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He shakes his head. “She doesn’t want us to worry about her work. She just wants us to focus on school.”
“Why don’t you tell her you don't want her to do it?” I say, twiddling my thumbs.
“I can’t,” he whispers.
“Why not?”
He tenses, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. He takes a while to respond as if he doesn’t really want to say what’s on his mind. “Dad. It’s because of him.”
I swallow, scared to venture into this unknown territory.
“He was in a lot of debt when he died. My mom has worked really hard to get us back on our feet. She doesn’t want us to ever be without anything.”
“She cares about you a lot.”
He nods. “But this job . . .” He takes a break and sighs. “She wants it to help pay our college tuition. She wants me to go to Stanford, but I don’t even want to go there. And I don’t want her to put our family into debt again over it.”
“Tell her that,” I say.
“I don’t know how to. It’ll break her heart.”
I want to hug him. To let him know that it’ll be okay, but my arms stay put.
* * *
We getout of the car as Mrs. Park comes running out of the house. Her long black hair blows behind her, and she hugs her coat tight around her chest. “You got here just in time,” she says, closing the door behind her. She frowns when she notices me. “Shouldn’t you be headed home?”
“That’s probably a good idea,” I say, ready to leave. I have a feeling these two need to talk, even if Caleb doesn’t really want to.
Caleb gently grabs my arm. “Don’t go.” His eyes plead for me to stay.
Mrs. Park looks between us, settling even further into her frown.
He looks back at his mom. “You should go. I wouldn’t want you to be late for your interview.” His normally warm tone is dry and calloused.
She brings her finger to her lips. “Hush. I don’t want Jordy to hear.”
Caleb rubs the back of his neck. “Do you really expect me not to tell him?”
“You can’t. It’ll upset him.”
“And finding out later won’t?”
“Why are you overreacting? You never do this,” she says, looking over her shoulder to check the window. “I’ll tell him eventually—when the time is right.”
“You have to tell him.”
“I can’t yet. I’m so afraid of upsetting him every second of every day. He’s not like you. He can’t handle it. I need more time—”
“Just because I don’t hyperventilate when I’m upset doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings. I get hurt too. I get mad. I get overwhelmed. I get sad. I just hide it from you!”
I’ve never seen Caleb talk to his mom this way. He’s always so calm and patient. But it’s clear that the button in his box has been pushed. He’s barely keeping it together. I want to reach out and touch him.
His hands are shaking, and his eyes start roaming, looking for an escape. He starts walking toward the house.
“Wait,” she says.
He pauses as if he’s waiting for her to apologize. “What?”
