Page 75 of As You Walk On

I stop short. Would they even understand what I want to say?

“My pops,” I finally whisper. “I love him so much, but he has goals for me. So many...”

“Expectations?” offers Luca.

I nod slowly. That’s what it is, isn’t it? An expectation. Something I have to live up to.

“I can’t let him down after he’s worked so hard to give me a future,” I admit. “How am I supposed to function if I disappoint him?”

It’s wholly self-pressure, I know. Dad’s never explicitly said he’d disown me if I don’t get into Duke. He’s not the type of parent to hang something over your head for long. Not like the Scotts do to Jay. But the look in his eyes whenever I win a race. Ace a test. Accomplish anything on The Plan’s checklist.

A twinkling, enthusiasticI’m so proudgleam appears. As if I’m the son he’s always dreamed of. I’m everything he never got to be.

“We’ll never be the flawless kids our parents imagine,” says River.

Luca stretches his legs out, crosses an ankle over mine. I let it rest there comfortably.

“Disappointing the adults in our lives is part of being a teen,” says Makayla, winking.

I chomp on a cookie. Nothing they say absolves what I’m feeling about Dad. But at least I’m not alone.

Aleah lifts her cup. “Never have I ever cried so much in one night.” She takes a huge gulp, then wipes snot on her shirtsleeve. “Sorry.”

We all laugh, toasting and chugging.

Again, it’s Aleah who makes the next suggestion: “Let’s get out of here. This room. This damn party. I needrealfood, less drama.”

“Same,” I say.

Immediately, Makayla offers her car keys to me. The DD title lives on. I don’t mind. Any reason to keep our little crew together.

We clean up the snacks. Gather up the Monopoly pieces. Put Maddie’s bedroom back together as best we can.

At the door, we all hesitate at the idea of facing the party again.

I step into the hallway first.

Thankfully, I’m still not alone.

15

THIS IS OUR NIGHT

When I wasyounger, I had a minor candy obsession. Light emphasis onminor. I couldn’t resist those individually wrapped Jolly Ranchers. Specifically, the green apple ones. Granny, with her bottomless tote bag always in her lap, was my enabler.

She had an infinite supply of Jolly Ranchers swimming beneath Kleenex and cosmetics and loose change.

She also had one strict rule:Never before dinner, TJ.

It was fine by me. It meant she’d tuck a piece in my palm at least twice during church services on Sundays or on long car rides with her and Dad. Under no circumstances did I break her rule.

Except that one time.

We were at a corner store, Granny and me. Dad was busy grocery shopping for dinner. Granny needed a brand of spice she could only find at Warner’s Stop & Stock.

Since Granny was his favorite customer, the hairy, brawny clerkbehind the counter always happily escorted her around, showing off all the new products while filling her tiny cart with supplies we definitely hadn’t planned to get. I stayed near the front, impatiently biting my nails, counting down until I was back home with a TV and something delicious to eat.

Then my eyes spotted a treasure on the front counter.

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