Page 26 of Inferno
Manning hung his head. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
“You should be. You’re the superintendent’s son, so you know damn well that everything you do—good or bad—is a reflection of your mother. So that means you need to be mindful of your behavior and make better decisions.”
Glaring down at the floor, Manning muttered resentfully, “I didn’t ask to be the superintendent’s son.”
“But you are!” Stan roared, losing his patience. “Youarethe superintendent’s son, boy, and there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it!”
Manning was silent, a muscle throbbing in his clenched jaw.
Stan jabbed a finger at him. “See, what you fail to realize is that I know you, Manny. I know you even better than you know yourself. So I understand that there was more to that fight than you defending some girl from a bully. You left the house this morning just spoiling for a fight, and Rory Kerrigan gave you the perfect excuse to take out your frustrations on him.”
“That’s not true!” Manning protested vehemently. “He was being an asshole!”
“Excuse you?” Stan thundered, leaning down to get in Manning’s face. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”
Manning’s eyes widened with alarm as he swallowed nervously, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
Stan searched the boy’s face, which was so strikingly similar to his own that it was like looking into a time-warped mirror.
“What’s going on with you?” he asked, striving for calm. “Talk to me, son. Unburden yourself.”
Manning just looked up at him, nostrils flaring with suppressed emotion.
“I’m waiting.”
“I hate it here!” Manning burst out furiously.
Stan nodded slowly. “Tell me something Idon’tknow.”
“I wanna go back to Atlanta!”
“You will.” At the hopeful gleam that lit Manning’s eyes, Stan calmly elaborated, “When you turn eighteen in four years, you’ll go back to Atlanta to attend Morehouse with Michael. That’s always been the plan. Of course, if you keep getting suspended from school, Morehouse won’t take you, norwill any other collegeor university.”
Manning frowned, as if such an outcome had never occurred to him.
Typical teenager.Act first, think later.
“You’re treading on thin ice here,” Stan continued, driving home the point. “The next time you get suspended, the punishment will be for six days. Get in trouble a third time, and you’re gonna be expelled from school. Is that what you want?”
“No,” Manning mumbled.
“Then I suggest you get your act together. Fighting at school won’t be tolerated. The next time it happens, getting suspended will be theleastof your worries. Are we clear?”
Manning nodded obediently.“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Stan exhaled a deep breath,thensat down beside his son.
“You hate Coronado as much as I do,” Manning grumbled.
Stan shot him a surprised glance. “No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. I’ve heard you talking to Uncle Sterling—”
“First of all,” Stan cut him off, “you need to stop eavesdropping on my phone conversations. I’ve never told your uncle that I hate Coronado because I don’t. Yes, living here has taken some getting used to, and there are many things about Atlanta that I’ll always miss. Like hanging out with your uncle, and being able to watch Michael and Marcus grow up. I miss our Wolf Pack cookouts and birthday parties and pick-up games. I miss being able to drive down to Savannah to visit Mama Wolf on the spur of the moment. I miss our barber shop and the fellas from the old fire station, especially the ones I started my career with. I miss—” He broke off at the knowing look on Manning’s face, a look that told him he’d probably revealed too much.
He briskly cleared his throat. “What I’m trying to say is that you’re not alone in missing Atlanta. But you shouldn’t allow your homesickness to keep you from appreciating everything Coronado has to offer.”
“Like what?”
