the recliner and falling to the floor. His expression showed that he was as stunned as I was. I swallowed, then shook my head. “You’re never going to touch me again. All I wanted was a dad. Just a dad. Not a coach or mentor or teacher. Just a dad.” I looked at the box of trophies, then kicked. They flew across the room, scattering. “I’m keeping my keys,” I said.
He blinked, staring.
I slammed the door shut on the way out.
B ack in my car, I drove to the nearest parking lot and sat. Then I dialed Mike. I got his message, then called again. He answered on the fifth ring. “Hey, Brett,” he said, his voice sleepy.
“Hey,” I said, uncomfortable. “What’s up?”
“Well, it’s two a.m. I was sleeping.”
“Yeah. Sorry. You mind if I camp out at your house tonight? My dad and I got into it.”
He hesitated. “I heard about today with Tilly and Killinger. Your new friend went apeshit on them.”
“If that’s what they say.”
“He’s the one with the eggs, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Both of them are gunning for you now. You know that, right?” he said.
“It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m done.”
“You’re not coming back to the team?”
“No.”
He paused again. “I can’t believe you’re doing this, Brett.”
“You know why I am, Mike. And I figured you’d get it.”
“That’s funny.”
“What is?” I said.
“For the first time, I agree with your dad and Coach more than you.”
Our friendship flashed through my head. Years of backyard campouts. Playing ball in the street. Riding our bikes down to the pond and chasing ducks. Joining Boy Scouts and quitting at the same time. Checking out girls downtown. “Don’t do this, Mike.”
“Do what? Be pissed that you’re fucking everybody over, including your best friend?”
“If the only thing I am to you is a way to get something you want, I guess so.”
“Killinger was right.”
“Right about what?”
“He said you couldn’t cut it. That this is how they cull the weak from the strong.”
“So I guess this is it, then? All this for nothing.”
Mike didn’t answer, and the silence was deafening.
“You’re better than them, Mike. You are,” I said. Then I hung up.
I woke up at six with a stiff neck, a cramp in my foot, and a headache. Newly homeless, I’d curled up in the back of my car, spreading an old hoodie over me and hoping that bandits, car thieves, murderers, or traveling gypsies wouldn’t kill me.
Sitting up, I watched the sun brighten the sky and took stock of what I had. Fourteen dollars and seven cents in my pockets. Fifty-three dollars in the bank. A half-dead cell phone with no charger. A quarter tank of gas. The clothes I had on my back. A new freedom that I found oddly exhilarating.
I’d finally stood up to my dad, and I’d seen the look in his eyes. He’d believed me. He’d known I was serious.
He’d listened.
He would never touch me again. He’d never make me live the way he wanted me to live, and sitting in my garbage-strewn car, I knew that I preferred this to that. Things were different now, and even though I was freaked out about what the heck to do, I knew I’d do something.
I also knew I wasn’t going back home.
That struck me almost like a blow. Everything with my dad had always been a lesson. A teaching moment, he said. Punishment was a learning experience. This wasn’t. He couldn’t punish me any longer. He’d expected me to act like a man since I was twelve years old, and now that I was making my own decisions, he couldn’t accept that.
I wondered for the millionth time what it would be like if my mom was alive, but I put it out of my head. I used to fantasize when I was little, usually after I’d gotten in trouble. My mom was always the hero. The superhero, I thought, then laughed, thinking of Preston. She would always rescue me in my fantasies. Hug me. Tell me everything was okay, and that I was okay.
I knew different, though. If she was alive, she’d be
He blinked, staring.
I slammed the door shut on the way out.
B ack in my car, I drove to the nearest parking lot and sat. Then I dialed Mike. I got his message, then called again. He answered on the fifth ring. “Hey, Brett,” he said, his voice sleepy.
“Hey,” I said, uncomfortable. “What’s up?”
“Well, it’s two a.m. I was sleeping.”
“Yeah. Sorry. You mind if I camp out at your house tonight? My dad and I got into it.”
He hesitated. “I heard about today with Tilly and Killinger. Your new friend went apeshit on them.”
“If that’s what they say.”
“He’s the one with the eggs, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Both of them are gunning for you now. You know that, right?” he said.
“It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m done.”
“You’re not coming back to the team?”
“No.”
He paused again. “I can’t believe you’re doing this, Brett.”
“You know why I am, Mike. And I figured you’d get it.”
“That’s funny.”
“What is?” I said.
“For the first time, I agree with your dad and Coach more than you.”
Our friendship flashed through my head. Years of backyard campouts. Playing ball in the street. Riding our bikes down to the pond and chasing ducks. Joining Boy Scouts and quitting at the same time. Checking out girls downtown. “Don’t do this, Mike.”
“Do what? Be pissed that you’re fucking everybody over, including your best friend?”
“If the only thing I am to you is a way to get something you want, I guess so.”
“Killinger was right.”
“Right about what?”
“He said you couldn’t cut it. That this is how they cull the weak from the strong.”
“So I guess this is it, then? All this for nothing.”
Mike didn’t answer, and the silence was deafening.
“You’re better than them, Mike. You are,” I said. Then I hung up.
I woke up at six with a stiff neck, a cramp in my foot, and a headache. Newly homeless, I’d curled up in the back of my car, spreading an old hoodie over me and hoping that bandits, car thieves, murderers, or traveling gypsies wouldn’t kill me.
Sitting up, I watched the sun brighten the sky and took stock of what I had. Fourteen dollars and seven cents in my pockets. Fifty-three dollars in the bank. A half-dead cell phone with no charger. A quarter tank of gas. The clothes I had on my back. A new freedom that I found oddly exhilarating.
I’d finally stood up to my dad, and I’d seen the look in his eyes. He’d believed me. He’d known I was serious.
He’d listened.
He would never touch me again. He’d never make me live the way he wanted me to live, and sitting in my garbage-strewn car, I knew that I preferred this to that. Things were different now, and even though I was freaked out about what the heck to do, I knew I’d do something.
I also knew I wasn’t going back home.
That struck me almost like a blow. Everything with my dad had always been a lesson. A teaching moment, he said. Punishment was a learning experience. This wasn’t. He couldn’t punish me any longer. He’d expected me to act like a man since I was twelve years old, and now that I was making my own decisions, he couldn’t accept that.
I wondered for the millionth time what it would be like if my mom was alive, but I put it out of my head. I used to fantasize when I was little, usually after I’d gotten in trouble. My mom was always the hero. The superhero, I thought, then laughed, thinking of Preston. She would always rescue me in my fantasies. Hug me. Tell me everything was okay, and that I was okay.
I knew different, though. If she was alive, she’d be
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