Page 98 of As You Walk On

I bite my lip so hard I almost taste blood. Anything not to answer.

“Did you at least ask for the recommendation letter?”

It’s one question in the dozen or so Dad’s already asked. But it’s a lit match dropped on the kerosine in my blood. The fire climbs up my throat.

“I don’t give a damn what the Scotts think about us!” I yell.

Dad’s pupils dilate to the size of Mars, but I’m unaffected.

“Why doyoucare so much?” I ask.

He pauses. It’s like he’s thinking over his next words. How to manipulate them to sound perfect, as if the Scotts were sitting across from him and not me. “Jess has been my friend for a long time and—”

“And shouldn’t that be the reason you’re allowed to make mistakes around her?” I offer.

He’s quiet for a moment. “Our friendship has nothing to do with you wrecking your future,” he finally says.

“You have no idea what I deal with,” I growl, finding some of my own Wright ire. “What I’ve been putting up with from Jay and every other privileged dickhead just to impress them.”

Dad’s shoulders coil around his ears, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“None of this is easy for me,” I add, laughing emptily. My eyes sting. I think my chest is going to collapse.

Dad’s Adam’s apple bobs, but he stays quiet.

“I work hard every second. Follow every step. And guess what? It’s never enough.” I close my eyes, willing the tears back. “Now I have to rely on a real d-bag to write me a letter to get somewhere.”

Dad leans on his elbows, his face a calm that unnerves me. “If that’s the heaviest of your burdens, then that means all my tireless efforts are paying off.”

“You think I’m ungrateful?” I ask, slumping in my chair.

His mouth doesn’t say yes. His eyes do, though.

“Every day I’m reminded of what you’ve sacrificed to get me here,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. “Missing my track meets to pick up extra shifts. When you look too tired to eat dinner. Days off researching college app fees. Scholarships. Never upgrading your wardrobe so I have new cleats. Never... dating.”

This time, Dad squirms.

“I see it all the time.” I up-nod at the whiteboard. “It doesn’t make being successful any less stressful. It makes it worse.”

As hard as I fight, my voice falters when I say, “I’m terrified to fail because you’ll think we both failed.”

Finally, Dad’s resolve splinters. His shoulders fall. He stares at a scratch on the table.

“God,” I whisper, “Aleah was right. I’m always doing things for everyone but me.”

Dad’s head jerks back up. “Wait. Aleah-Aleah?”

Fuck. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.

“Yes. Aleah.”

“When did you two start talking again? I thought you said she wanted nothing to do with you.”

I say, “I lied.”

It’s what I am, right? A liar. A horrible friend. A thoughtless asshole out to please the world at the cost of himself.

I wasn’t sure this day would ever come. When I called Aleah to end things, I waited until Dad was asleep. Unlike Aleah, I didn’t have a phone back then. I had to use his. For days after, I’d lie awake at night worrying she’d call him. Tell him what I did. Or scream about how Dad and Mario’s relationship broke our friendship.

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