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Pressing the answer button, I put the phone to my ear. “Hey, Dad.”
“Prescott, is there a reason why you haven’t answered your phone?”
“I was in class before. It just finished.”
“Oh, yeah, that poor excuse for your education.”
Nobody else, only my father, would think being pre-med is a “poor excuse for an education.”
“Did you need something?”
“Your next game is a home game?”
“It is.”
“Good. I have a meeting in Boston the day before, so I’ll be stopping by that day.”
So, a convenient intervention. God forbid, he’d make some time to come and visit his son at college. Not that I want him to. I’d be the happiest if he’d just leave me alone, but who’d he complain to then? I guess I should be happy that he announced himself so I can mentally prepare for it.
“Hopefully, you’ll play better than you did yesterday. That was pathetic, Prescott. If this is how you plan to play this season, it would have been better if you gave up when you were ahead instead of sullying our family’s name.”
I grit my teeth, trying to hold back my anger. It’s not like he cares what I think one bit, anyway.
“Anything else, Father?”
“No, that’s all. We’ll have dinner next week after the game, so don’t go scurrying off with your friends partying and drinking.”
“Whatever you say.”
There’s some kind of noise in the background before he says: “Next week.”
That’s it. No goodbye or have a nice day. Next week.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter.
“Who pissed in your cereal?”
I look up only to find Spencer watching me expectantly.
“Nobody,” I say, shoving my phone back into my pocket. “What’s up with you?”
“I’m going to the cafeteria to grab lunch. You coming?”
“Sure thing.”
I have a couple of hours free, just enough to grab some lunch and maybe dig into the mountain of homework and reading material my professors gave me this week—and it was only Tuesday—before I had to make it to the gym for conditioning.
I listen to Spencer talk about some girl he met at the party last weekend as we make our way to the cafeteria and grab lunch, my mind still on my conversation with my father.
It shouldn’t bug me. He’s been like this with me my whole life. Nothing I did was ever good enough. Not like…
Shaking my head, I push those thoughts back into the box they belong to and scan the cafeteria. I spot Nixon sitting with a few guys from the team, so we go ahead and join them.
“You look like something ran you over,” Nixon says as I take the chair opposite him.
“He’s more grumpy than usual,” Spencer adds helpfully. “I think somebody pissed him off. Or maybe he just needs to get laid. I don’t think I’ve—”
I look up and glare at my friends, not that I know why I hang out with them anyway. “I don’t need to get laid.”
