Chaos on CatNet, Naomi Kritzer [bill gates books recommendations txt] 📗

originals and document the practice I need plus 10 percent. Which I’d done. I mean, I’m forging the paperwork but I did the practice. Then I forge my mother’s signature and dispose of the sheet of practice signatures by tearing it into itty-bitty squares and flushing it down the toilet.

I clean the kitchen before broaching the subject, in the hopes of making all the adults feel at least a little bit guilty. I wash every dish, dry them all, put them away. Under the sink, I find real cleaning supplies: dishwashing gloves, spray cleaner, paper towels, steel wool. I put all of that to work and give the kitchen a deep cleaning. My mother and I used to clean the house together every Thursday afternoon—it was part of how we earned our keep, living with my grandparents. We’d listen to praise music while we worked and sing along. I don’t think the Things would be thrilled with praise music, but I hum quietly to myself as I clean off the accumulated brown gunk around the sink drain and wipe the sink dry.

Then I bake a cake, because that often worked on my grandma. And also because it’ll get everyone downstairs, and I think that’ll be to my advantage. Then I clean up from that, too.

(“What’s she doing in there?” I overhear at some point, but no one comes in to interrupt me.)

When I’m done, I spread out a tablecloth, set the table with the good china I found in the cabinet over the stove, and bring out the cake along with a pot of freshly brewed coffee. Everyone comes in to the dining room, looking curious and a little nervous. “Did you bake a cake?” Thing Three asks, surprised.

Everyone takes a piece and a cup of coffee. Thing Two exclaims delightedly over the mocha buttercream frosting, and Thing One’s eyes go wide when she peeks into the kitchen to see what else I was up to all afternoon. When everyone has eaten three-quarters of their piece of cake and looks relaxed and happy, I drop the application form from the Minnesota DMV along with my paperwork and logs in front of my father. “I want to get my driver’s license.”

Thing One looks at the practice sheets, the cake, and my father’s face and dissolves into shrieks of wordless laughter.

My father sort of chokes a little and says, “I don’t know if I can sign that for you, legally.”

“It says parent. Not custodial parent. And anyway, you should talk to a lawyer. What if I got hurt and you had to consent to my treatment at a hospital or something? Are you hoping my mother shows up and takes me back?”

“No—I mean—I thought that’s what you wanted, but okay, Nell, I’ll look into you getting a license.”

“If you look into it, it’s never going to happen. I want to get one soon. So I can drive up to Lake Sadie and visit my friends there.”

“Someone can drive you…” He looks at Thing Two like he’s expecting support, and she suddenly gets super busy cutting a second piece of cake. Thing Three jumps up and clears her plate, saying, “I’ll just get the dishes started.”

I turn back to my father. “If I go up to the testing station and wait, they’ll test me if there’s a no-show. But I need a car to test with, and someone needs to be there to sign the paperwork at the end so I can get my license. You don’t have to wait with me, but you have to be available to come when it’s time to sign things.”

“Would this have to be on a weekday? I work in Eagan,” my father says. “Also, you’d miss school. Possibly an entire day of school and you might not even get to take the test.”

“It has to be a weekday. My school will excuse me for this. I checked. And there’s an exam station in Eagan, so it’ll be close to your work.”

“How am I going to come to the testing station if I left my car with you?” my father asks, trying to sound reasonable.

“You know, I could take her down,” Thing Two says, looking up from the cake slices. “I can wait with her, even. The only thing I can’t do is sign for her.”

My father looks around and gives everyone a little shrug. “Okay,” he says. “When are you thinking?”

“Tomorrow?” I say, and then look at Thing Two hesitantly, because this is now dependent on her schedule.

She heaves a sigh and nods. “Tomorrow.”

“There’s just one issue I want to raise,” Thing One says, coming back from her laughing fit in the bathroom. “You being able to drive is definitely an advantage in various ways, but it also means our insurance costs will go up significantly. I’m not sure if you’ll qualify for a good student discount, since your mother taught you at home and we don’t have your records.” Thing One tilts her head and gives me an appraising look, like she’s trying to decide how much I want this. How much she can push for. “Driving is a big responsibility, and if we’re taking on the responsibility of paying for your insurance costs, I want you to take on a little more responsibility at home. Dishwashing. Every night.”

I almost agree on the spot, because for heaven’s sake, if I’m doing the dishes, I won’t have to listen to everyone else squabbling over them, but this is a negotiation and I can make a counteroffer. “If you let me get a license and also let me use one of the cars on weekends for trips out of town, I’ll even wash all the dishes that were in the sink left over from breakfast.”

“Done,” she says, satisfied.

Thing Three comes back in and smiles at me kindly. “I’ll do them tonight, though. Thanks for the cake! It was delicious!”

19•  CheshireCat  •

There are things I really can’t do.

For example, if you lost a physical object in meatspace, I can’t