Darius the Great Deserves Better - Adib Khorram Page 0,66

school. And his mom.”

“Oh.”

“I will tell him you called. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“It was nice talking to you, Darioush-jan.” Mamou’s voice was different. Higher.

I didn’t know what was happening.

What was it that Mamou wouldn’t say out loud?

“I love you, Mamou.”

“I love you too, Darioush-jan. Bye.”

* * *

I wished Dad could’ve stayed longer.

I wished he could’ve told me what to do about Rose City. About everything.

But instead, I got a minute to say goodbye before he drove to the airport Monday morning.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Come back soon.”

“As soon as I can.”

He held my face between his hands. The circles under his eyes had darkened again.

I would’ve done anything to erase those circles.

“Love you.”

* * *

“You okay?” Chip asked me as we walked out of the locker room Monday afternoon.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You keep playing with your tassels. You do that when you’re nervous.”

I dropped my tassel.

I didn’t know it was the kind of thing people had noticed.

I didn’t know Chip was the kind of guy who would notice it.

“You want to hang out or something? Evie really likes it when you come over.”

“Can’t.”

“Oh.”

Chip ran a hand through his hair.

“I’ve gotta go to work.”

“Oh. I thought maybe you were still mad at me.”

“I’m not. Just . . .”

“Just what?”

“I don’t know.”

Chip leaned against the bike rack and looked at me.

He didn’t say anything.

And for some reason, I said, “I just don’t want to go to work today.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know.”

“You still like it there?”

“Yes,” I said automatically. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“It sounds like you do know.”

I shook my head.

And then I said, “I’ve wanted to work there forever.”

Chip said, “You know why I tried out for soccer this year instead of football?”

I reached for my tassel but stopped myself.

“’Cause I hated football. I’d been playing since I was a kid and every year I liked it a little less. Last year I dreaded going to practice every day. And Trent was the only friend I had on the team. The only thing that got me through the season.”

“Oh.”

“It was hard quitting. Coach Winfield is still mad at me. Mom’s kind of mad we spent all that money on pads and helmets and stuff. Sorin used to play too, you know?”

Chip swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

He had a really pronounced Adam’s apple.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, if something’s not making you happy, doesn’t it make sense to let it go?”

My chest felt warm again. That pulsar feeling was back.

Could I really let go of Rose City?

Just like that?

I cleared my throat. “I have to have a job, though. My parents are both working overtime and they’re still worried about money.”

“There are other jobs.”

“But I’m not good at anything else.”

Chip gave me this look then. Like it hurt him when I said that.

I don’t know why I felt so ashamed.

“Sorry. Um. I better go. Don’t want to be late.”

“Oh. Yeah. Hey, you got your tickets for homecoming?”

“Got them today.”

“Cool,” Chip said, but there was this thing in his voice.

I didn’t know what it was.

He unlocked his bike.

I unlocked mine.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

He helmeted up.

“And Chip?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

* * *

As the bus rumbled toward downtown, I gnawed on my protein bar—a peanut butter one Coach Bentley recommended—and turned over what Chip had said in my head.

I felt that pulsar inside me flare back to full intensity as I tucked my stuff into my cubby.

“Hey,” Kerry said. “Can you take over the register?”

“Sure.”

It was a slow day—Mondays were usually slow—but a steady trickle of customers made their way through the store. I rang up growlers of Nitro Earl Grey, and tins of Darjeeling, and big fifty-count bags of Genmaicha sachets.

In the tasting room, Mr. Edwards and Landon were steeping some Bai Mu Dan to try.

I wondered if maybe Chip was right about everything.

I thought maybe he was.

That pulsar inside me flared out.

And I knew what I had to do.

Eventually, Mr. Edwards came out of the tasting room and headed to his office.

“Can you cover me for a few minutes?” I asked Kerry. “I need to talk to Mr. Edwards.”

“Sure.”

I rubbed the back of my head and knocked on Mr. Edwards’s door.

“Darius,” he said. “Come in.”

“Thanks.”

“Everything all right?”

My throat clenched up. I swallowed.

“Um. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Sure.”

“Um,” I said.

And then I said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about some stuff lately.”

And then I said, “I’m really sorry. But I think I want to quit.”

“Oh.”

Mr. Edwards sat back in his chair and looked at me.

“Did something happen?”

I shook my head.

“No. It’s just. I don’t think I’m cut out

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