Brainrush 04 - Everlast 01: Everlast Read Free Page A

down. It gobbled up information day in and day out—cataloguing,
memorizing, analyzing. A part of me realized it came naturally to me, but
another part wondered how long I’d be able to keep it up. What happens when
my brain gets overstuffed?
    My dad had the same gift, if you want to call it that,
though he wasn’t nearly as good with computers as I was, and Dad’s abilities
seemed to be coming and going lately, like something was changing in him. I
catalogued that in the Worried About Dad drawer.
    I’d have to start a drawer on Mom, too, after the way she
was acting this morning.
    The drawer system worked pretty well for me. I kept the bad
drawers closed so that the uncomfortable feelings they gave me didn’t distract
me from the important stuff, like online gaming. There’s nothing like diving
into a role-playing game, where you control the character’s choices and
actions, or a first-person shooter where quick reflexes mean the difference
between life and death. Living inside a good game pushed away the constant flow
of data that bombarded me all the time in real life. In a game, the world is… finite .
I liked that word, even though most seven-year-olds would screw up their face
if I used it. But my vocabulary was pretty much only limited by whether or not I’d
been exposed to a word. Between books, TV, and the Internet—not to mention my
brother’s occasional bouts of jabbering—I’d learned lots of words. And I never forgot them. My brain stuffed them into drawers and I could recall them
whenever I wanted. It’s the same with videos, pictures, people, and places. You
name it, I remember it. And math and numbers? Don’t even get me started on
that.
    I had lots of drawers.
    It’s pretty cool, I guess, but when most everyone around me
had trouble even remembering what they ate for breakfast that morning, it kind
of made me stand out. People look at you funny when you’re different. That’s
why I didn’t play with kids my age.
    They didn’t get me.
    But my family did, and like my dad said, In the end,
family is all that matters.
    I was hungry but I figured I could wait a while. Mom should
be home soon, and I was hoping she’d bring something good for lunch. I climbed
up on the bar stool and scooched it up to the kitchen counter. I liked to sit
on the end that butted up against the wall. My dad’s Snoopy helmet hung there
on a peg. He liked to wear it when he flew acrobatics in one of the old planes
at his work. Sometimes he put it on my head when he told me stories about his
Air Force days. It smelled like old leather…and Dad.
    Sarafina and Ahmed were at the kitchen table. She wore
shorts and a cut-off tee shirt that Dad would say showed too much for a
thirteen-year-old, and if Mom noticed the touch of makeup my sister had on,
she’d be in trouble. I don’t know why she bothered with face paint, especially
around her eyes. They were her best feature, big and friendly. As usual, she
was texting someone on her iPhone. That’s what she did if she wasn’t playing
music on her keyboard.
     Ahmed was still in his board shorts and tank top. His right
knee bounced up and down so I could tell he was anxious to go to the beach like
he planned. He didn’t have many friends but he loved surfing at the beach down
the street from our home. He said his Afghan skin was built for the sun, and oceans
were among Allah’s greatest gifts. Right now, he was focused on his laptop,
which was connected to two external speakers. He tapped a key and a loud karate kiai made me flinch.
    Sarafina looked up and crinkled her brow. “You’re kidding,
right?” she said. “Pleeease use your headset. Those screeches are enough to
give a person a headache.” She should know since she had perfect pitch, and the
ability to compose amazing songs in her head and play them with her eyes closed
on a piano or keyboard. I loved listening to her play. We all had coping
mechanisms. Hers was music.
    “Uh-huh,” Ahmed said, without