Page 12 of All Your Life

“Nope. He never makes any sense whatsoever.”

Her eyes look tired. “C’mon. Can we just talk about the fact that you’re a freaking genius and not living up to your potential?”

“I finished high school.”

“With a GED,” she counters.

“Makes no difference.”

“You should be going to college.”

“Is there some trust fund stashed away that I don’t know about?”

“Haha...Very funny. But seriously, there must be scholarships or loans you can apply for.”

“I’m not going into debt, and I think scholarships are out of the question.”

“Because of the GED,” she finishes for me. “That’s my point.”

“I don’t need college.”

“You do, unless you want to wind up living like this for the rest of your life.”

I sit down at the table and open a bag of Jeff’s favorite cookies. I should leave just one in the bag to piss him off later on tonight when he goes to stuff his face full of sugar, but I don’t even like the taste of them. Only a moron would ruin perfectly good chocolate chip cookies by adding walnuts. And only an asshole like Jeff would like them.

My mother isn’t saying anything that I haven’t said to myself. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life juggling part-time jobs and barely getting by. On the flip side, I don’t want to live the way those snobs from the club live either. I just want a comfortable life. One where I can afford a house of my own, nothing too big, and have the luxury of owning a car that won’t crap out on me at regular intervals.

Not finishing high school is something I look back on with regret, although I’m too stubborn to admit it to anyone else.

Jeff’s worst qualities? When I’m being one hundred percent honest with myself, I can admit that a few have rubbed off on me. I am stubborn, I’m easily offended, and I believe most people act with their own self interests in mind. I suppose I see the world though anus versus themlens, although I’m working on becoming a more open-minded person. Most days I fail in this endeavor, but I’d wager Gandhi himself would have a hard time seeing the good in those uppity clowns.

Last weekend I was working the dinner shift after some father-son golf tournament. Dinner wasn’t so bad, but the event went late. There was a whole lot of whiskey sipping, cigar smoking and back slapping going on, while the next generation was busy snorting lines in the bathroom.

Most of them sound like pompous idiots dead sober, so can you imagine the nonsense they were spewing after a few bumps? Do they realize how ridiculous they sound? One talking about how much he’s making off his crypto investment, another talking shit about how he unloaded some Indian electronic vehicle stock right before it tanked, netting himselfatidy sum.Yep, he used those exact words: a tidy sum, and spoke of the transaction as if he was some prescient wunderkind, a regular Oracle of Omaha in the making.

They are liars, posers, foolish boys pretending to be men. They don’t know what it means to carry the weight of real responsibility. They don’t know what it’s like to be afraid.

Chapter Eight

SARAH

I guess he did get the boot from the dining room. He’s been working in the stable for the past week, which has Mr. Murphy acting all twitchy, and has me impersonating a dumbstruck weirdo on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

I’ve stayed away for the past two days following my one and only disastrous attempt to make friends with him. I smiled and said hello when I came upon him in Shadow’s stall, and he dismissed me with a smirk, turning his back as he went about mucking while making no effort to avoid me. I backed away like a meek little mouse when some wet hay mixed with dried horse droppings landed on my boot.

What an ass.

Having had two days to stew over it, I practically stomp right in there today, ready to do battle. I’m oddly disappointed when Mr. Murphy greets me with affection instead of his arrogant, nasty nephew.

“Hey there, I thought you’d been abducted by aliens or something. Three days in a row? That’s a record for you.”

“I was here on Monday, I just...decided not to ride.”

He eyes me with curiosity. “All right.” He peers behind me, gauging the gray skies. “Are you heading out there now? Looks like we might get a shower.”

I look to where his eyes are fixed and see that the overcast sky has turned several shades darker in just the past few minutes.Crap. The wind has also picked up. I check the weather app on my phone and reassure him, “Looks like a passing system. I’ll just wait it out.”

And while I’d normally pass the time talking to Shadow, I’m wary of my nemesis walking in on me in the middle of my horse whisperer routine. I pull today’s calculus notes from my backpack instead and sit on the little bench in the corner of the stall. It’s a ridiculous plan, as Shadow has his snout right up in my face a moment later. I can’t help but nuzzle back, which would probably seem beyond gross to anyone except other like-minded horse people. And giving me a not so subtle hint, he nudges the notebook right off my lap, demanding my attention. I’m thinking Shadow must want a treat when I abandon my notes to go looking for an apple or some oats.

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