Page 15 of Bad to the Bone

As all things family related, my father waits until the weekend to pull his little surprise inspection of my room. I think he’s downright disappointed when he doesn’t find drugs or a massive stash of scat porn in my room. At least then he could blame all of our problems on me. The troubled child. The voters generally love that shit too. Nothing says “family man” like photo ops with your troubled son. Preferably in front of some sort of rehab or charity event.

I sit on my bed watching him turn everything inside out with a smug grin on my face.

“Run, run, as fast as you can. You can’t catch me…”I think to myself. Honestly, I’m not even surprised by his bullshit anymore. Profoundly disappointed, but not surprised.

“Find what you’re looking for?” I taunt him. He wheels around and looks at me with flames in his eyes.

“Do you want to give me an explanation about this,” he says, holding up the detention notice. Parents are usually mailed a copy along with a brief letter explaining which infraction bought their little dumpling a trip to the bad boys’ table.

“There was a fight. I went to break it up and ended up getting detention,” I answer.

“A fight? In the ladies’ room?”

“News flash; girls fight too,” especially ones like Shannon Macmillian.

“And you just happened to be there when it happened?”

“Ew, no. Unlike all of the creepy guys who donate generously to your campaigns, I don’t hang out around bathrooms hoping to get lucky,”

“Leave my donors out of this!” he bellows.

“That’s true, it’s unfair. I know how you ‘family values’ guys operate. Your donors wouldn’t be caught dead having sex in a WOMEN’S bathroom. “

His face turns a new shade of red as he realizes what I’m getting at.

“I wonder if that’s why there haven’t been any new receipts from local family planning centers in a while. Maybe you got tired of the usual and decided to chase something a little more risqué.”

The moment the words are out of my mouth I know I’ve gone too far but I just can’t seem to help myself. I can’t seem to find the brakes on this train and it’s impossible for me to back down.

I see the hurt and the rage collide behind his usually soulless eyes and combust into something dangerous. His hand is already in the air by the time I realize what’s happening. He’s strong, but I’m faster, and I manage to dodge his blow, returning fire before he has a chance to regain his equilibrium. He stumbles back against the bookshelf and goes down hard. The pain in my fist tells me that I connected. The shock on his face tells me that I will live to regret this.

I don’t care.

I begin to advance on him, standing over his body with my fists at my sides. He looks small like that, crumpled on the floor and obviously dazed. I sneer at him as he regains his focus, daring him to get up and confront me.

“Stop it, both of you!” The sound of my mother’s voice brings me up short. I don’t take my eyes off of the honorable Mayor Turner as I take two steps back. He gains his feet and steps into the doorway.

“I think we should go over and talk to the girl’s parents. Obviously this issue has gotten out of hand,” she says.

“That’s a wonderful idea. Let’s go,” he agrees with a grim smile without bothering to look at her.

She has managed to pull herself together enough to hide her frailties. Her perfectly coifed hair, beige jumpsuit and pearls are the perfect image of a suburban housewife.

“Let’s go. There’s no use in avoiding things that must be dealt with,” she says, reaching a hand out for my own. I know she is talking about more than just my detention.

I take the offered hand and follow her downstairs and into the driveway. It’s not until I get into the back seat that I realize I don’t have my phone. I can’t warn Kim.

“Looking for this,” dad holds my phone up. “You can have it back when we’re done.”

“I paid for that,” I protest, holding my hand out.

“That’s why you’re getting it back. If it was up to me, you’d be grounded until your freshman orientation,” he sneers.

“For what? Screwing a girl who won’t give you the time of day?”

“That’s enough!” My mother raising her voice is a thing that rarely happens, and is usually a sign that she is at the end of her endurance. I fall silent, not wanting this moment to be any more distressing for her than absolutely necessary.

The shadows dancing across the curtains in the front room of Kim’s home tell me that she is there and probably in the middle of one of those epic evenings at home that I have come to love. I don’t need to get out of the car to know that she has music playing and she and Shannon are probably engaged in one of those activities that you only see in a Norman Rockwell painting. Probably baking atrocious cookies or playing a silly card game.

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