Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
“I didn’t think about that.”
“We’ve got nothing but time, Snowflake. No need to rush through all the fun parts.” He reaches around me and passes me my life jacket. It’s wet, and so is his, but we shrug back into them and buckle up.
We do a circuit around the lake, and he shows me where all the retired hockey players live. “The Kingstons and Winslows are just there, down the road from you.” He points to a huge A-frame and a two-story cottage set into the side of the hilly terrain. It boasts a beautiful view. Although most of the hillside cottages have great views.
We’re close to the shore, and I let my gaze skip across it, my stomach dropping when I spot our decrepit dock less than fifty feet away. Sitting in a folding lawn chair is my father, a six-pack of beer beside him, a cigarette in his hand, a pair of binoculars around his neck. Sometimes my mom likes to bird watch. Sometimes my dad likes to be a giant skeeze and watch people—namely women in bikinis—but I expected him to be out tonight, not at home, and certainly not on the dock. He lifts the binoculars, following us. Even as BJ turns us and heads for the center of the lake, I know Dad saw me. I feel it in the way the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“You okay?” BJ either heard my curse or feels the sudden tension in my body.
“We should head back,” I say.
By the time we reach his place, I’m anxious to go home and deal with the consequences. I hate that my dad’s potential anger so easily wipes out everything good about this day.
But I don’t want my dad to take my lie out on my mom.
I let BJ guide the watercraft to the dock and jump off as soon as he has it tied up.
He climbs off after me. “Was that your dad on the dock?”
“Yeah. I need to get home.” I struggle to free all three buckles, nerves making my hands shake.
“Will you get in trouble?” He runs a hand through his hair, his eyes concerned.
“I’ll be in less if I’m home sooner.” I shrug out of the jacket and hang it on a hook, re-clipping the buckle so it doesn’t blow into the water and disappear down the lake. That’s how my grandma inherited a few life jackets over the years, based on the names Sharpied inside them.
“Aren’t you allowed to hang out with friends?”
“Yeah, I can hang out with friends. It’s just…complicated.” My dad has a grudge against everyone who has more than we do.
“Do they know you’re here?”
I sigh. All that truth I laid out earlier is biting me in the ass. “I told my mom I was going to the library. My dad for sure saw me on the lake with you, so he’ll know I lied.”
“It’s not okay that your plans changed?”
He seems genuinely confused, and I guess if I were him, I’d feel the same way.
“It’s just different for me, BJ. I gotta get changed and go.” I start toward the boathouse, and he falls into step with me.
“I’ll drive you.”
“You can’t drop me off at home.” My dad will lose his shit, especially if he’s already downed a six-pack, and I definitely don’t want BJ to witness that. Dad gets mean, and it’s embarrassing.
BJ’s brows pull together, like he’s reading between the lines. “Can I take you to the T-intersection?”
I can’t let him see how bad my home life is. Right now we’re having fun, and I don’t want him thinking he needs to save me. But it’ll take half an hour to bike home. That’s too long for my mom to be alone with my dad without a buffer. If I get a ride, it’ll take me five from the T. “Yeah. Thanks. That would be great.”
I slip past him into the boathouse and quickly change. My stomach twists when I check my phone and find new messages from my mom. I can’t read the tone, but they’re short, and I imagine she’s upset.
I shouldn’t have lied. It was stupid. And now she’s probably getting grief, my dad believing she hid this from him.
It doesn’t matter that he knows she can’t lie for shit; he loves to be angry. He just needs someone to direct it at. It’s a miserable fucking existence to live with someone whose primary life goal is to make people feel like shit. Less than. Not enough.
I message back and tell her I’ll be home soon and that I’m sorry. I don’t offer an explanation. It’s pointless. I’m in shit no matter what I say. Less is better.
I meet BJ in the driveway. “Ready?” he asks.
“Yeah. Thanks.” I climb into the passenger seat, uncomfortable. The weight of today settles around me, including my admissions, and how despite it all, I seem to be right. I can’t have nice things.