Riptide - By Lindsey Scheibe Page 0,67

last minute?”

Dad snorts. “More like a last-minute email, but who the hell cares? It’s an opportunity for you to impress some Ivy Leaguers and for me to show the senior morons—I

mean partners—exactly what they missed in that last ad-vancement round.”

Panic sets in. Now it’s not just about the Ivies but my dad’s status. After all, my success is an extension of his success. This is bad. Really bad. My chest constricts. Sweat beads up above my lip. I manage to maintain a semblance of control. “But I’ve been training for a surf competition all summer. It’s tomorrow morning, and it’s really important to me. The UCSD surf coach is going to be one of the judges. This is my chance to see where I stand.”

Mom rolls her eyes. “Grace Parker, you will not ditch this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a silly surf competition that we’ve never even heard of, much less approved. We’re talking about your future here. Get your head on straight.”

I blink. Yeah, we’re talking about my future. My chance. My once-in-a-lifetime shot to make a great impression on the UC San Diego surf coach in a competition setting. And now that’s getting blown out of the water by a senior partner that Dad can’t stand.

“But I’ve been training all summer. This comp—there’s not going to be another one like it.” Tears spill out. I’m breaking, fracturing into a million ntolar">“Bulittle pieces.

Dad leans forward, lightning fast. He’s not playing game show host anymore. I lean back, his finger in my face.

“You will attend this party,” he snaps. “You will be there right on time. You will not screw up this opportunity.”

So this is what it comes down to—all my hard work gone because Mom wants me to go to school where it snows. And is this Dad’s opportunity or mine? What’s the point? The freaking point is I want to go to UCSD. I’ve worked hard for this.

Forget the tears. I’m furious. I stand up, trembling with

anger, and take in a shaky breath. “I’m … going … to … the …

comp. Just because you get thrown a last-minute bone doesn’t mean I have to eat shit and smile pretty with you.”

Both parents pop off the couch in disbelief that their precious robot got a spine. Dad takes two gigantic steps and stops inches from me. Inches from totally losing it in front of Mom. Everything turns slow motion for me. She joins him and places a hand on his arm, a reminder she’s watching. Well, good, maybe he’ll lose it. Maybe she’ll see I’m not making it up. Although judging by her reaction, I have to wonder how much she really questioned my “stories” after all. It seems that as long as we pretend everything and everyone at our house is nice, then it doesn’t matter what really goes on behind closed doors. If you live a lie long enough, I guess you eventually believe it.

Dad balls up his fists. “You sure as hell will go. And you will smile pretty and make us proud. The brunch starts at eleven a.m. Your mom and I will arrive together, as we have a parents-only mimosa mixer beforehand. You will drive

the Jeep, top on, freshly washed, and wearing an appropriate dress. End of discussion.”

Question: How do you win against someone who’s stronger and holds the power? Answer: You don’t. You just get bruised up trying.

I lock my bedroom door, crank up the music, and sneak out of my window. Even though Ford and I just had one of the worst fights ever, I know he’ll understand this. How much it hurts to be told I can’t compete in the comp. We’ve worked for this all summer.

I pedal up his driveway, second-guessing this decision and thinking maybe I should have called. What if he turns me away?

I knock on his door, heart pounding. Head throbbing.

Mama Watson answers the door. She looks confused. “Hi mija. Come on in.”

I step inside. “Is Ford around?”

She shakes her head no, quiet. Hesitating. She sits down on the couch and pats it. “He’s hanging out with Brianna.”

I sink onto the couch, crying. My whole world has crumbled, and I have nobody. hafon

Mama Watson puts an arm around me, holding me until I’m done crying it out. Even though there’s nothing but a big empty hole inside me, at least I feel calmer.

I squint at her through puffy eyes. “Thanks for letting me cry.”

“Sometimes that’s the best thing for us.”

I nod and sniffle. “Yeah.”

She gets this mom look