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“Tell me, Say.”
I jerk away from him. “Don’t call me that.”
“I just wanna know what it’ll take for you to let me ask menial questions like how your family is doing without you jumping down my throat. Is that too much to ask?”
“Apparently,” I quip.
“So that’s it? We can’t be civil to each other? I can’t ask how your family’s doing?”
“Nope. Not when you’re gonna wind up leaving again.”
“Are you serious?” he asks.
“Dead serious.”
“Who says I’m going to leave again, Say? And don’t deflect this time,” he warns me.
“You don’t have a job.”
“So?”
“And you didn’t buy a house. You’re renting.”
“Wait. How did you––”
“Small town, remember? And trust me, everyone has loved keeping your pathetic ex up to speed on every little thing you do.”
“You’re not pathetic––”
“That’s not the point,” I seethe.
“Then what is your point, Say? Huh? You just feel like making me shoulder the blame for the shit I did? Trust me. I don’t need your help on that account. And yeah, I haven’t found a house to put any money down on yet. If I’m going to stick around, I want to make sure that I find what I’m looking for. So what?”
“So, if you don’t have a job, and you didn’t buy a house, then what’s keeping you here? What kind of roots are you actually planting, huh? None. You aren’t planting any roots because you have no idea whether or not you’re going to stick around, and until the time comes that you do, then I don’t know why I should bother wasting my breath to fill you in on what my family’s been up to since you left me––”
“Hey, Dad!” Grady calls, interrupting my completely over-the-top tantrum in the middle of the school parking lot.
My cheeks flood with shame.
Get a freaking grip on yourself, Saylor!
Owen holds my gaze for another beat before shaking his head and calling, “I’m coming, Grady.”
His iciness only fans my guilt as he turns on his heel and heads to the grass where almost half the class are now lounging around. Arms crossed, I try to ignore his commanding tone as he leads them in a cooldown stretch, bending at the waist and touching his toes.
Aaand there’s America’s ass. Sorry, Captain America, Owen Daniels has you beat.
The class follows suit, rotating from one foot to the other before stretching their arms above their heads and pushing themselves into a lunge position. When they stand on one leg while pressing their opposite ankles to their butts in hopes of stretching their quads, they look more like a bunch of clumsy flamingos than miniature athletes, but I bite my lip to keep from smiling at the sight. I’m too pissed to enjoy the spectacle as a few more kids join the others.
“Is that Grady’s dad?” a deep voice inquires, sidling up to me.
I jump a few inches into the air before twisting toward Principal Wells. “Crap, you scared me.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I return. “Uh, what were you saying?”
“That’s Grady’s dad, right?”
