My phone rings before I can even close the portal. Dad's name flashes on the screen, and my stomach immediately clenches.
But wait—this time is different. He was at the showcase. He saw the standing ovation, heard Marcus from Nebula asking about my choice mechanism, watched three hundred people celebrate my work.
Maybe, finally, he gets it.
I answer with more hope than I should allow myself.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Ethan.” His voice has that particular tone that means he's got something to say, but there's something else too. Pride, maybe? “I see your grades have improved.”
“Yeah, they have.” I can't help the smile creeping into my voice. “And did you see—the showcase went amazing. Marcus from Nebula was really interested?—”
“We'll get to that. Academic rehabilitation tutoring.” There's a pause, and I can practically hear him processing this information. “Professor Long called me about it earlier. Said you'd been helping some struggling student with Creative Writing, and that both of your grades improved significantly as a result.”
“Yeah, the tutoring program worked out well. But Dad, about the showcase—Marcus said my work was revolutionary. He wants to talk more formally?—”
“Wants to talk.” Dad's voice sharpens. “Not offering you a job. Not hiring you. Just 'wants to talk.'”
The hope in my chest wavers. “Well, yeah, but Professor Long said?—”
“So you don't actually have a job offer.”
“Not yet, but?—”
“So you finally decided to take your academics seriously.” His voice shifts back to that particular blend of relief and condescension. “Good. About time you found a way to make yourself useful after throwing away your real potential.”
The hope in my chest starts to deflate, but I push through. “Dad, didn't you see the presentation? The industry people were taking notes. This IS my potential?—”
“The presentation was very polished, I'll give you that. You always were good at performing.”
Performing. Like it was just an act.
“It wasn't a performance, Dad. It's my career. Nebula Arcade is one of the best indie studios in the country, and they might be interested.”
“I have to admit, I was worried about you after the football thing. Thought maybe you'd just given up entirely. But thistutoring program, this shows you're at least trying to salvage something from your college experience.” He's warming up now, getting into his stride, completely ignoring everything I'm saying. “It's smart, actually. If you can't be an athlete, at least you can help other people who are also struggling. Make yourself feel important by fixing other people's problems.”
“That'snotwhat—Dad, did you even watch my presentation? Did you hear what Marcus said about the choice mechanism being revolutionary?”
“I heard a lot of fancy words about video games, son. But teaching, or even coaching—now that's a stable career. I'm assuming the student you helped had some sort of learning difficulty. That's perfect for you, son. You always were good with the underdogs, probably because you understand what it's like to not quite measure up.”
Something snaps inside me. The last bit of hope I'd been clinging to—that maybe seeing my success would change his mind—dies completely.
He was there. He saw everything. The standing ovation, the potential of job offers, the respect from industry professionals. And it still wasn't enough.
I will never be enough for him unless I'm throwing a football.
“Stop.” The word comes out harder than I intended. “Just stop talking.”
“Excuse me?”
“You were there, Dad. You SAW it. Three hundred people gave me a standing ovation. One of the best studios in the industry is interested in my work. And you're still acting like it's some hobby I need to give up?”
“Ethan, getting emotional about?—”
“You have no idea what you're talking about.” I'm standing now, pacing my room. “Firstof all, Piper doesn't havelearning disabilities. She's brilliant. Smarter than I am, actually. Definitely smarter than you.”
“Ethan—”
