Tales from Foster High by John Goode

Author:John Goode [Goode, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harmony Ink Press

BY the time my clothes were done, it was about the same time that school was letting out for the day, so I felt safe heading home. I thanked Mr. Parker again before I left and reminded him of our deal. He let me keep the sweatshirt and trunks, which I thought was way cool considering that those things are stupid expensive. I tossed the bag into the back seat and headed out to my house. I wanted to talk to Kyle now, but if he was going through even half of the shit flying around in my mind, he was going to need some space.

And I had to admit I needed to get my head on straight.

I had decided I wasn’t going to let what others thought and felt affect the way I lived my life, but that didn’t mean I knew what I was going to do about it. I needed a game plan before I brought Kyle in on it. I know if he showed up saying “I want to do this, but I have no idea how,” I’d be more upset than I had been before. He had taken the first step, which meant the next one was up to me.

As I turned the corner onto my block, I saw my dad’s car in the driveway and cussed under my breath. I had really been hoping to have some time to myself for once without my parents’ Mortal Kombat reenactments to distract me. I parked next to his car, which was the identical twin of mine, except black. I had to admit the initial joy of receiving a brand new Mustang had been tempered by the fact that giving the car to me was just another way for my dad to remind me that I should be grateful to him. I still took the car and thanked him, because I am no fool.

I did hold his tactics against him in my mind, though.

As I walked into the house, I could hear him in the kitchen talking on the phone. I slipped my shoes off, lest I incur the wrath of Momzilla, and tried to race up to my room. Of course that didn’t happen. “Brad!” he screamed from the other room. “Get in here!”

“Fuck,” I growled under my breath as I turned and marched into the kitchen.

His jacket was off, and his tie was loose, which meant he’d been home for a while. I saw the ever-present tumbler of scotch on the counter next to him and knew he was probably just drunk enough to be dangerous and not drunk enough to eventually pass out. He still had his Blackberry up to his ear as he nodded. “I understand.” Pause. “No I’m sure we can fix this.” Longer pause. “No, I agree completely, coach.”

And that was when the floor seemed to drop out from under me.

“I’ll talk to him,” he said, giving me a harsh glare. “Thank you.” And stabbed the End button. He slammed the phone down and immediately reached for the drink.

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