“Last year wasn’t my fault.”
“No?” My father violently flung his body back into his car seat as if he were absorbing the jolt of running over a dead body in the road. He was laughing now, but it was the type of dark amusement that preceded a full-on mental breakdown. “I drove you to school every morning. I walked you onto campus practically holding your hand as I personally deposited you in the principal’s office, and yet still somehow during school hours, you inexplicably broke into the basement of the ice skating rink with enough pot to kill a medium-sized animal.”
He took a moment to gather his wits before continuing on in a calmer tone. “So tell me, Keith. Whose fault was it?”
Obviously mine. But conceding defeat so early in the negotiations was a rookie move. Think. Who could I make the culprit when we both knew all fingers pointed in my direction? “Um… I blame Schwarzenegger.”
“Schwarzenegger?” Dad’s eyes widened, my innovative answer momentarily taking his mind off premeditated murder. “As in, the governor of California?”
“Yeah. He needs to get tough on education. Do you have any idea how easy it is to sneak out of school?”
Dad sighed heavily, appearing weary of my antics. It took him long enough.
We sat in an extended silence before I asked, “Does Mom know?”
“No, I’ll break it to her tonight. Do you have any idea how lucky you are that the school called me today and not her?”
I had some idea. Last time they called my mom, suddenly I was enrolled in a teen drug prevention program with a bunch of tweakers who chased their shadows. I didn’t belong there. Just because I was a pothead didn’t mean I had a problem with drugs. So I liked to relax with a puff or two, no big deal – well, until I made it a big deal by turning my pastime into a flourishing business.
I traced my finger along the dashboard before meeting my dad’s eye. “Luck had nothing to do with it.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“The office. They won’t call her.”
Dad couldn’t contain his curiosity. “What makes you so sure?”
“Last time I was in the office, the school caught fire.”
In response to his shocked expression, I replied, “I know. It surprised me too. Anyway, while they were evacuating the building, I took the liberty of changing her phone number on the emergency form.”
My father’s mouth dropped open, his eyes darting back and forth between the road and me. “So you’re telling me that your first thought in the middle of an emergency was to tamper with official documents?”
I shrugged. “What can I say? I’m good under pressure.”
A reluctant smile formed on his lips. “Was there anactualfire?”
“A small one, in Home Ec. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“No,” he chuckled. “Of course not.”
I flashed him a brilliant smile, wondering if we were good now. Had I sidestepped punishment?
But his smile faded away as quickly as it appeared. Dammit, he was fighting back. I still had work to do.
“You know, Keith, if you put even half as much effort into school as you do into ditching it, you’d be headed to an Ivy League school.”
“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you? I could be Mitch’s errand boy and keep all his trophies nice and shiny.”
The venom that hissed from my mouth surprised even me. Usually I was better at keeping my feelings on that matter to myself, because criticizing Mitch around my father was the equivalent of condemning the Pope. My older superstar half-brother walked on holy water.
Dad shook his head, a sour look on his face. “Knock it off.”
“What?” I asked, but already knowing I’d crossed the Mitch-line.
“Stop blaming your brother for your shortcomings. He’s worked damn hard for everything he has. You think he ditched three days of school just to chill?”
“No.”
