Thirty minutes later, I was home, standing in front of the blue door to my house. The newer brick homes made the tan siding and the peeling shutters on my house look worse than they really were. We had the best tree in the neighborhood, an apricot tree, but that was just because it had twenty-five years on the trees in other yards. Too bad the apricots choked the grass, leaving it thin under the tree.
I hesitated to open the front door as my mind attacked me with all the reasons that suggested I should find somewhere else to go.
My home life sucked. John wasn’t my dad. He wasn’t anyone’s dad really—he met my Mom about a year after Justine was born—which was why there were three last names in my house. I have Mom’s last name, Stevens. Justine is a Bennett—we don’t talk about her dad. And our stepdad John’s last name is Braen.
John and I don’t like each other at all, and we hadn’t spoken in weeks. My mom was a completely different problem. Up until she was eighteen, she was supposedly all into being a Mormon. Everything changed when she went on a semester abroad in Wales and came home a rape victim. She didn’t tell anyone. She wanted to bury what happened at first, but once her belly made it obvious I was coming into this world, she had to tell her mother. Supposedly it was years before her mother believed that she hadn’t consented. I guess I wouldn’t be around today if Grandma hadn’t forced her to keep me. Mom hadn’t wanted me to know any of this, of course. But when I was eleven, Grandma took it upon herself to tell me before she died. Almost seven years later, I still don’t know what to think about all that.
I took a breath and opened the front door and stepped inside. I could smell steamed rice. The kitchen had a great view to the front door. OK, who was I kidding, almost every room had a great view to the front door. Mom was already in the kitchen cooking dinner. I’d forgotten it was Friday. She didn’t work Fridays.
Mom had her light brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wasn’t exactly overweight, but it didn’t help that she was short. The built-in fan above the stove blared loudly, which was probably why she hadn’t heard me come in. Mom glanced up, not expecting to see me standing there, and flinched.
Yes, she flinched.
She recovered with a smile. I loved my mom’s smile. Except lately, her smiles were just covering up her flinching. It started a few months ago when I came home late from a date and by house rule, woke her up to let her know I was home. The memories of her rape were the most powerful memories of Mom’s life and wasn’t I just the lucky one to look so much like my biological father that the sight of me made her scream bloody murder. She’s been flinching whenever I pop up unexpectedly ever since. Mom doesn’t wait up for me anymore.
I forced a smile back, “Hey, Mom. What’s for dinner?”
“I’m making chicken and rice casserole,” she replied.
We chatted a bit like nothing was wrong, and maybe nothing was wrong. Maybe Mom could push her memories to the side. I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to ask.
As we ate, the awkwardness between Mom and John was distracting. They must have had another fight today because they didn’t say a word to each other. John kept his eyes on his plate and the only sounds came from scraping forks and chomping teeth. Mom glanced at John with a pained expression. John never looked up, not even while getting himself a second helping. My mom was near tears when John left the table. Even just saying thank you would have made her day. He was such a loser.
I finished off the rest of the casserole, which was another three helpings. Yeah, I could eat more than anyone I knew—a lot more.
Mom never noticed my split knuckle or if she did, she didn’t say anything.
Except for my shower, the evening didn’t get better after dinner. My mom went off to read a self-help book. I have never seen much improvement in her after reading one, so I’ve never read one myself. Reading a chapter or two must have motivated her to try to talk to John, which resulted in an hour-long yelling match in his den. I drowned it out by playing Xbox in the family room with noise-canceling headphones.
Two hours later, I begrudgingly put the game console away and pulled out my laptop to watch film of last year’s football games. I normally shied away from attention, which is why I played running back instead of quarterback. I wouldn’t even have played running back if I’d known how much attention it would bring me. I would’ve quit but the idea of getting a full ride out of here was too tempting to pass up—especially since a couple colleges started recruiting me last season.
As I watched the game film, I analyzed the defensive scheme and determined where the running hole would most likely open up before unpausing and watching the play. It was a total jeek’s way of analyzing a football game.
When the scholarship did come my way, I planned to make sure I never really played. I could just imagine the news article: Star Running Back Is Rape Baby. No, way! I’d slide by on the bench and disappear into a normal life. I wouldn’t even feel guilty about taking a scholarship from some Rudy out there who really wanted to play. Ok, I’d feel a little guilty.
After a while, I got sick of watching game film so I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. The History Channel came on with somber music. A voice spoke solemnly from the speakers. “Last year on July twenty-fourth, over one thousand people all over the world left their homes for work—many of them well-known political and business leaders—not knowing they would never return home again.” The incident had dominated the airwaves for the past year. The president’s face flashed on the screen. “The Day of a Thousand Deaths is the worst act of terrorism since Nine-Eleven.” I remembered seeing that speech live at Luiz’s house. I watched a few minutes of the documentary, mildly interested, before changing the channel.
Just before midnight, I got motivated again and started watching a college chemistry class that I had on my DVR. No, I wasn’t enrolled in college. Watching this before my senior year started was my trick to an easy A in AP Chemistry.
If football doesn’t get me out of here, my brain will, I thought.
About halfway through learning about the nucleus of atoms, Justine came home from her Friday night date. Sis was short, blond, and thin—which was perfect since she danced for the drill team. She looked at what I was watching now and picked up one of the football DVDs by my laptop and shook her head as she read the label.
“You’re such a jeek,” she said, laughing.
“Yeah, I am,” I conceded. “How was the date with Austin?”
Her grin switched to a grimace, and she ran her fingers through her straight blond hair.
“Come on, Jake. It was Nathan,” she complained. “You know Austin and I ended things after the Fourth.”
Actually, I hadn’t known that, but I played along.
“Oh, yeah! Nothing like fireworks to end a relationship. Was it sooo romantic you just couldn’t take it?”
She scowled at me.
“Or maybe you were too hot for him to control himself. You didn’t let him past first base, did you?” I teased, laughing.
Only, she didn’t laugh. She just froze for a second. Oops. I had joked my way to the truth. She was going to try to play it off, but I didn’t let it go.
“What move did he make on you?”
She didn’t want to tell me, but we were pretty close. The secrets between us were few. She spilled. “We were making out, and he slid his hand up my shirt.” The dimple on her right cheek showed up, which only happened when she was embarrassed.
“Oh . . . he had a solid base hit. He tried to steal second . . .”
“But I threw him out!” she finished for me, grinning slightly.
It was too bad. She had liked Austin. My sister wasn’t that type of girl though. She went to church every Sunday, dragging me along whenever she could. She was the type who was going to wait till marriage. Austin supposedly shared her beliefs, but his hormones must have trumped his belief system that night.
“What a jerk,” I said and meant it. “He’s lucky he doesn’t play football,” I added. I didn’t like the idea of him messing with Sis. “So how about this Nathan guy?” I asked, changing the subject.
“He was fun but . . .” she paused. “I don’t know. Nothing there with him, I guess.”
“Was the dinner at least good?” I asked.
“Oh, heck, yeah! We went to Ruby River.”
“Loaded, huh?” I asked.
“No, he used a fifty dollar gift card his dad got from work. Nathan only pitched in a few bucks.”
“Ah,” I nodded.
She went to the kitchen, which wasn’t exactly a separate room.
“You want to record that,” she said, pointing over the kitchen counter to the TV, “and watch something else?” She’d already started the popcorn.
“It is a recording,” I said and pulled up Netflix on the DVR. “You pick something.”
She brought the popcorn back and reached for the remote. Her eyes fixated on the split in my knuckle and her hand switched targets from the remote to my hand.
“What’s this?” she asked, pulling my split knuckle in for a closer look.
“Mike, Jason, and Gunther,” I said their names as if that explained everything.
She raised her eyebrows. “They were picking on you?”
“No. Some skinny band kid.”
“And of course you felt an overwhelming desire to protect him. That hasn’t happened in a while.”
I nodded.
Sis dropped the subject and grabbed the remote. She picked a romantic comedy—the latest with Taylor Lautner. OK, it wasn’t really a comedy, but it made me laugh. She fell asleep about twenty minutes in, laying her head on my leg. I kept watching until it ended, which was about two in the morning. OK, maybe I did like it more than I let on. I slipped my leg out from under my sister’s head and threw a blanket over her.
I love my sister. She was the only part of my home life that didn’t suck.
I went upstairs to bed.
I had that same dream again. My biological father, who looked exactly like me, stood before me. I couldn't see anything around him, just him. He wore a simple button up white shirt and jeans.
“You’ve turned out just like me,” he grinned. “A freak!” His face had smile lines like mine but deeper, only his grin somehow corrupted his features.
I just watched him, unable to pull my eyes away.
“Can you do this yet?” he asked. He held his hand up, whispered some words I didn't understand and flame flickered up from his palm.
I stepped back surprised, yet knowing from previous dreams what was coming.
He lifted the fire to his lips, and as if blowing me a kiss, he blew the flame toward me. The fire burst out from his palm, engulfing my body.