Page 69 of The Rebel of Raleigh High
Inside his office, he rubs at his eyes, the light from his computer screen casting a blue glow over his face. “Feeling better, kiddo?” he asks.
“Mostly.”
“Well, if you want money, it had better be for something good. Beer. A handgun. A brick of coke.”
He’s joking, because he trusts me implicitly, and he knows I’d never have anything to do with illegal firearms or hard drugs. Shame cuts at me, a cold, unforgiving knife under my skin. I’m exactly the good girl he believes me to be now, but that hasn’t always been the case. Far from it. He’d have a heart attack if he had any idea the shit I used to get roped into with Kacey. “I don’t need money, Dad. My savings account is looking pretty healthy as a matter of fact. I wanted to ask for something else.”
He peers at me, sitting back in his chair. “Sounds ominous.”
“I want to go spend the night at Alex’s place.” I blush furiously as soon as the words are out. God, this was a bad idea. What the hell was I thinking, blurting it out like that? My father looks like he’s having trouble swallowing.
“I’m sorry?Alex? Your guitar student? The one with the motorcycle and all the prison ink?”
“It’s not priso—never mind. Yes, the guy who came here the other day. He and I…we’re together now.”
“Aaaand…” He shakes his head, puffing out his cheeks. “You tell me this on the back of a request to go and spend the night at his house?”
“Yes. I know. I’m insane.”
He laughs, but I can tell he’s uneasy. “How long have you been seeing him?”
“Not long. A few days.”
“God, Silver. Come on, what do you expect me to do here? You really think I’m going to agree t—”
“He lives at Salton Ash Park. By himself. In a trailer.”
“Jesus fucking—”
“He’s had a couple of run-ins with the law. But nothing bad. Nothing terrible.”
“Silver, if you are trying to make your request sound any less crazy, then you are heading in thewroooongdirection.”
“Just laying all the cards on the table, Dad. Giving you all the information, no matter how damaging, seems like the smartest option. It’s a radical approach, I’m aware. I’m just hoping you’ll appreciate the honesty and trust that I know what I’m doing.”
He gives me a troubled, torn look, bordering on annoyance. “Fuck, Sil. Can’t you just lie to me like any normal teenager? Ignorance is bliss sometimes.”
This hits me like a ten-ton weight.Ignorance is bliss sometimes.Would he still say that if he knew what Mom's been up to? I have no idea. Am I so candid with him now because I've forced Mom to lie to him and I'm feeling guilty as fuck, though? Absolutely, one hundred percent, yes.
“Seemed like I owed you an honest explanation,” I murmur.
“And if I say no? Are you gonna be plotting some great escape and clambering down the trellis at three in the morning? ’Cause I don’t wanna have to worry about setting up some makeshift perimeter alarm this late in the evening.”
“No, Dad. Jeez. I'm not that limber, and you know it.”
He huffs, giving me a scowl. “This is some kind of karmic kick in the ass because of all the shit me and your mom got up to when we were in high school, isn’t it?”
“I bet you weren’t asking Nona and Gramps for their permission.”
He laughs. “No, I wasnot, and neither was your mom. We were ninjas, Silver.Ninjas. They never suspected a thing.”
“At leastyou’llknow exactly where I am,” I say, shrugging weakly. He wants to say no. He really wants to be the strict, firm dad, who wraps his daughter in cotton wool and triple bolts his front door at night, trying to keep the Big Bad World out for as long as he possibly can. Poor guy; he looks like he’s aged ten years in the last ten minutes. I’m honestly surprised when he sighs and throws up his hands.
“All right. All right, you can go.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes! But…Jesus, Silver. You know as well as I do, the picture you just painted of the guy doesn’t look good. If he starts getting handsy, if he starts acting pushy, if he so much as looks at you the wrong way or scares you, you call me immediately and I’ll be down at that trailer park in a heartbeat with a goddamn sledgehammer in my hand.”
He's so serious, he means every word. His eyes have grown distant—I can tell that he’s imagining how that would play out, the drive over to Salton Ash, the weight of the weapon in his hands, how it would feel to swing it up over his head and break the knees of the boy who made me cry.
Little does he know, he’s already nine months too late for any of that.
It was a boy with a clean record, a winning smile and a glorious halo who broke me. Ironically, it’s the boy with the rap sheet, a body full of ink and the dangerous glint in his eye who’s putting me back together.
