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Ethan quiets; all his incredible energy, colour, emotion compresses to nods and polite answers. His baseball cap goes back on.
He doesn’t outwardly hate his dad for it. At least, there’s no fight. He accepts what Tom says and does what he’s told.
Me, though. I’m angry. I glare at him but he’s not paying attention to me. He’s frowning after his son.
“It was just a fairy-tale at a tea party.”
“Did you put him up to this?”
“Excuse me?”
I probably shouldn’t laugh, but I do. A part of me is happy. I have proof now. I have something I can take to Mum. Tom’s not a good person. He’s a homophobe. I don’t know how I’ll ever respect the man.
“I hope she changes her mind about marrying you.”
Somebody to catch by the hand
K. Mansfield, “Fairy Tale”
“He’s toxic, Mum. What do you see in him?”
Mum stops peeling vegetables and looks at me across the marble kitchen island, baffled.
I explain what happened and she hums thoughtfully. “I’m sure you’re reading more into it than what’s there. Tom is supportive of the gay community. He donates every year to LGBT organisations.”
This stumps me. But . . . But . . . “He asked me if I put Ethan up to the tea party.”
“You had a date with the tailor, Fin. Maybe he was exasperated that he had to hunt you down for it? I don’t know. But I’m sure you misunderstood.”
I don’t stop peeling. Every strip is getting shorter and quicker and I’m pressing hard into the kumara.
“I’m not saying he’s perfect,” Mum continues. “But in his heart, he means well. He fought the school board to let you attend after summer. The most prestigious school in the South Island.”
I frown. A private school? “They let me in? I suck at school.”
“You don’t suck at school.”
“My failing grades would suggest otherwise.”
“You’re smart. You just get overwhelmed. It’s the pressure.”
“Or I’m just lazy.”
“No, you put in the effort. I’ve seen it. We all learn at different speeds, that’s all.” She frowns.
I know what that frown is about. She took me to a psychologist once; I took test after test and did just fine on all of them. The psychologist seemed to think that my issues in class were emotional. That once I’d gotten through my grief at the sudden loss of my dad, I’d be okay. But it’s been almost three years now and . . . it just takes so much energy. After half an hour of reading, I just want to nap.
“It’s a fresh start. You’ll have new teachers, the best education you can get. And much smaller classes, you might benefit from that.”
My frown deepens. “Is it the same school Ethan goes to?”
“He’s a year ahead of you, but yes.”
“And Tom got me in?”
“And he’s paying an exorbitant amount for it. Thank God for the sibling discount!”
I shudder. “I don’t get why he’s bothering.”
Mum comes around the island and lifts my chin. She stares into my eyes softly. “He sees you as family.”
The last of the summer holiday passes and school starts.
I hate the preppy uniform, but whatever. It’s co-ed at least, and I make a friend. Maybe not a close friend, but at least someone to sit with at lunch. Red-haired, always manicured Maria knows everything about everyone, so she’s been good to have around. She’s even pointed out all the guys she knows are gay. Which, to be fair, isn’t many but the few there are make an impression.
Since the tea party, Ethan’s been weird around me. We barely speak, each going about our day like the other doesn’t exist. He drives himself to school, and I take the bus. To be fair, he’s not allowed to drive me there on his restricted license, but it still feels . . . symbolic or something. So did Mrs Norris’s puke on my bed. The second time this week.
Maria hitches her school bag higher up her shoulder as we zig-zag down the path to the carpark and bus stop. For once, I can’t wait to get back to Mansfield. My big fat Achieved is burning in my backpack. The first important test I’ve passed for English, uh, ever. Mum’s gonna explode with joy. Hell, I’m giddy on it, too.
The silly lightness in my stomach is even enough to overpower the prickles at my nape that tell me Ethan is close.
I glimpse him in the corner of my eye; he’s a few steps behind us on the single path, car keys jingling as he flips them over his finger, round and round.
Fern fronds flick into my face—thanks Maria—and I sidestep to avoid the same thing happening to Ethan. It’s acknowledging him, but . . . whatever. I’m happy. My teacher is great, and I might actually be improving.
“To be honest,” Maria’s saying, “that test was easy. Like, ridiculously easy. Everyone I’ve asked got Excellence. Only Rush got Achieved. How dumb do you have to be to only get Achieved?” Her laugh steals every ounce of my giddiness.
