The Science of Breakable Things: "Step 5: Procedure"

Twig always provides the momentum behind our operations.

We went through six eggs before we even started the drop test. They cracked in our hands as we built our contraptions, spilling onto the newspaper we had haphazardly laid out.

“You’re a freak of nature,” I told her, but I was laughing too hard to get away, and then she was lying on top of me, smothering me in giggles and egg guts.

She splits her time between her family in Korea and Uncle Gene in California, and by the time she makes her way to us for Thanksgiving, she always has a treasure trove of tales.

I woke up in my bed the next morning, disoriented and panicked, as if I’d had a nightmare.

She talks about all those pretty scientific words, all those Big Terms, and justifies all those footnotes in her book.

She talks about all those pretty scientific words, all those Big Terms, and justifies all those footnotes in her book.

I used to leaf through her book, reading only the footnotes, trying to memorize all those big definitions, trying to understand her indecipherable language.

My grandmother did give me a Korean video game once. It had to do with both aliens and yoga and was surprisingly addictive, but Twig refused to play it. “It sounds awesome,” she said, shaking her head sadly. “But I’m a purist.”

Mr. Neely clapped his hands to get us settled, and we made our way to our seats. Even he was in a somber mood today.

Twig narrowed her eyes at him in a way that was meant to be intimidating, but kind of made her look like a sleepy cat.

His cheeks got darker, and he seemed genuinely sorry for doing all the work.

Twig gaped at the magnets. Her mouth actually fell open.

It’s funny how the cold magnets actually worked best. It’s like how perennial plants seem to die in the winter, but really, they’re just waiting till everything is all right again.

When I got to fifty-two, I made a resolution: if she doesn’t care about me, I’m not going to care about her.

“Right,” I said, as if he weren’t speaking gibberish to me. “I’m doing it, too.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” He was talking quickly and blushing again. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

Seriously, I have no idea where Mr. Neely finds all his excitement, but I wish I could siphon some of it off and give it to Mom.

She leaned in close to him, her long blond hair forming a curtain between me and Dari’s book, so I just played with a couple of leftover magnets, flipping one over so it attracted all the other magnets on the table, and then turning it so it repelled everything in its path, like, No thanks, not for me.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Twig said, all sarcastic. I knew she was still upset from the other day, but I don’t think Dari could tell.

Taking me to a therapist’s office without telling me was basically an act of guerrilla warfare, and I promised myself right then that I’m never going to do this ambush stuff to my kids.

Taking me to a therapist’s office without telling me was basically an act of guerrilla warfare, and I promised myself right then that I’m never going to do this ambush stuff to my kids.

I’m pretty sure I had cartoon steam coming out of my ears, because Dad knew I was fuming and didn’t even try to make small talk anymore.

Dr. Doris’s smile got extra big, and I could tell I was right because, even though she was trained specifically to talk to kids, she was still an adult, so she fell for the whole look, I’m taking initiative in school thing.

When I came out, Dad didn’t even ask me how it went, but he gave me a hug, which was embarrassing. Happiness and relief practically radiated off him.