“You call that being pushed?” Jamie fires back across the table, shooting upright onto his knees again as he holds up his fist. “I can show you what being pushed is like.”
So could I, I think.
Dad turns around, furrowing his eyebrows in disapproval as he glances back and forth between them both. He pulls out the chair next to Chase and sits down, leaning back. “When will the two of you quit fighting? C’mon now, Jay, you’re ten in January. Double digits. Did you know that you can’t keep picking on your brother once you’re into double digits?”
Jamie sinks in his chair. “Really?”
“Really,” Dad says. He widens his eyes and nods, right before he cracks into laughter and glances sideways at Chase, nudging him with his elbow. He takes another swig of his coffee, and that’s when he looks at me for the first time this morning. His eyes find mine over the rim of the cup, and the warmth in his expression disappears as he sets the cup back down on the table. “Someone’s quieter than usual this morning,” he says.
“Most likely because of this,” I hear Mom comment, and the color drains from my face the second I look over and see her reaching for that letter again.Please don’t show it to him. Please, please, please. “He’s skipped gym class five times recently,” she tells him, and my stomach clenches with nausea as she leans over his shoulder and hands him the piece of paper. “I need to write back and let Mr. Asher know it won’t happen again. Right, Tyler? You promise?”
I feel so sick, I can’t even speak. I just nod as fast as I can, over and over again. Dad’s reading the letter with his mouth nothing more than a bold line, and I hate the way the expression in his eyes keeps on hardening with each word he reads. The second he is finished, he locks his glare on me. “Why the hell are you skipping class? You’re ruining your attendance.”
“Someone’s in trouble,” Jamie snickers from beside me, and he’s right—I am.
Today is no longer one of Dad’s good days. Today is now a bad day, and I’ll feel the force of another one of his bad days later.
I can’t get any words out and Dad’s expecting an explanation. For a moment, I feel like I can’t breathe. If we were alone, I wouldn’t even answer him, but I know I have to saysomething, so I stick to my earlier excuse. “I felt sick,” I finally mumble.
Dad raises one eyebrow in suspicion. “Five times in a row?” I should have thought of something better. He isn’t believing this. Why would he? I’m lying and he knows it. All I can do is shrug and drop my eyes to my lap, staring at the small cut on my palm that I hadn’t noticed until now.
“No more skipping class,” Mom reminds me, this time with a sterner tone to her voice than before. I nod without looking up, and all I know is that it’s a relief to hear her increase the volume of the TV. It’s a relief to hear Chase ask for more toast. It’s a relief to know the conversation is over.
For what feels like five minutes, I can’t bring myself to lift my gaze. I can’t look at anyone, especially Dad. My stomach still hurts. I know he’s mad at me, and I know that he isn’t going to let this go. I hate Mr. Asher for sending that letter.
“Right,” Dad says loudly. I force myself to look at him as he finishes off his coffee, wipes his mouth with the pad of his thumb, then gets to his feet. He runs his eyes over the gold Rolex on his wrist. “I better get you to school.” Even though he doesn’t bother to look at me, I know who he’s talking to. Dad always drives me to school on his way to work. Mom always drives Jamie and Chase on the way to hers.
“Go and get yourself ready,” Mom tells me over her shoulder from the sink. I don’t think she’s even sat down yet. She never does in the mornings. “And don’t forget to brush your teeth.”
I’m desperate to leave the kitchen. I’m scared of Dad’s glaring eyes and my shoulder stings and I’d rather go anywhere but school right now. I kind of hope Idohurl so that I can stay home, but I know that won’t happen, so I slide off my chair and head straight for the door. I’m just about to take the first step upstairs when Dad sticks his head out into the hall.
“Tyler,” he says, and I freeze. I don’t turn around, but I do look back at him as he slips on his jacket and straightens his tie. He doesn’t look so angry anymore, but he isn’t smiling either. His entire face is just blank, and I receive nothing but a single, firm nod. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”
And as I turn back around and run upstairs, I’m really wishing that he wouldn’t.
4
Present Day
Fuck,I think.The barbecue.
I can see the commotion in the backyard the second I pull up outside my house, braking so hard that I end up skidding a little. There aren’t any cars parked out front, but that’s because Mom only invites our neighbors. She does this every year, and every single year without fail, half our neighborhood comes strolling down the street with their crates of beer. I don’t know why Mom continues to insist that I be here each year. I can’t think of anything more uncool than this, especially considering I hate half our neighbors. Mrs. Harding from a couple doors down? She once called the cops on me for walking across her lawn. Mr. Fazio from across the street? He decided to let my mom know about that time I threw a party while she was out of town. Mrs. Baxter at the very northern end of Deidre Avenue? She does nothing but complain about the amount of noise my car makes every time I drive past her house.
So yeah. I usually pass on this annual tradition.
Killing my engine and pulling the keys out of the ignition, I kick open my door and step out. I can hear the music from the yard nowand the disgusting scent in the air makes me feel almost nauseous for a moment. I hate barbecues, not because of the social nature of them, but because of the gross smell of burning meat. I haven’t eaten meat in years, and I have to shove my hand into my hair as I take a second to compose myself. I’m already pissed off and coming home to this definitely isn’t helping.
Narrowing my eyes, I head for the backyard. I may be furious, but I have an act to keep up, so I slam my fist against the gate to throw it open. The mixture of voices immediately hushes until only the music is left, and I spot Mrs. Harding in the corner, glaring at me in disgust.
“Sorry I’m late,” I announce. My eyes search the crowd in front of me as I try to spot Mom, but I’m glad when I can’t find her. I don’t want to see her face right now because I know I’m embarrassing her, but with this many people around, I can’t afford not to. So I may not spot Mom, but I do spot my asshole of a stepdad over behind the barbecue. Dave’s already fixing me with a threatening look that warns me not to say anything else, which gives me every reason to continue. “Did I miss anything besides the slaughtering of animals?” I flip him off at the same time, and there are some murmurs of disapproval that I choose to ignore. I could cause a bigger scene than I already am; I could kick over the stack of beer that’s on my right, but I decide not to, only because I’m still trying to figure out the argument I just had with Tiffani. “I hope you guys enjoyed the cow you just ate.” I have to laugh, because it’s the only thing I can bring myself to do right now. If I don’t, I think I will seriously throw a punch at someone, anyone.
I turn away before my temper flares up again, and I hear Dave say, “More beer?” There’s some awkward laughter from the guests as I head inside through the patio doors. I slide them shut again as harshly as I can, and I blow out a breath of air, relieved to be inside at last. The ACis on and the kitchen is refreshingly cool as I stride into the hall, ready to bolt my way upstairs to my room so that I can chill out and calm myself down.
But just as I’m turning onto the stairs, Mom’s voice calls my name, and I know I have to talk to her despite how angry I am right now. I hang my head low for a second before I turn around, gathering my thoughts and my excuses. I hope she can’t smell the beer on me. She would flip if she knew I’ve been driving like this.
“What thehellare you thinking?” she snarls under her breath.
She’s gritting her teeth when I turn back around to look at her, and at first, all I can do is shrug. I’m not great at answering questions I don’t know the answers to.
