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CHAPTER ONE

The air was hot and sticky, I was sitting out on the front porch steps listening to my grandfather‘s old radio. My toe tapped to the beat as a few young kids on bikes with training wheels and streamers hanging from their handlebars rode past my grandparent’s house. My grandma opened the front screen door with a familiar creak as her shaky voice rang out “Oliver, you better be hungry because I made us a feast tonight!” She laughed and went back into the house, saying “it‘s almost ready, I could use some help in the kitchen” as she left.

I hopped off the steps and turned off the radio. I began to ravel up the cord but jumped when a dark-skinned hand was unexpectedly placed on my shoulder. I turned to find that it was Amir. I playfully pushed him away “thanks for scaring the daylights out of me.”

“No problem!” He snickered and knelt to tie a shoelace. “Your grandma make dinner for tonight yet?”

“You came just in time…you have a habit of doing that.”

“I know.” Amir winked as he ran up the steps and swung open the screen door. He looked back at me and motioned with a hand for me to follow.

I shook my head, laughing a bit inside at his perfect timing. Once I finished packing up the radio, I followed behind. My grandfather was sitting in the living room in his recliner watching the aged and barely working television. It was an old movie, black and white with the cheesy music and romance. “Hey gramps.” I said to him in passing as I went to the kitchen. Amir had gone straight for the couch, his body sprawled out across the length of it as he watched the tv. In the extremely white kitchen, my grandma was in a tizzy taking out serving spoons and knives and plates all at once. I went to give her a hand and realized she wasn’t kidding about us having a feast. “What’s the occasion?” I asked, nodding to the excessive amounts of food laid out on the breakfast bar counter.

She smiled her toothy smile and simply shook her head as she pulled out some potholders from a cupboard.

“Grandma, I know that face, you’re hiding something. Tell me!” I chuckled.

She hesitated, giving me a look as if she wanted so desperately to tell me, but at the same time wanted to keep hiding it. “Well, what if I were to say that your parents are coming home tonight.”

This indescribable feeling washed over me all at once. It wasn’t really of excitement, more of disappointment, and for that I felt terrible. I felt like a bad child for not wanting my parents to come home, I liked the distance for a change. “Really?” The word was flat, showing quite easily my deflated state. It was always so effortless for people to know my emotions. I had been told many times before that people could read me like a book.

My grandma proved this theory by walking; hobbled and slow as usual, up to me to pat me on the back. “Your step-mother and I talked on the phone for quite some time, I think that them going to California has helped them a lot.”

I hope so.

I glanced at the clock above the stove: 5:02 PM. “When will they be here?”

“Soon, in less than a half an hour. Just in time for dinner.”

I looked over to Amir and my grandpa in the living room, “Amir came by, hope you don’t mind he stays for dinner.”

My grandmother snickered “I don’t know why you even ask, that boy is always welcome here. He knows that too, he’s been over here quite often, ever since school let out…especially at dinner time. Besides, I already made sure to make enough for him anyway.”

I laughed. “I know, he says that your cooking is much better than his mother’s.”

My grandmother rinsed a head of lettuce off under the sink as she mumbled, “such a nice boy.” Clearly flattered. My grandmother loved to hear that she had good cooking, it was her favorite compliment. “Oliver, can you set those out on the dining table?” She pointed to the several plates of food sitting on the counter opposite us.

“No problem.” I grabbed a large pot of spaghetti and a plate of chicken and took them out of the kitchen and into the dining room. Just as I set down the plates, the door swung open and the air seemed to immediately change to a cold and tense feeling. “Hi!” That voice was so very familiarly irritating. I slowly looked up from the dining table to see a very bronze, beach blonde, and skinny woman holding several bags in hand with a stiff and somewhat chubby man standing awkwardly behind her.

“Oliverrr!” Her nasally voice rang out my name shrilly. “Give me a hug! It’s been so long honey.”

I walked over to the couple hesitantly as she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed me, managing to jab me with one of her long, fake, plastic nails. “Hi Lisa, how was California?”

“Well, it was not what I expected at all! It was fabulous when we were at the hotel, but the city was a bit dirty, I won’t lie.”

“What city isn’t dirty?” I mumbled under my breath. She gave me a slight glare but quickly dismissed what I said.

“Your father had a lovely time.” She said as she pat my dad’s stomach. “Didn’t you pookie?”

I gagged a little at the remembrance of such a mooshy gushy pet name for my father. He seemed to blush a little in embarrassment and coughed in agreement.

“That’s good.” My words were hollow.

Lisa let out a short but sharp breath, a huff, as she set down her bags and stood by the dining table. “Oliver, that table’s dirty, take these plates back off of it and wipe it down.”

I glanced at the dining table, it seemed to be fine, but nothing escaped my step-mother’s critical eye. Walking back into the kitchen, I rolled my eyes while my grandmother’s back was turned to me. As I grabbed a rag, she set her frail hand on my forearm and looked up into my eyes. I sighed slightly and nodded in agreement to her reassuring motion. Things would be okay…

As I returned to the dining room, Lisa was picking at her nails, sitting cross-legged at the table opposite my father. “Your mother’s house smells, Edgar,” Lisa said under her breath to my father.

“It’s from the cooking.” I said with a slight glare. How dare she insult my grandmother’s home so blatantly.

Lisa looked up at me, surprised, almost as if she had already forgotten that I was there. She somehow managed to smile with pursed lips, and in a condescending tone said, “I suppose so.” Then she cleared her throat. “How was your summer, Oliver?”

“Fantastic.” I made sure the word bit a little as I left back into the kitchen to grab more plates of food.

Finally as we all set down to eat, Lisa attempted to make small talk but ended up just asking my grandmother, “have you had any problems?” Her eyes darting to me.

My grandma smiled, her eyes crinkling, “not in the very least, the boys have been great, very helpful.” She looked to me and Amir. She liked to think that Amir was related to her, well, I guess he could be, he stayed over so much. Amir smiled when he realized that she was talking about him.

“That’s good.” Lisa looked down at her plate as she cut some chicken. There was an awkward silence for a while after, with only the muffled sound of the television show my grandfather was watching in the background and the clinking of silverware to fill the silence. Then, Lisa cleared her throat again. “Your father and I have something to discuss with you after dinner, Oliver.”

I never understood why she did that, “why not just tell me now?”

“Well, now is not-”

Finally, my father spoke. “Lisa, we might as well.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Have you ever heard of The Thompson School for Boys in New York?”

I shook my head. Where was she going with this one?

“Well, your cousin George goes there and your father and I looked into it and believe it would be an excellent school with enough academic rigor to keep you focused for your senior year.”

I almost wanted to laugh as this feeling of surrealism wafted over me. She had to be joking. “I go to Jefferson High,” was all that I could say. My cousin George was the son of my aunt and uncle on my step mom’s side that they were visiting in California. He was a pompous, know-it-all kid, with thick rimmed glasses and a mighty case of acne. He liked to challenge me on everything whenever I visited, but I was always able to outwit him.

“Yes, but next year you will be going to Thompson.” She looked towards my father for reassurance.

“I go to Jefferson High,” I repeated in disbelief.

Crossing her legs she looked back down at her plate, “not anymore.”

“I don’t, I don’t understand.” I looked to Amir as if he could shed some light on this. Amir looked dubious.

“What’s not to understand? Your father and I enrolled you at Thompson so that you can have a brighter future. You’re welcome for looking out for you.” Her eyebrows rose.

“What’s wrong with Jefferson?” I didn’t feel good suddenly, my stomach turned thinking about leaving the school where I knew everyone, where I had a name for myself. Leaving all of my friends.

“I feel like I’m speaking to a toddler.” She muttered. “Edgar, you tell the boy.”

My father looked as though he didn’t want to say anything at all, I knew almost instantly that this was not his decision by the forced look on his face. “Oliver, Lisa and I want a good future for you, and Thompson will provide you with the skills to get into a college like Harvard or Yale.”

I sighed, “dad, we’ve talked about this countless times. I’m not going to some stuffy Ivy League school. I’m going to an art school.”

My father looked even more pained after hearing what I had said.

Lisa snorted. “That’s the most ridiculous idea I have ever heard! You’ll have no future as an artist, you need to give it up and become a doctor, or even a lawyer like your father. We‘re not going to let you bum off of your father for money. You need to make your own living.”

I could feel my temper rising. They never supported me. I knew she wanted me to get one of those awfully non-free spirit jobs so that it was insured that she would have all of my fathers money to herself. It was obvious that that was the only reason she had married him, my father was a fool for marrying a gold-digger like her. The fact that she wanted me to go away to some school in New York pissed me off too, I knew it was because she wanted to be able send me away and have the house all to herself and my father. I wanted to scream as my hands clenched on my fork and knife. I missed when it was just me and my dad, there was never any drama and he used to love me. I dropped the silverware loudly on my plate, pushed away my chair, and stormed out the door.

The screen door closed with a thwack as I got into my car to be immersed in the familiar smell of leather and the green air freshener hanging from my mirror. My fingers gripped around the steering wheel and with my eyes closed tightly, I took a deep breath, then let it out. It was my way of decompressing.

When I opened my eyes, I saw the front door of my grandparents’ house open. It was Amir, his brow was furrowed in concern.

It was strange to see Amir’s usually cheerful face so solemn. It made me feel awful for having caused a scene like I did, but I couldn’t bear to go back in the house at this point. I jabbed my key in the ignition and peeled out of the driveway. I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew that I needed to get away from there. The vibration of the engine felt soothing as I sped down the country roads. As I drove, I lost track of where I was, whizzing past barns and houses here and there until I found myself parking at a familiar place.

I walked through the tall grass, past the abandoned tractor, to find myself sitting on a bridge that overlooked a crick. My grandparents used to take me here all the time when I was little. It used to be a cider mill, but went out of business a few years back.

I zoned out for what seemed like hours, trying to find some peace of mind. It wasn’t just the fact that they were forcing me to go to a new school in a new state, but also the fact that as soon as they just waltzed right back into my life they were able to ruin it again in a matter of seconds.

Jefferson High School wasn’t the best school, the girls were skanks, the guys were tools. But it still felt like home. I had been in that school district my whole life, even back in kindergarten when my mother actually cared about my father and I.

Now, my mother was off with some other family and my father had married yet another horrible woman. He had a habit of marrying women that lacked empathy and were ignorant to the world. This was his third marriage.

I almost felt bad for my father, for his incapability of ever advocating for himself. He tended to take the backseat in relationships. But, at the same time I was frustrated by the fact that he couldn’t see women for their beauty within. I hated how he was only attracted to younger women. Lisa had obviously only married him for his money because she would always guilt-trip him into buying her diamonds and have him take her on countless cruises and vacations. Why else would a woman as young as her want a fifty-something year old man like my father? In a way, it really disgusted me. It made me feel as though my own father was a pig. I had vowed early on to never follow in my father’s foot steps, to live from the heart.

A frog that was hidden in the lilies by the crick croaked loudly and snapped me out of my thoughts. I looked at the sky, it was getting to that time when the sun turned everything a honey color. My phone said that it was 7:36 and I decided that I should probably go back to my grandparents’ house.

When I pulled up to the familiar house with the white picket fence and blue shutters against white siding, I saw that Amir was sitting on the front porch while my grandmother was sitting in her rocking chair, knitting.

Amir hopped off the steps as I parked and walked up to the passenger’s side window. As I rolled it down, he asked in a very knowing tone, “you ok?”

“Yeah.” I lied.

He frowned, knowing full well that I was lying. “let’s get out of here.” Then he opened the door to sit in the passenger seat.