Cruise Control by Terry Trueman

Author:Terry Trueman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Dad whips the van into the driveway and comes to a bumpy stop. He jumps out and slams the door. I do the same thing, making sure to slam my door at least as hard and loud as he did. I start to walk toward the house.

I assume that Dad’s getting Shawn’s chair or maybe getting Shawn himself out of the van, but suddenly I feel a strong grip on my shoulder, too strong for Cindy’s hand. I jerk my body hard and the hand loses its grip.

Dad yells, “Hey!”

But suddenly something totally bizarre happens inside me, something weird and completely foreign. Normally, if you grabbed me the way Dad just did, in the mood that I’m in right now, you’d be crawling around picking up your teeth. But that’s just it: I don’t hit him. It’s utter weirdness; I can’t even describe it. I’m not afraid of him—at least I don’t think it’s fear. I don’t know what it is, but a rush of words and feelings pounds through my brain and down into my throat.

I yell, “I hate you! I really, really hate you!” I pause a second, then add, “You only think about yourself!”

I’ve never said this to him before, not so straight up like this.

Dad, looking furious, starts to answer. “What!? Pauly—”

I interrupt. “You want this big, perfect, totally bullshit family!”

“Watch your mouth!” Dad says.

I yell, “You watch it for me … that’d be as close as you’ve ever been to being a parent!”

Dad, his face full of anger, steps toward me, getting right into my face.

Without thinking about it, without even knowing I’m going to do it, I take a small step back. I’ve never backed down from anybody in my whole life! I don’t get it. I’m not scared of him … it’s just … I don’t know what’s happening.

What the hell am I doing? I hate him! This is my chance to finally nail him. But something inside holds me back, freezes me.

Cindy, standing back at the van, starts to cry—she looks terrified. She probably thinks I’m going to kill her daddy, but I can’t move a muscle—it’s like I’m paralyzed.

Dad’s so mad he can’t even talk. He starts to stammer. “I … you …”

I interrupt, yelling, “I’m getting as far away from you as I possibly can.”

Dad asks, “Pauly, what’re you talking about?”

I stare into his eyes the whole time; our faces are only inches apart. I scream, “I’m talking about an athletic scholarship, a full ride, somewhere where I’ll never see you again! As soon as I can, I’m getting the hell out of here and away from you!” This is all bull, of course. I can’t leave Mom and Cindy and Shawn, I know I can’t, but I say it anyway just to hurt Dad.

Dad looks like somebody just slapped his face. He steps back from me and drops his eyes to the ground. His lips quiver a little and he takes a deep breath. Finally, his voice calm

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