Read Online Six by M.M. Vaughan - Free Book Online Page A

Parker had ever seen. It was so large, in fact, that bedroom didn’t seem an adequate description of it, although it did contain a set of bunk beds built into a deep recess in one of the walls. The room was teardrop-shaped with a long wall of glass that curved around the widest section of the space. At the far end—where the teardrop ended, a spiral glass staircase led up to a mezzanine floor that looked out over where they stood.
    A friend of Parker’s parents had once mentioned over dinner (back when his mother had been alive and they’d still invited people around for dinner) that if you want to know what a person is really like, take a look at their bedroom. It was an observation that had stuck with Parker (that same day he had quietly taken down all the posters of his once-favorite cartoon astronaut), and he thought of that observation now as he looked around Michael’s room. It was immaculate. There was not so much as a pen out of place. This was in stark contrast to Parker’s own bedroom; his idea of tidying up was to push everything into a corner or, for special occasions, under the bed and into the wardrobe. Parker wondered if the room looked like this only because Michael had a housekeeper to tidy up after him, but this question was answered when Michael picked up Parker’s jacket from where Parker had thrown it on the bed and hung it in a hidden wardrobe behind the wall by the door.
    The other thing that struck Parker about Michael’s room was that it wouldn’t have been at all obvious—had he not known it was Michael’s—what the age of the person was to whom it belonged. Action figures sat neatly on a shelf alongside academic-looking textbooks. Colorful robots adorned the bedsheets, and a blue teddy lay on a pillow whilst, directly opposite, a bank of the most sophisticated and up-to-date computer equipment lined the long curved desk that had been built to fit against the glass wall.
    â€œThe rain is supposed to let up in an hour, according to the weather reports,” said Michael, interrupting Parker’s thoughts. “We can play—I mean hang out—in here until lunch, if that’s okay, then go out after we eat.”
    Michael opened a drawer at the desk nearest to where he was standing and took out a remote control. He pressed a button, and the smooth white wall that curved under the overhanging gallery swooshed open to reveal shelf after shelf lined with toys.
    For a moment Parker and Emma stood side by side, staring.
    Michael turned to Emma. “You can play with anything you want,” he said.
    â€œWow, you have a lot of toys, Michael,” signed Emma, and Parker translated.
    â€œI . . . um . . .”
    Parker looked over at Michael and saw that he was biting his lip.
    â€œI . . . didn’t ask for them—my parents just buy this stuff for me,” replied Michael.
    Emma smirked. “Lucky you,” she signed.
    â€œBut,” added Michael quickly, grasping her meaning, “I’m thinking of giving most of them away.”
    â€œReally?” asked Parker. “Why?”
    â€œUm . . . I don’t really play with them all. I was thinking of giving them to a hospital or something.”
    â€œAh, that’s so nice, Michael!” she signed, smiling, and Michael smiled back.
    She didn’t seem to realize, as Parker did, that Michael was obviously saying this to impress her. As his sister skipped over to the toys and pulled out a long drawer that turned out to be filled to the brim with thousands of plastic building bricks, Parker turned and followed Michael over to the long desk.
    â€œAre you really going to give them all away?” asked Parker.
    â€œYeah,” replied Michael. “I was thinking I had too many anyway.”
    â€œSo you’re not doing it because of her?” asked Parker, nodding in Emma’s direction.
    â€œNo!” said Michael