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I wonder if this is a good time to remind Tom about the car. He promised I’d get a new one soon. I’m thinking a two-seater would be nice. I decide against mentioning it just yet. Better to bide my time.
“It was too much for her without Grant,” he says, reminding me I’m supposed to be discussing the Dunns, not pondering what color leather would look good with my vacation tan. Sometimes Tom is so boring I forget we’re in the middle of a conversation. “Says who?”
“Says Beth.”
I was hoping he might say that. The more I think about it, the more I like this Beth character, because now that I know who’s in charge, now that I know who’s calling the shots, I know where to focus my efforts.
Chapter Six
Tom
The stuff they call music is several decibels too high to have any sort of effective communication. A fact I am quite grateful for, even if the sound offends my ears. At least it means I don’t have to talk to anyone. I’m not exactly what you’d call hiding; I’ve just never been a fan of social affairs. That’s not to say I don’t understand their necessity—it’s just not one I prefer. I observe on the fringes. I’m neither in nor out, but I’m here, and that counts for something.
When you rule something out, you limit your focus. My father taught me this. You can’t go around parading your unconventional ways, he often reminded me. Don’t fool yourself into thinking it’s cute. Back then, I had no idea what he meant. I wasn’t fooling myself, only him. There was nothing cute about getting pummeled every day.
When I came home with my fourth consecutive pair of broken glasses and third black eye, he sat me down and explained. “You’re different than other kids, Thomas. But that doesn’t mean you can’t blend. You can make friends. You just have to be smart about it.”
I shook my head. “They hate me.” I was old enough then to know adults lied to kids when they wanted their way. “I’m never going back.”
“You are going back.”
I folded my arms and dug my heels in. Already, I was smarter than my father about some things. If I tried hard enough, I could be smarter about this. “You can’t make me.”
“I can, and I will. You think you’re powerless?”
I stared at the floor.
“No one is powerless, son.”
“They call me names. They beat me up—”
“What names?”
“Know-it-all. Nerd. Four-eyes…”
He studied me earnestly. “Are you those things?”
I shrugged.
“You can beat them at their own game, you know.”
“How?”
“Influence.”
I knew what the word meant. I didn’t yet understand how to use it.
“Help them with their school work, let them copy your papers. They’ll come to depend on you.”
“That’s cheating.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But you’re smarter than they are. There’s no way around that. And the sad truth, Thomas, is people will always find a way to punish you for making them feel inferior.”
I need to remind Melanie to be careful at social gatherings. I thought I’d hammered this in the last time. Apparently not.
She can’t help herself, I don’t think. I can’t help her now, so I sit complacently looking on from across the backyard. She’s kicked off her heels and let down her hair. She’s in her element, surrounded by admirers. I wonder if she knows what she’s in for. I wonder if she knows I can’t save her. Not even if I wanted to.
She throws her head back and laughs at something Cheryl has said. She and her husband Adam are hosting. It was my surprise to Melanie, not telling her where we were going for dinner club. Of all the women, I think she likes Cheryl the most.
