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This is bad. This is bad.
“She means premed!” Pilot exclaims from across the table, but
Dad’s done listening to him.
Sahra turns to Pilot. “What are you talking about? I don’t even think
there is a premed track in London.”
Dad’s glare hardens. “What?”
I stare at the tablecloth and start hyperventilating.
“Oh, that can’t be. Shane is in that program, Sahra, there’s a whole
brochure,” my mother starts to explain.
“Well, maybe there … is a premed program?” Atticus adds.
“Shane’s in the creative writing program,” Sahra states with
oblivious nonchalance.
“Sahra,” Pilot scolds through his teeth.
“I’m not sure what’s going on—” Babe interjects.
“What do you mean creative writing? She’s premed.” Dad’s voice is
low and furious.
Babe blurts, “She’s premed?”
“Shane,” Dad demands.
Scalding hot tears materialize without warning as I raise my gaze.
“Shane, what’s going on?” Mom’s concerned blue eyes lock onto
mine. My heart constricts.
“
Is there no premed program here?
” Dad’s voice explodes to fill the
room. I shrink down an inch in my seat.
“I, uh, no, not technically, but.”
“YOU LITTLE SHIT.”
Those three words knock the wind from my lungs.
Mom gasps, “Sal!”
Shit. I’ve heard Uncle Dan call Leo a little shit. I’ve never been a
little shit. Dad called me a little shit.
I heave oxygen into my chest. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to. It was an
accident—”
“
An accident?
” His hand slams on the table. “Where did that
brochure come from?”
I am shit. “I, I made it,” I whisper.
“You. You made it?” Dad’s eyes bulge as he sucks in a new breath.
“You conned us?” He turns to Mom, “
Do you hear this, our daughter
fuckin’ conned us!
”
People can probably hear him in space. Mom’s eyes have glazed
over.
Dad’s gaze returns to me. “You’ve lost an entire semester of required
courses, Shane! How are you going to catch up?”
“What about the MCATs?” Mom sounds heartbroken.
“I’m sorry. I was just trying … I just wanted to try—”
“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe what I’m hearing! Number one:
What about the MCATs
?” Dad snarls. “Number two: I’m home working
my ass off, shelling out thousands of dollars for your education, and
you’re out here completely disrespecting me and your mother! Lying to
our faces! Repeatedly!
Who the hell do you think you are
?”
“Dad, I’m sorry! Mom, I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry! I just wanted to
—”
I watch his eyes drop to my phone on the table. He snatches it up
and jerks out of his chair. Stands. Drops the phone to the floor and
violently brings down his foot. The gasps of my flatmates echo around
the table as the plastic smashes to pieces.
My lungs spasm. Oxygen. I need oxygen. The shame is suffocating.
The air is too thick. I can’t. Breathe.
“Sal,” Mom scolds softly.
He looks me up and down with—with disgust. “You’re done, and
you’re on the next flight back to New York.”
“No! Please! Dad, please!” My voice rises. “I just want to finish the
semester. I … I’ll take classes, please! I’ll make up the classes over
summer! I’ll do summer classes! And I’ll work at your office! I’ll make
it up. I’ll be ready for the MCATs. I’ll do it. I can do it! I’m sorry!
Please, please let me finish this up, please.”
I am snot and tears and desperation. He stares me down, fury
billowing off him, before he digs out his wallet and drops a few hundred
pounds in the center of the table. “End of semester, the second you’re
home, you start work at my office. Don’t call us for money. Don’t call
us for anything. You’re on your own.”
He stalks out of the restaurant.
Don’t call them? What?
My mother’s studying her still-pristine dinner plate. We didn’t even
make it to appetizers. She looks up. “I’m so sorry, everyone. Please,
enjoy dinner on us.” She meets my eyes. Shakes her head in
disappointment. “Shane, what were you thinking?”
She strides out after my father, leaving us in absolute silence. I’m
standing up. When did I stand up? My ears are ringing. I glance around.
The entire place is watching me, plus my four flatmates and Pilot’s
fucking girlfriend.
I stare at the door.
Activity starts up again at other tables. Not mine. We hold onto the
silence. I can’t look at anyone. Numbly, I sit back into my seat and drop
my forehead to the table.
What now?
We’ve gone a whole two minutes
before I feel a hand fall onto my arm.
“Shane…” Babe starts sympathetically. I wait for more, but she
doesn’t continue because what does she say? What do you say when you
witness something like that?
“I’m sorry,” I mumble to the table.
“Shane, don’t apologize,” Pilot answers quietly.
“Shane, we’re sorry,” Atticus exclaims.
“I’m sorry!” Sahra says suddenly.
I raise my head an inch and rest my chin on my arm. “I think I have
to go.”
“Shane, don’t go. Let’s at least eat dinner,” Babe says in an extra-
gentle voice.
I stand from the table and grab my purse. “I’m so sorry,” I blubber.
My eyes find the broken remnants of the phone on the floor, and I
beeline for the door.
“Shane, don’t leave,” Atticus calls as I throw myself outside.
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