Chapter 3 - My Father Wouldn’t Let Me Turn Him Into A Victim
Dad met me behind the cafeteria loading dock.
He still smelled faintly like gravy.
I hated myself for noticing.
Elaine had called him.
He came outside with his jacket over the stained uniform.
“Shouldn't you be in class?”
“Shouldn't you be telling me why a booster paid my tuition?”
His face changed.
Not much.
Enough.
“Elaine told you?”
“She told me the money stopped.”
“Then why did you say a booster paid?”
I stared.
He had me.
“She didn't deny it.”
Dad looked toward the dumpsters.
“Tyler.”
“Why are you working here?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“You have a game tonight.”
“So does everybody else keep saying.”
“Because you have one.”
“Stop using basketball to avoid answering me.”
His eyes came back to mine.
That hit him.
Good.
Maybe I wanted it to.
He said:
“I took the job because the benefits help cover your tuition.”
Jordan was right.
Hearing it from Dad somehow made it worse.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“How much?”
“About half once everything is combined.”
“What happened to the grant?”
“Changed.”
“Why?”
He looked toward the kitchen door.
A delivery driver was waiting.
Dad pointed at him.
“I’m working.”
“I dumped food over your head and you came back here to work.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His patience cracked.
“Because eighty people still needed lunch.”
I shut up.
He went to sign the delivery receipt.
I waited.
When he came back, he said:
“You want answers?”
“Yes.”
“Then don't ask them like I owe you a confession because you just found out your life costs money.”
I flinched.
Dad rarely raised his voice.
He hadn't now.
That made it worse.
“I didn't know.”
“I know.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
He looked at me for a long second.
“Because you were seventeen.”
“That's stupid.”
“Probably.”
“Because you thought I'd feel guilty?”
“Partly.”
“Then congratulations.”
He exhaled.
I looked at his pocket.
“The envelope.”
His hand went there automatically.
“What is it?”
“Not now.”
“Dad.”
“No.”
“Is it about tuition?”
“Partly.”
“Then it's mine.”
His face hardened.
“Your name being on something doesn't mean you get it before I'm ready to hand it to you.”
I stared.
“That sounds controlling.”
“Probably is.”
At least he didn't pretend.
I asked:
“Did Merritt pay for me?”
Dad looked toward the parking lot.
“For two years, money from his foundation was part of the package.”
“Did you know?”
“I knew there was donor-supported assistance.”
“That's not what I asked.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“I did not know the money was designated specifically for you.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“It means the donor wasn't giving money to the school's general aid pool and letting the school decide where it went.”
“He was paying for me.”
“That's what it appears.”
“Why?”
Dad's mouth tightened.
“Ask Coach.”
I thought about Coach's face.
The way he'd known Jordan was talking.
“What did Coach do?”
“Tyler.”
“What?”
“I don't know enough yet.”
“Bull.”
Dad stepped closer.
“Watch yourself.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Now you're my dad?”
The second the words left my mouth, I wished I could pull them back.
Dad didn't move.
His face changed in a way the cafeteria hadn't managed.
I looked away.
“Sorry.”
He nodded once.
Not acceptance.
Acknowledgment.
I forced myself to say it properly.
“I'm sorry for downstairs.”
He waited.
“I wanted the guys to stop looking at me like...”
“Like what?”
I couldn't finish.
Dad did.
“Like your father serves lunch.”
Heat crawled into my face.
He nodded slowly.
“You want me to make that easier for you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He stepped away.
“Because I won't.”
I looked at him.
He continued.
“What you did downstairs belongs to you. Don't turn this tuition mess into a reason you weren't responsible.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I didn't answer.
The kitchen door opened.
A woman called:
“Mike, we need you.”
Dad started back.
I said:
“Are you coming to the game?”
He stopped.
“I was planning to.”
“After this?”
“Yes.”
I almost smiled.
Then he added:
“Not because you deserve an audience.”
Fair.
I looked at his pocket again.
“When do I get the envelope?”
He considered.
“After the game.”
“Why?”
“Because what's in it gives you a choice.”
“What choice?”
Dad opened the kitchen door.
May you like
“One I don't want you making because you're ashamed of me.”
Then he disappeared inside.
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