because I’m mature."
"Very mature." I walked past her into the apartment. "That’s why you have cat pajamas."
"Cats are sophisticated animals! They’re elegant and independent and self-sufficient!"
"They also knock things off tables for fun."
"...Your point?"
I set the bag on our tiny kitchen counter. The apartment smelled like instant ramen. Iris had been cooking again. The pot still sat on the stove, half-empty.
"You ate without me?"
"I was hungry! And you were late! And I didn’t know when you’d be back!" She bounced on her heels.
"Now gimme gimme gimme."