Call It What You Want(35)

I consider the way Connor rags on me at school. The way he smacked my head and stood over me, waiting for me to clean up the spilled money. His smug superiority.

I would like to think I’d never act that way. But I consider how I used to look at kids like Owen Goettler and I realize I’d probably be exactly the same.

This thought gives me no comfort whatsoever. It makes me glad I told Maegan to keep our relationship to schoolwork. I don’t deserve her friendship. I don’t deserve kindness. Not from anyone.

But her fingers were so warm on mine. The air so quiet between us. The beginning of trust.

Then her friends showed up.

We know who he is.

My father used to say, “I don’t carry a grudge, but I have a functioning memory.”

He was talking about people who screwed him over in business, but that expression always stuck with me. I won’t let bitterness over Drew’s comment stew in my gut—but I’m not going to forget it, either.

“Do you want to talk about when you’re going to go see a counselor?” Mom says.

I freeze. No. I want to talk about that even less. I almost fell apart when I made an offhand comment to Maegan about Dad’s care. I can’t sit in a room with a stranger for an hour. I can’t do it.

“Because I made you an appointment,” she continues. “A girl at work says her pastor works with a lot of troubled youth in the community. It’s not religious, just someone—”

“I already made an appointment,” I say quickly.

The words fall out of my mouth automatically.

I expect her to call me on the lie immediately, but maybe the wine is working in my favor. Or worse, maybe I’ve never given her a reason to think I’d be dishonest. Her face brightens. “You did? Where?”

“The school psychologist.” Another lie. But I can fix it. Tomorrow. I can make an appointment.

I think. I think we have one. I’m sure we have something.

In the back of my head, my conscience is at work with a pickax. Did my father lie so easily? Did my mother believe him so easily?

“Really?” she asks.

I nod. “Yeah.”

For some stupid reason, I’m thinking of Maegan at the restaurant, how she nearly spilled all her sister’s secrets right out on the table. She’s honest. She’s good.

I’m standing here lying to my drunk mother about something completely inconsequential.

I should take it all back. Promise to see this pastor and not mention it again.

But I’ve buried myself in the lie. She’s already enveloping me in a hug.

“You’re such a good boy, Rob. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Well.” I clear my throat. “I made a promise. I kept it.”

I’m a horrible son.

Tonight, my father’s eyes seem to follow me. It’s in my imagination, I’m sure, but I feel like he knows I lied. He’s judging me.

I want to get up and turn his chair around.

No, on second thought, I don’t. I want him to sit there.

I want him to watch what he’s created.



The next morning, I need to hit the library again. I couldn’t sleep after everything that happened, so I sat up in bed and read that whole book. I didn’t drift off until after four in the morning, so it was a real treat when the alarm blared at six.

My phone sat beside me when I was reading, and I kept hoping Maegan would text me, but of course she didn’t. We’re doing a math project together—and I specifically told her to keep it to that. Her closest friends believe I helped my father embezzle seven million dollars. No big deal.

Lack of sleep is doing nothing for my mental state.

“Mr. Lachlan! Back again so soon!” Mr. London’s false cheer is like a dart gun. Every word pierces. Pew. Pew. Pew. “What did you think?”

Today, I have no tolerance for this. “You don’t have to do that,” I growl. “I know you hate me. Just own it, okay?”

He snaps back. Any happiness falls off his face. Now he looks like I’ve shot him.

I wish I could say I felt vindicated, but I don’t. I feel like a jerk.

A girl’s voice speaks from around the corner. “I need to find a physical source for this sociology project. Come on, Con-con.”

Con-con. It’s Lexi Miter. Connor’s girlfriend. I used to mock him for that nickname. I have no idea how he’s tolerated it for so long. Honestly, I have no idea how he’s tolerated her for so long.

Lexi is the kind of girl who thinks everything is funny—even things that really aren’t. If I had money to gamble, I’d bet she made a joke about the way I found my father. She has a credit card that her parents pay without question. Someone online got ahold of her number once and racked up $3,000 in charges from Amazon. Her parents paid it all and didn’t realize for six months the charges were fraudulent.

At that point, the credit card company wouldn’t reverse the charges. They said it was the Miters’ responsibility to review statements in a timely manner.

I only know all this because Lexi thought it was hilarious. “Who has time to read a bunch of stupid statements? I’ve got a life.”

Three thousand dollars. Hilarious.

The worst part is that at the time, I remember thinking my dad would chew the credit card company a new one for refusing to reverse the charges. I wasn’t thinking about how Lexi had been careless. Or that her parents were.