Dad’s eyebrows raise. “Is his mom not in the picture either?”
I shake my head and frown. “No. I guess she left them? Not too long after their dad died. Really crappy.”
Tiny creases of tension pop up on Dad’s face. “I shouldn’t have suggested he’s a dick. It was unmerited.”
Mom gives him a look. “That all makes sense, Dacen, why you’re feeling the way you do. Now the question is, what are you going to do about it?”
I look down at my plate, willing the answer to magically appear but of course, it doesn’t.
I wish I knew.
12
Ryne
There are a few minutes until speech class starts and Mrs. Carter’s not here yet so I use the time to read through the plans Nathan shared with his team this week. They’re for the next phase of the Greek Revival house. Excitement flickers in my stomach when I flip through the pictures. I’m actually looking forward to working this weekend, I don’t even mind if I have to miss an afternoon at the lake because of it. The reno of this house is coming along so well, it already looks amazing.
Another pang of envy runs through me at the lucky people that get to live there when we’re done. One day maybe I’ll have a house like that. For now, my jealousy is pacified by being able to help reshape this one. It’s kind of thrilling, seeing an old structure morph and transform into something even better than its original version. Doing something like this as a job forever sounds like heaven to me. If only. The words in Nathan’s email lose focus as my mind takes a road trip back more than a decade.
“Okay, bubs. If the score is still tied after five penalty kicks, then something called ‘sudden death’ starts. What’s wrong?”
My eyes are wide as saucers. “Daddy, when I get big and play like you, I don’t wanna die if I miss a penalty kick.”
Dad laughs and ruffles my hair. “No, that’s not it at all. It’s just a silly name that means whoever scores first after both teams have had a chance at another penalty kick is the winner.”
“Oh.” My lower lip pouts and I frown. “Why can’t they call it somethin’ nicer?”
He laughs again and tosses the soccer ball to me. “Good question, bubs. If you’re a soccer pro like me someday, maybe you’ll come up with a different name for it.”
My shoulders slump. I put my phone face down on the desk and shove my earbuds in. With my arms crossed I stare at the clock on the wall, watching the second-hand tick, counting the movements until the choppy feeling in my stomach fades enough I no longer feel like puking. My stomach settles but then I stupidly pick my phone up again and scroll through to the text message I’d gotten recently. It was the thing that turned my mood from grouchy to bitter, what really set me off to the point I got in Dacen’s face in class the other day.
Come on, baby. You can’t ignore me forever.
Fuck that. My thumb hovers over the block button but instead, I close out of the message and set my phone back down. Someone taps me on the shoulder and slides into the seat beside me. They’re two-person tables and the seat to my left had as yet been empty. I turn and stare at Becker. I’d been pretending he doesn’t exist the last few days, quite well if I do say so myself, but yesterday morning I caved and started back up with our usual… whatever the hell it is. He’d been fighting with his locker door, yanking on the handle over and over again, and getting redder and redder in the face. Without thinking, I lightly hip-checked him out of the way and slammed my hand against the door to open it. He looked up at me and the look in his eyes… it was kinda hard to go back to the extreme silent treatment.
Today he looks a little tired but way less agitated than yesterday. His face is relaxed like he’s got no cares or problems in the world. Must be nice, living like that. No pressure to perform well so you can leave this dinky town, no potential pro career looming over your shoulder, poking and prodding like an annoying younger sibling.
He taps his ear. “Whatcha listening to?”
“Nothing. They’re not on.”
A comically confused perplexed face stares back at me. “Then why are you wearing them?”
“To keep people like you from pestering me.”
“Ah.” He gives me a half-smirk and then turns to face forward as Mrs. Carter enters the classroom.
“Why are you even sitting here? Can’t you go sit next to one of those idiots who actually enjoys hanging onto every word that comes outta your mouth?” I uncross my arms and recline in my chair.
He bites his lip like he’s holding back a smile and damn it I have half a mind to be likehey, don’t hold back. Let me see it. Maybe it’ll brighten up this cesspool of a mood I’m currently working with. But no. No. And hell no.
“But then I’d lose this perfect opportunity to pester you.” This time he doesn’t hold back, and the light of a thousand suns slams into me with his ear-to-ear grin.
I need some mental sunglasses, Jesus. I ignore the flood of warmth that courses through me and pull out my class stuff, then try my damnedest to tune him out for the next fifty minutes. About halfway through the class, I sneak my phone out of my backpack, keeping it hidden beneath the desk, and refresh my email. My heart drops into my stomach when I pull up one from Jonah, Dad’s best friend and teammate, inviting me to come visit sometime. We’ll go to a club game where he now coaches. That part sounds fine. I’d love to visit and go to a game. But I don’t want to get roped into talking with someone there about my ‘potential in the sport.’ A huge sigh slips out and I shove my phone under my leg. Out of sight, out of mind.
I glance at Becker and he’s staring at me with a small frown. Angling my body away from him I try to focus on Carter’s lecture about structuring a speech effectively. If only I could structure my future in a way that would effectively honor dad’s memory and not make me want to puke every time I thought about said future. Yeah, the whole out-of-sight, out-of-mind thing doesn’t really work. My mood tanks even more and by the time class is over I’m in a downright foul one. I slam my chair into the desk harder than intended when I get up to leave, startling Becker. He gapes at me and I turn and walk away before he has a chance to say anything because my response right now might be something even I would regret.
13
