The Jock by J.L. Beck Page 0,87
What has gotten into him? Why is this stupid brunch so important to him, and what is wrong with the clothes I’m wearing? This isn’t a charity ball or some fundraiser. Everyone else is dressed in a similar fashion to me.
Biting back a shitty remark, I ignore his comment about my attire and decide to change the topic, “Why are you here?”
His thick eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “What kind of question is that? Why wouldn’t I be here? All the other freshmen parents are here.” As he is talking, his eyes scope out the room, almost like he is looking for something… no... someone.
Suspicion creeps up my spine and starts to fester deep inside my gut as I continue watching my dad. Even though he’s supposedly here for me, his attention is everywhere but on me. Matter of fact, he almost seems distracted. I’m not really shocked though. Crossing my arms over my chest, I just stare at him, wishing he would disappear.
“Have you made a lot of friends yet?” he asks out of the blue.
“I really haven’t had much time. I spent the last few days getting oriented with the campus and unpacking. My roommate is nice though. She wants to meet you later, but you don’t have to.”
“Nice?” he asks like he doesn’t know what the word means. “What’s her name?”
“Alice,” I answer briskly, before taking a sip of my water.
He looks at me like I’m dumb. “What’s her last name, Willow.”
I’m so close to rolling my eyes, it’s not even funny. Of course, he’s only interested in her last name. Because last names signify everything about you. Forget what kind of person you are. Without the right last name, you’re a nobody.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Burton, I think.”
“Burton?” My father rubs at his chin as if he’s deep in thought, “Hmmm, doesn’t ring a bell, which means she doesn’t matter. You need to make some more friends. More important friends. Remember, it isn’t what you know, it’s who you know, that will get you places. This is the perfect school for you to make those kinds of friends, so don’t waste this opportunity. You aren’t here to make lifelong friends. You’re here to make connections, Willow.”
Curling my fingers into my hand, I sink my nails into the tender flesh of my palm. Of course, he is here for his own gain. Disappointment sinks like a heavy stone to the bottom of my stomach.
“You didn’t drive two hours one way just to tell me that, did you? Because if you did, you’re going to be gravely disappointed. I’m not here to make connections or friends. I’m just here because it was this or home with you, and anything is better than being stuck in that mansion with you.” I’m talking out of line, antagonizing him, but I don’t care. All I want is for him to feel even a sliver of the same pain my sister or me feel.
Raging fire flickers in his dark eyes, his jaw tenses, “You promised you wouldn’t make a mockery out of me, Willow. And part of that is you needing to represent me and our family name in an elegant manner. So whether you like it or not, you will befriend people of importance, you will wear clothes that are appropriate, and you will do all of those things with a smile on your face, or do I need to remind you of what happens if you don’t?”
I open my mouth to speak, to reply with anything, but I’m interrupted before I can.
“Welcome, dear students and families,” a female voice filters through the speakers. “We are so happy to have you all here today…” she continues her speech, but I drown the rest of it out. All I can think about is my father’s threats, his demands, and what happens to my poor sister if I don’t comply. I hate him, truly, I do.
Gritting my teeth, I sit through the rest of the brunch, which thankfully goes by in a blur. After we are done eating, everyone gets up to mingle, which is exactly what my father came here for. I consider leaving right then and there, just to spite my father, but I won’t pay for it. My sister will, and I can’t let an innocent pay the price for my wrongdoings.
Alice finds us first; her parents greet us with smiles and friendliness, while my father looks them up and down like they are wearing dirty rags. Great, he’s