“I— Yes. I’m sorry.” The words tumble out, tripping over each other. I can’t look at Cristiano. I can’t look at either of them.
I hurry away before anyone can say anything else, my chest so tight I can barely breathe.
Behind me, I hear Cristiano say, “Dad, don’t talk to Mina like that.”
Mr. Montoni’s voice is cold and flat. “I see you won.”
It’s not a congratulation. It’s an observation. A sneer.
Instead of continuing to the kitchen, I press my back against the wall, out of sight, and hold my breath. I shouldn’t listen, but a desperate part of me hopes that Mr. Montoni will say something kind and acknowledge what Cristiano did today.
There’s a long silence.
“Yes, sir.” Cristiano’s voice is empty, a tone that makes him sound like he’s talking to a stranger.
“Track.” Mr. Montoni makes it sound like a disease. “How much time did you waste training for this?”
“I trained before school. It didn’t interfere with—”
“It interfered with your focus. Your grades this semester are acceptable, but not exceptional. You’re barely maintaining your position in the top five percent of your class.”
Barely maintaining top five percent? But that’s incredible.
“Yes, sir.”
“And this.” There’s a sound like metal clinking. The medal, maybe, being touched dismissively. “Running in circles doesn’t command respect. It doesn’t prepare you for your future responsibilities.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You waste time on frivolous pursuits.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Montoni’s voice sharpens. “Tell me, what were you doing walking through my front door with the housekeeper’s daughter?”
Oh God.
I cover my face with both hands, terrified that I’ve gotten Cristiano into trouble.
“She came to watch the meet,” Cristiano says, and his voice is still flat, still emotionless.
“Why?”
“Because I invited her.”
“Why would you invite her?” Mr. Montoni’s tone is incredulous. Contemptuous. “What possible reason could you have for wanting her there?”
“She’s my friend,” Cristiano says, and there’s an edge to his voice now. The flatness is cracking.
“No son of mine is friends with the help’s daughter. An uneducated, mousy little fool. You will not speak to her again.”
“No.”
There’s a ringing silence.
“What did you say to me?”
“I said no.” Cristiano’s voice is harder now. Angry.
