Page 13 of Missed Notes (Rixon High 5)

I envied him. Getting to experience it for the first time with a girl he loved. Learning what she liked and how she liked it.

My first time had been a fucking disaster. So much so, I hadn’t done it again for months after. Jude and Mikey had given me shit about it that whole summer. Before I quit the band. Before everything changed.

Aaron: You’re just jealous you’re not getting any Kandon. I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early for practice. Four games to go.

I groaned.Aaron’s enthusiasm and passion for our final season as Raiders hadn’t diminished, not even after his three top pick colleges had all turned him down for a football scholarship. But I guess gaining Poppy softened the blow. They were set to go to West Chester next year, while I was putting off my applications. Dad wanted me to follow in his footsteps and go to Drexel for pre-law.

I couldn’t think of anything worse.

I wanted to apply to the University of Michigan’s School of Music, Theatre, and Dance. One of the best in the country, and somewhere I’d had my heart set on it since college was on my radar. But my old man refused to accept it.

So we were at an impasse.

Him insisting I fill out the forms for Drexel, and me putting it off until I found a way to convince him that Michigan was the right choice.

The only choice.

To make things worse, Syracuse and Penn State had offered me athletic scholarships. Something I would need if my old man refused to compromise.

But time was running out.

And he’d never been on my side before, so I wasn’t holding my breath that he was about to start now.

* * *

After a restless night’s sleep,I traipsed down to the kitchen. At least Dad had stayed away last night. I wouldn’t have to face—

“Good morning,” his gruff voice stopped me dead in my tracks.

“I thought you were out of town?”

“Nice to see you too.” The muscle in his jaw pulsed.

I made a beeline for the coffee machine, leaving him to his emails or case notes or whatever the fuck he was doing while he drank his coffee.

“How’s that application for Drexel coming, Son?”

“I told you, it’s not what I want to do.” I met his severe gaze with my own.

“And I thought I told you that I won’t fund an arts degree so you can spend four years wasting your time on that pipe dream of yours.”

“Nice, Dad, real nice.” Turning my back on him, I made a fist on the counter, fighting the urge to give him a piece of my mind.

It wouldn’t help.

It never did.

Curtis Kandon was a formidable man, used to getting his own way in and out of the courtroom.

“Cole, look at me, Son.” An order not a request. Reluctantly, I glanced back at him, waiting for whatever bullshit was about to spew from his mouth. “I thought we’d straightened all of this out. I will fund your college tuition so long as you take a pre-law course. If you want to broaden your horizons away from Drexel, we can discuss that. Temple has a great program. But the clock is ticking, Cole. You need to get a move on.”

“And if I don’t want to take the pre-law course?”

His expression darkened as he flattened his hands on the counter. “That is not an option, Son. Your mother and I—”

“Cut the bullshit, Dad. You, you decided this for me. Not her. She doesn’t even—”

“Enough, Cole.” He banged his fist down, making his coffee cup rattle. “I won’t keep doing this with you. It was always the plan for you to follow in your old man’s footsteps. Most kids would be counting their lucky stars that their parents were offering to pay—”

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