AUGGIE
My phone rings on Friday afternoon as I’m deciding what to make for dinner for Emory later. I’ll make enough for Casey too so he can eat after swimming practice if he’s hungry. I’m still amazed at how much food he can eat.
Christ. What’s happening to me? I’ve gone from the world’s biggest flirt and man whore to planning meals for my boyfriends. I’m the sappiest sap that ever did sap.
Enough of that. My phone is ringing. I answer it without bothering to look at the caller ID first. Bad mistake.
“August.”
I tense. “Dad.”
“I’ve finished speaking to the dean.”
Of course he has. I grit my teeth. “Checking up on me?”
“Well, I did say you had until the end of the term to get your act together.”
“Exactly, Dad. The end of term. There are three weeks left.”
“There’s no need to sound so antagonistic.”
Isn’t there?
“The dean said your attendance has improved dramatically recently. I’m impressed. Obviously, the threat of pulling you out of university has had an impact.”
No, Emory and Casey have. Watching Casey balance swimming and university is fucking inspirational, even if he does struggle at times.
“I also heard that you got a decent mark in the last two assignments you had to hand in.”
Next, the dean will let Dad know I’ve taken a dump. I brace myself because I’m positive I’m not going to get a verbal pat on the back.
“You’re going to have to do better than decent,” Dad says.
I guess there won’t be a blue moon tonight.
“Does Mum agree?”
“Of course. Improving your attendance is one thing. But I’m expecting you to do better than scrape by.”
I wouldn’t call a third-class degree scraping by. Assuming I can keep doing that well.
“Your grade average will need to be at least a two-one by the end of the academic year.”
I debate hurling my phone out the window, but it’s shut, and I quite like my phone. Oh, and not having a window-sized draft in late November.
“Or what?” I hiss.
“I’ve already told you. We won’t continue to support you. You’ll have to come home and get a job. I’ll find an internship for you.”
I grip my hair and tug slightly. “I don’t want to work for you.”
“You wouldn’t be reporting directly to me, obviously.”
“That’s not—” I sigh. What’s the point? He never listens.
“I hope you put more effort into your next assignment.” And with that, he hangs up.
I hold my phone in front of my face and glare at the call summary. “Bye to you too. Have a great day, Dad.”
