Page 104 of Escape Velocity
When they leave the living room, Mason sinks into the couch, feeling like a weight has been lifted. He could tell that his parents were weirded out, but he was being honest.
He’s getting bolder. And why should he care about his boldness? He aced two of the midterms so far. He should be proud of it, even if it isn’t the class his parents want him to be acing.
He takes his phone out and texts Callum and Jenna separately about the news.
He puts his phone back down. It might be trivial, and he knows it’s just a grade, but what other support does he get? He can’t get it from his family, so he has to rely on himself.
Maybe the lying was more tolerable now that he knows he has that passion within him and a confirmation that he should keep going. But at what point would enough be enough?
He looks over at his parents as they talk to one of the neighbors that dropped by to give them some pumpkin pie, and he wonders what will happen when they find out.
It terrifies him, but it entices him as well. He wants to rub it in their faces that they were wrong. They always were.
He just wishes that when the time comes, his entire world won’t crumble beneath his feet.
31
MASON
“The football season’sbeen crazy. We’re doing even better than last year, right Mason?”
Joel’s voice sends fury through his veins as Mason mashes the potatoes for Thanksgiving dinner.
Joel’s holding court with Mason’s parents, Aunt Josie, and his cousin, Elena in the living room, smiling like he’s won the championship game already. He popped in with Elena and his aunt earlier today much to Mason’s chagrin.
Mason smiles thinly, trying to keep himself from flipping Joel off. Not like anyone else would see it, they’re too enthralled by Joel and whatever he has to say to even turn to look at Mason.
Cooking is one way Mason feels like he can calm down on Thanksgiving. His parents usually take care of the turkey and the important food, but he always does the potatoes.
This time of year comes with stress, and getting to use a potato masher is one way he can get his frustrations out and forget about all the hiding and lying it comes with. The gritted teeth and the clenched knuckles.
“Callum Brown is always getting most of the fanfare, and the team itself doesn’t get enough credit. It’s always Callum this, Callum that. He’s great, but it’s getting tired that everyone’s always singing his praises.”
Joel’s gaze flits toward Mason again, with a playful smirk on his face like he knows he’s getting under his skin.
Mason wants to throttle him, but he continues mashing the potatoes, tuning into the crackle of the fireplace like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
His mother scoffs. “It’s been that way for a while. I’m sure you saw it at Northwood, too,” his mother chimes in before taking a sip of her merlot.
Mason huffs and mashes even harder. These potatoes are going to be liquid by the time he’s done with them if Joel doesn’t shut up.
It’s one thing to hide Callum, but it’s another to have people actively dunk on him, especially when he can’t come to his defense.
“I thought you were close with Callum? Aren’t you guys roommates?” Elena asks, her eyebrows furrowed at him, her intuition already questioning Joel’s pomp.
“On the field, maybe. He’s always thought he was some kind of hotshot. He plays great, but I’m tired of all the praise being about him. It’s time the rest of the team gets time in the spotlight.”
“I suppose that’s true. One thing about the Browns is that they always need to be the center of attention, especially Mr. Brown,” his dad says.
Mason freezes at the mention of Callum’s dad. He wonders if they know of his treachery and extended that disdain toward Callum merely by association. But they don’t know what he’s gone through. They don’t know what Callum has seen.
“He was at the last game wasn’t he, Mason?” Joel asks Mason directly.
The entire living room turns to him now, covered in potato on his apron and on his cheeks.
He tries wiping some off his cheeks with his sleeve to buy himself some time. He wants to tackle Joel like he’s a football player himself. He’d probably fail miserably, but he still wants to do it anyway like he could. Maybe he has a secret tackling ability deep down that he doesn’t know about.
“He was,” Mason deadpans.
