I stuck my homework in the Audi’s backseat and got in front. “Structural integrity field collapse.”
Dad laughed at myStar Trekreference, and also because he was finally getting his wish: He had been after me to get a new backpack all semester. “Better at school than in the airport.”
“Chip Cusumano wouldn’t have been at the airport to rip it open.” I explained how it all happened, and Dad started shaking his head about halfway through the story.
“All you have to do is stand up to him.”
“I did. He didn’t listen.”
“He’s only doing it because he can tell he’s getting to you.”
I wondered if that’s why Dad treated me the way he did. Because he could tell he was getting to me.
Ever since my bicycle had been removed from active service, I had been taking the bus to school in the morning, and Dad had picked me up in the afternoon to drop me off at Tea Haven. His work schedule was a lot more flexible than Mom’s.
I think Dad and I got along as well as we did—which wasn’t that well, but still—because I didn’t see him that often, with school and then work in the evenings. And when I did see him, it was usually for dinner, when Mom or Laleh were around to provide a buffer, or forStar Trek,which was sacrosanct.
The extra time in the car was throwing off our carefully calibrated intermix ratio.
I really did like riding in Dad’s Audi, though.
I just couldn’t tell him that.
Dad shrugged and waited for an opening to pull away from the curb. “It’ll be fine,” he said. “We’ll get you a new one when we get back. And I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding with Chip.”
Stephen Kellner clearly didn’t understand my social standing at Chapel Hill High School. He’d never had to deal with the Fatty Bolgers and Cyprian Cusumanos of the world.
Stephen Kellner was a Paragon of Teutonic Masculinity.
“I made us appointments to get haircuts.” He turned right out of the parking lot, toward the Shoppes at Fairview Court.
I didn’t have to work that night—Mr. Apatan had given me the last week off, to get ready for our trip—but that’s where Dad usually got his hair cut.
“Um,” I said. “I’m fine.”
“You need a haircut.” Dad waved his hand up and down in my direction. “This is out of control.”
“I like it like this. It’s not even that long.”
“It’s nearly as long as your sister’s. What kind of example are you setting for her?”
“No it’s not.” I mean, maybe it was technically, because my head was larger than Laleh’s, but proportionally my hair was still shorter.
“You could at least get it trimmed.”
“It’s my hair, Dad,” I said. “Why is it such a big deal to you, anyway?”
“Because it’s ridiculous. Did you ever think that you wouldn’t get picked on so much if you weren’t so...”
Dad worked his jaw back and forth.
“So what, Dad?”
But he didn’t answer.
What could he possibly say?
I waited in the car while Dad stomped out and got his hair cut.
