Stuck With The Four Hotties

Dad won’t talk to me about his illness. If I bring it up, he changes the subject. If I cry, he holds me tight. He most definitely does not get drunk this year.

On Friday, just before the big game, he cups the side of my face with one of his rough palms and gazes lovingly into my eyes. My throat gets tight, and I choke on unshed tears.

“Marnye,” he begins, his voice soft, “you’ve always known what you’ve wanted, even as a little kid. You went through a hard time in middle school, and yet you never stopped fighting. You got this scholarship on your own merit, and you do nothing but continue to exceed my expectations.”

“Dad-” I start, but he cuts me off.

“As a boy, I dreamed of going to a school like this. There was an all-boys academy just outside the town I grew up in called Adamson. I fantasized about going there every day, but I never tried to change my circumstances; I just accepted them.” I try to speak again, but he shushes me gently. “All week, you’ve been hinting that you want to come home and take care of me. I don’t want that for you.”

“Nothing is more important to me than you,” I choke out, but Dad’s already shaking his head. Everything makes sense now: his gifting me his mother’s bracelet, trying to force a relationship with Jennifer, his getting drunk last year at Parents’ Week. It’s all coming together into this horrible conclusion that I just want to wake up from.

“And nothing is more important to me than you, Marnye-bear, but you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. I’ll do whatever it takes to be there for as much of it as I can, but you Fannot give up this opportunity. I won’t let you.” He sighs and drops his hand to his side. He’s so different from all the other parents in their expensive suits, designer clothing, and fancy high heels. Charlie Reed wears raggedy old jeans, the watch I got him for Christmas last year, and scuffed work boots. It only makes me love him more that he wears it all with pride. “I see the way they look at you.”

“Like they hate me and want me dead?” I ask, and Dad smiles softly. “Like they’re jealous, Marnye.”

“Jealous of me?” I echo with disbelief. “With their Lamborghinis and their yachts and their mansions?” I sound so pathetic when I say that, it makes even me cringe. I know better than anyone that money isn’t what makes a person happy. Dad makes me happy; learning makes me happy; friendship makes me happy.

“Money can’t buy confidence or love or genuine sense of self. Marnye, you are better than their superficial shit.” I raise my eyebrows because I’ve rarely, if ever, head my dad curse around me. “Honey, the best revenge is success. Remember that. Keep doing your thing, and make me proud. That’s what I want for you. Make a better life for yourself than the one I gave you.” “You gave me a great life,” I blurt, and Dad laughs, pulling me in for a hug. I’m wearing my new cheerleading uniform: a polyester shell with long sleeves, and red and white stripes under the word Burberry sewn into the front, paired with a short black skirt and sneakers. Underneath, I’ve got on shiny black shorts with the school logo on the right butt cheek. Seems a weird place to put it, but it is what it is. The uncomfortable material rubs me

the wrong way as Dad gives me a squeeze for the ages.

He pulls back and puts his hands on my shoulders.

“My little girl, a cheerleader,” he says, and then he chuckles as I narrow my eyes. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I’m just doing it for college,” I repeat, and then silently add in my head and revenge. “Besides, it’s good exercise.” Dad grins at me and hooks an arm around my shoulders, trying to head us in the wrong direction. I laugh and turn him around, guiding him to the back door and the waiting academy cars. The football field is so far from the chapel building that it takes a good half hour to walk down there. Some people left a while ago to head down, but Dad and I ate in The Mess together, and I refused to be rushed.

“Whatever the reason, I’m excited to see you perform,” he says, leading us out to the vehicle. We slide in, and the driver moves to shut the door when I hear a voice call out to hold the car.

It’s Zayd fucking Kaiser. Great.

He climbs in, and then freezes when he sees my dad and me.

A frown pulls at the edges of my lips, but then the driver is shutting the door, and it’s a bit late to back out. Dad must recognize Zayd as one of the panty-throwers because he does not smile at him or greet him.

Zayd slumps down on the opposite side of the limo, dressed in a white tank with his band’s name-Afterglow-scrawled in black cursive across the front. His jeans are black, and far too tight, which I actually like. He’s got on Doc Martens covered in roses, and I’m pretty sure he added a few new tattoos over the summer. My fingers remember tracing his ink as we made out in my dorm room. Of course, he was doing it all just to film it and humiliate, but … that’s a whole other issue.

“Your dad cares so little about you he didn’t bother to show up again?” I ask, and Charlie gapes at me.

“Marnye,” he warns, but that’s the only chastising I get.

Zayd just stares back at me, his lids ringed in liner, his lip piercings black and pointy, his brow piercing a black hoop. He nibbles at his lip rings for a moment before responding.

“He’s got a job that people actually care about,” Zayd snaps back, and I can tell I’ve hit a nerve. Good. Screw him. I Fhose him. I chose him and he betrayed me. It makes everything so much worse. His characteristic tobacco, clove, and sage scent fills the air in the limo, and my nostrils flare. “He’s not, like, you know, some easily replaceable blue collar worker that could be substituted with

a monkey or a machine.”