You’re annoyed because you want to hear his voice.
“Shut up,” he hushed, throwing his sight line up over myshoulder with a harsh, warning-like look in his bright blue eyes.
In the five years since my first encounter with him, I’d tried my best to avoid Quinn Jacobs because of how inadequate he made me feel. But right now, all I wanted was to push him, make him repeat what he’d said, all so I could tell him to shut the fuck up and leave me alone.
Just so you can hear his voice again.
But insteadof saying anything, he mouthed the words, “Shut up,” again.
A hand clamped down on my shoulder. “Perhaps you should take Mr. Jacobs’s advice and shut up,” Mr. Morgan admonished, looking down at me with disappointment and anger in his eyes.
“Yes, sir,” I answered as embarrassment colored my cheeks.
“Very well.” He stepped away, continuing on with what I assumed was his original course of action,but since I hadn’t been paying a lick of attention to him, I couldn’t tell one way or the other. “So for your final,” he spoke from the front of the room, “you’ll need to complete a mixed media project incorporating the skills you’ll learn throughout the course.”
It was odd to hear about the end of the course on the first day of classes, but at the same time, it was nice to hear something different.“And since the two of you seem to have so much to say to each other,” he addressed me and Quinn with that decidedly teacher-like “gotcha” look in his eyes. “I think you’ll make the perfect pair.”
A heavy weight settled in my chest.
Working with Quinn for the entire semester was the last thing I wanted. I was uneasy and anxious all at the same time. It took me the rest of the day to put a fingeron why I was even feeling this way in the first place.
It wasn’t until later that night that I finally figured it out.
I knew with Quinn and those ridiculously hopeful, bright blue eyes that I’d have to face down a hell of a lot more than a kid who made me feel weak five years ago.
I’d have to face the man who made me feel weak today in an entirely different way.
“Dinner’s ready,” Mom called out. That meant Dad was already at the table waiting for me. And he’d definitely remind me of that once I sat down. It also meant that Patrick was walking through the door, coming home from practice. Mom always planned the meals around when the two of them would be home. I was just there, called to the table when everyone else was ready.
Story of my life.
ButI was fine with it because it meant the less time I spent at the table, the less time I had to interact with the people who barely knew me.
As I sat there, passing the mashed potatoes and cutting myself a piece of meatloaf, I reflected on the fact that it wasn’t entirely their fault. Over the years, I’d pulled away. They’d tried to pull me back, get me involved in this sport or that activity,but I just didn’t want to. The years of competing with my brother had worn me out and by this point, I was just ready to get this school year over with and get out of here.
“So Pat,” my Dad mumbled around a mouth full of food. “How was your day? How was practice?”
And there it was. The one question that would inevitably lead to a meal filled with endless sports questions. Of course I wouldn’thave any input. Normally, I’d be happy about not having to participate. But the more I reflected on the day, the more excited I had become about my shop and architecture classes.
“Practice was great. Ran a bunch of ideas for plays by Coach and he loved them. He told me he knew he made a good choice having me as one of the captains this year,” he gloated. And Dad ate up every single last bite.With a smile lighting up his usually cold, hard face, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the fact that Pat was his favorite.
And I was not.
“That’s great. I’m proud of you, son. It’ll be a great season.” Dad’s compliment put a smile on Pat’s face, and twisted a knife in my gut.
Mom must have noticed because she chimed in a few seconds later, asking me how my day was. Just as it always had,her question came from a place of pity rather than true interest. If it had been something in which she was really interested, she would have asked me when I came home from school hours ago, instead of right now.
But swallowing my annoyance, which was something I’d become all too good at over the years, I figured I might as well engage in the conversation. “It was good. I’m actually really excitedabout a few of my classes this year. I think they’ll really help with college.”
I knew I was taking a risk by adding that last part in there. I could see it on Dad’s face. We’d had this conversation what felt like a million times in the last year. Despite knowing where it would inevitably go, I still decided to bring it up.
“Ryan,” Dad cut me off. “We’ve gone over this.” His voice held thatair of authority, warning me not to challenge him.
The way he looked at me from the other end of the table made my insides twist into a knot of apprehension I knew I’d never be able to untangle. Yet the smug, overconfident, shit-eating grin spreading across Patrick’s face emboldened me.
“I know we have, sir.” As annoyed as I might have been, I knew better than to leave thesiroff the end ofanything around here. Growing up with a police officer as a father, you learned real quick what the consequences of disrespect were. “But I still think there’s a way.”
“You do?” he snapped, not giving me more than a second to answer before continuing. “You know our finances. You know exactly how much money we can afford to put into two separate colleges.”
