“You’ve got some fancy title for being the smartest in your graduating class?—”
“I know! And that’s just it. I don’t want to settle for just any school. I want to be the best I can be and go to the best school.”
“Because you’re the smartest in a public school in L.A. doesn’t mean shit, Ryder,” he said.
I ignored his comment and leaned against the counter and stared at the envelopes with my applications to the big schools. This wasn’t all for nothing.
“I hate to burst your bubble, Ryder, but in most cases, there are other things that come into play that can change your path. Good grades and volunteer work mean nothing.”
I looked up at him again, and he rubbed his thumb against his index and middle finger for the universal sign of money. I frowned and looked down at the envelopes on the counter again. This wasn’t all a waste. I refused to believe otherwise.
“Get your stuff together, and I’ll drop you off at school. I just need to go change my shirt,” Roger said. I could tell he was trying to smooth things over with me after giving me that reality check, but I didn’t want to ride anywhere with him.
“It’s okay. I need to stop at the post office,” I called out after him as he walked away.
“Be in the truck in two minutes, and I’ll take you by the post office,” he hollered from down the hall. I took a deep breath and then exhaled in frustration. I really didn’t want to be near him or anyone else right now. But his directions also didn’t sound like I had the option to refuse. And technically, once I graduated high school, they didn’t have to let me live here anymore. I didn’t want to rock the boat.
I quickly finished putting the stamps on the envelopes and tossed the stamp booklet back in the junk drawer. I gathered my envelopes and flung my backpack over my shoulder as Roger came back.
“You’re not in the truck, Ryder.” Roger grabbed his keys off the counter and headed toward the door. “I’m leaving now.”
“Coming!” I said as I raced to the fridge to grab a can of Coke and a turkey Lunchable. I flung the door to the fridge closed andhurried to the pantry. I grabbed whatever the top bag of chips was in the variety box from Costco, and as I jogged out of the kitchen, Kenton called out to me.
“Yo, Ryd.”
With my arms full of envelopes and my lunch, I stopped by the front door. Kenton sped toward me from the kitchen with an opened foil-wrapped toaster pastry in his hand.
“Don’t forget breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day,” he said under his breath.
“Thanks, man,” I said as I set my backpack down to unzip it. I knew it was Kenton’s way of trying to get me to regroup and calm down. He was just fourteen and way more settled and calmer than I was. All of us might fight and argue and even say shit to one another, but all my brothers knew that at any moment, one of us could be removed or sent somewhere else.
After dropping my lunch in my backpack, I flung the bag over my shoulder and raced to Roger’s truck. He put his hand on the back of the headrest and twisted his body to look over his arm while he backed up. In the front seat, I broke the generic Pop Tart into three pieces and quickly ate it as we drove to the post office.
“You’re getting ready to graduate, Ryder. It’s about time you grow up and act more mature.” He reached over the headrest and rubbed the back of my head. I hated it when he did that; it sent chills down my spine. I had a short, faded haircut, and it felt weird when he touched it.
“I’m pretty mature,” I mumbled. Roger hit the back of my head with his fingernails, touching the tender spot I had back there. I fucking hated him.
“It would be nice if you wouldn’t talk back to me in front of your younger brothers.”
“I can’t be responsible for what they do.”
“No, but if they see you being disrespectful, they’re going to think it’s okay.”
Doubtful. I wanted to remind Roger that they all saw him hit me or grab and shake me when I mouthed off. They knew not to do it, and I’d rarely heard them talk back. Again, the fear of getting kicked out of the house as soon as I graduate filled my head, and I quickly shoved another piece of the bland, dried-out strawberry pastry into my mouth. As I chewed, I came up with a response that he wanted to hear.
“I’ll do better with watching what I say in front of them.”
Roger pulled up alongside the curb in front of the post office, and as soon as he put the truck in park, I opened the door and jumped out.
“I’ll be right back,” I said as I shut the door.
As I jogged up the steps and toward the door, I counted the envelopes to make sure I had them all. Even though I’d checked them several times already, I checked them again before I dropped them into the slot for outgoing mail. I glanced at the return address on each one as I slid them into the slot.
It was out of my hands now. All I could do was wait.
2
Atlas
