T.J. Klune - Bear, Otter, and the Kid 2 - Who We Are by TK Klune Read Free Book Online Page A

turned to at my darkest, when I didn’t think anything else could matter ever again.
Oh man, I’m getting maudlin again.
     
Shit, sorry about that. I can’t promise that won’t happen again. But, hell, would you expect any less of me?
    The Kid finally starts to breathe again, his face an alarming shade of purple. I scowl at both him and Otter, showing exactly how not funny I think they both are. They ignore me, of course, quite used to the little fits I get into every now and then. Otter’s hands are shaking the paper, and I know he’s trying to regain his composure as well, and I roll my eyes.
You see what I have to live with? Idiots, the lot of them.
     
“You’re not going bald,” the Kid assures me, a little too late, a huge grin on his face.
    “I know,” I mutter, demolishing my toast.
Otter snickers.
“So,” I say, changing the subject. “You sure about this, Tyson?”
    He scrunches up his face like he’s getting ready to ask one of his All Important Questions, and I give him a moment, just in case he does. You should know that no miracle has happened in the last two weeks, no divine hand of God has come down and cured him of his idiosyncratic ways. He knows that Otter is here and here to stay. He knows that I’m not going anywhere. He knows we’re doing our damndest with the whole custody thing. But you can’t change years of quirks in this short amount of time, no matter how settled we seem to be. He still asks when I am going to be home, no matter where I’m going, if it’s not with him. I’m expected to check in if I’m going to be late. He still won’t be the first to go into a public restroom, and the bathtub still gets some use if there are earthquakes.
    My biggest concern when our mother had come back was just how far this was going to push us back, just how much ground we’d lose after all we’d done this summer. I still remember coming home that night after she’d shown up, after I’d broken things off with Otter. How limp he’d been in my arms, his eyes wide and glassy. I remember how angry he’d been, both at her and with me. I wish I could say that his anger toward me hadn’t been justified, but we all know that it was. I’d acted the only way I could think of, having been pushed into a corner. I wouldn’t have allowed anyone to take him away from me, and I curse her again in my head, wondering what cracks lay beneath his surface, if any. He’s shown an uncanny resilience this last time, and I hope it’s strong enough to do what we’re about to do. I hadn’t wanted this to happen, not really, but Otter convinced me, saying it wouldn’t be fair to the Kid if we didn’t. I had sighed, but in the end, agreed.
    His face goes slack as he looks me in the eye. “You know,” he says seriously, “I think you’re way more nervous about this than I am. It’s just skipping a grade, Papa Bear. It’s not like it’s anything big.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, no. Nothing big at all. You’re only going to be the shortest kid in your class and everyone is going to stare at you weird.”
    “Nice try,” he says, seeing right through my bullshit. “I’m the shortest no matter where I go, and the kids will only be staring at me because of how spectacular I am.”
No ego, that one. Humble to the core.
     
“ I know you’re spectacular,” I concede. “I’m just worried that it’ll take everyone else a little longer to figure that out.”
    He looks annoyed. “I can take care of myself,” he retorts. “I’m not worried about a bunch of hormonal fifth graders on the cusp of puberty.”
Otter snorts from behind his paper but doesn’t say anything. He hasn’t changed the page in a few minutes, and I know it’s because he’s listening to what we’re saying. But I also know he understands that this needs to be between me and the Kid, at least for now. He’s said what he’s needed to say to me about the matter, knowing that the final decision needs to be mine. And yeah,