I frown, reaching up to touch it. “I’ll get a haircut.”
“I’ll have Maria book an appointment right away,” he says casually before leaving the room.
Who is Maria?Just as the thought passes through my mind, my grandfather taps his finger on the sheet of math homework. “Get this done, boy. I’ll be informing the new nanny of how useless you are at completing basic math. She can tutor you.”
I stare at the space where my father just stood in confusion. Every conversation I’ve ever had with my father has been like that: awkward, uncomfortable. We’re strangers, and neither of us will make any move to change that.
I’m not sure what I did to make him dislike me so much, but it must have been bad. Though, what could be so bad that becoming a ghost to your own children was the best outcome?
A few minutes later, I hear the doorbell, and I wait, pencil in hand, poised over my algebra.
“Samuel.” It’s my grandmother’s voice. I look up to see the evil bitch’s glare. She’s really not happy about having to watch over Sabella and I the last couple days. It’s been a huge inconvenience for her social calendar. No doubt I’ll pay for it next week when my father goes away on another of his work trips. “This is Patience, Mayor Noelle’s daughter.” She smiles at Patience, but I can see from her tight smile how fake it is.
“Where’s Father?” I ask, just to annoy her.
Her eyes narrow in on me. And then my grandfather’s firm hand grips my arm right where the bruise is forming. Acid races up my gullet at the intense burn of pain. He tightens his hold, making me whimper.
“He’s working in his office and doesn’t want to be disturbed. It’s a business meeting with Patience’s mother, and you already know this. You may be dumb, but you’re not deaf,” he says, his eyes cutting to my grandmother, who’s stroking Patience’s shoulder.
Finally releasing my arm, he pats the stool next to me. “Maybe the girl can help you get this finished,” he snaps.
My gaze travels to Patience. She’s frowning, making her pretty face contort. “You any good at algebra?” I ask, and she nods enthusiastically.
“I’m this year’s mathlete champion,” she says, matter-of-fact. “Algebra is my jam.” She smiles and comes over to join me. My grandfather grunts something under his breath and leaves the room, taking my grandmother with him.
“Well then, sit down, Ms. Mathlete.”
I slide off my seat and head to the refrigerator while Patience sits down, dropping her purse on the table. “You want something to drink?” I ask, throwing a snide look to the doorway my grandparents retreated through. “We have orange juice or soda.”
Patience smiles over at me. “I’m fine…unless you want to feed me? I’ll work better with food in my stomach. Mom didn’t stop for something on the way here and I’m starved.”
“Now that I can do,” I say. “We’ve got chicken, or shrimp and pork meatballs, some gumbo, or—” I look through the contents of the refrigerator.
“I’d just love a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, if that’s not too much trouble.”
I smile at her. “That actually sounds perfect.” I start dragging all the ingredients out for a peanut and jelly sandwich, making sure to grab the carton of orange juice too. I plan to drink the whole thing.
I make a plate of sandwiches, and Patience teases me for eating like a starved man. She has no idea. This entire week my father hasn’t been here, I’ve been living on scraps. But I won’t complain. I never complain. Instead, I make sure Sabella has enough to eat and is blissfully unaware of the tragedy that is our lives.
We both reach for the last sandwich at the same time, causing Patience to knock her hand into my arm. It catches me off guard, making me gasp and cringe as splinters of pain run up my arm. I hiss in agony, gritting my teeth against the throbbing.
“Sam?” Patience queries, reaching forward and taking my hand in hers. I watch in silence as she rolls back the sleeve of my sweater, her eyes widening at the growing purple bruise forming on my pale skin. Her delicate fingers stroke over the mark, taking care not to add any pressure.
“Sam…”
“Don’t,” I say firmly, not wanting to hear her next words. I already know what they’ll be.Who did this? I don’t want to have to tell her this new mark is from my grandfather, and the old fading bruises are my grandmother’s punishments.
I can feel my anger spiking.
The rage building.
I’m only eleven, but my anger is that of a full-grown man.
And why wouldn’t it be? I’m treated like dirt every day of my life. There’s only so much a person can take before they snap—before they decide enough is enough.
“Sam?” Patience whispers my name, and I glance across at her. She pulls the now snapped pencil from my grip and tugs down my sleeve. I flush in embarrassment. “Do you want to go get some fresh air?”
“Sure,” I grit out, pushing back from the table.
