Again, But Better(52)

“Wow, great.” Dad’s head swings from me to Sahra. “Sahra, you work with Shane at the health clinic, right?” I put down the phone.

If I were a mute cartoon character, I’d hold up my sign for the audience—Help! I find myself looking at Pilot.

Before Sahra can answer, Pilot abruptly offers his own response, “I’m actually working for an accounting office. Are you interested in accounting, Mr. Primaveri? You do something in finance, right?”

Did I tell him that? I must have. Dad’s expression scrunches into one of distaste. I’m immediately nervous for Pilot.

Dad shakes it off. “What? I was talking to Sahra,” he says dismissively. He brings his attention back to Sahra. “Sahra, I was sayin’, how’s it workin’ at the health clinic with Shane?”

“I don’t—” Sahra starts.

Pilot speaks over her. “Sorry, sir, I was, accounting’s really interesting, and I thought—” he interjects again.

“Excuse me, would you stop—I’m talking to Sahra.” Dad shakes his head in disbelief. “Sahra—”

I would smile if I wasn’t already busy being terrified.

“Yeah, I actually work at a la—” Sahra insists.

Her words are muffled as Pilot continues to loudly babble: “Sir, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I know Sahra’s tired, and I was just excited to talk about accounting…”

“Pilot, what the hell?” Sahra exclaims.

Dad swivels his gaze back to Pilot. “What’s your name again? Pilosh?” he bellows.

“Pilot, sir.”

“Wouldja shut up for just second and let me talk to Sahra, please? You can talk next.” He uses his angry-joking voice.

Pilot swallows visibly. He catches my eye as he surrenders, shoulders sagging. “Yes, sir. Of course.”

Dad huffs. “Now I’m gonna say this one more time, Sahra.” He widens his eyes at Pilot and turns to Sahra. “How’s it been at the health clinic with Shane? You enjoying it?”

Sahra’s eyebrows pull together. “Yeah, I work at a law office…”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Open them.

Dad’s looking at me. “What?”

“Yeah, I work at the law office of Millard J. Robinson and Associates,” I hear Sahra continue. Dad’s eyebrows draw together as he holds my gaze. My lips flop up and down, but nothing comes out.

The conversation descends into chaos.

“Uh, Sahra must have gotten conf—” Pilot starts.

“Our mistake, sweetie. For some reason Shane told us you worked with her at the clinic.”

“I don’t understand. Why are you working at a law office if you’re premed?” my dad booms at Sahra. “They’re allowed to give you an irrelevant internship? That’s not right!”

“Shane, how’d you confuse that, sweetie?” my mom coos.

“I’m not premed. I’m prelaw,” Sahra explains.

“Prelaw?” echoes Mom.

“What?” My father’s face flushes a bright shiny red, and he turns his attention back to me.

This is bad. This is bad.

“She means premed!” Pilot exclaims from across the table, but Dad’s done listening to him.

Sahra turns to Pilot. “What are you talking about? I don’t even think there is a premed track in London.”

Dad’s glare hardens. “What?”

I stare at the tablecloth and start hyperventilating.

“Oh, that can’t be. Shane is in that program, Sahra, there’s a whole brochure,” my mother starts to explain.

“Well, maybe there … is a premed program?” Atticus adds.

“Shane’s in the creative writing program,” Sahra states with oblivious nonchalance.

“Sahra,” Pilot scolds through his teeth.

“I’m not sure what’s going on—” Babe interjects.

“What do you mean creative writing? She’s premed.” Dad’s voice is low and furious.

Babe blurts, “She’s premed?”

“Shane,” Dad demands.

Scalding hot tears materialize without warning as I raise my gaze.

“Shane, what’s going on?” Mom’s concerned blue eyes lock onto mine. My heart constricts.

“Is there no premed program here?” Dad’s voice explodes to fill the room. I shrink down an inch in my seat.

“I, uh, no, not technically, but.”

“YOU LITTLE SHIT.”

Those three words knock the wind from my lungs.

Mom gasps, “Sal!”

Shit. I’ve heard Uncle Dan call Leo a little shit. I’ve never been a little shit. Dad called me a little shit.

I heave oxygen into my chest. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to. It was an accident—”

“An accident?” His hand slams on the table. “Where did that brochure come from?”

I am shit. “I, I made it,” I whisper.

“You. You made it?” Dad’s eyes bulge as he sucks in a new breath. “You conned us?” He turns to Mom, “Do you hear this, our daughter fuckin’ conned us!”

People can probably hear him in space. Mom’s eyes have glazed over.