Page 12 of Study Games

“And Vincent sent me this phone.” More waving.

Dad let out half a laugh tinged with exasperation. “I can't see anything, Waverly.”

“Oh. Sorry.” I stopped waving my phone about. “How’s that?” I asked, still overly cheery.

I’d better turn it down or he’d suspect something was up.

I kept to my single phone call a week with dad to disguise the fact that I couldn’t afford anything at Rippton, much less a room on campus. But parents weekend was months away, and I'd sort something out between now and then.

Or, I kept us to online only, and we would make it work.

Besides, what Dad needed to see their daughter’s dorm room? I could always just wave to one of the tower dorms vaguely as a tour guide impersonation and say I was up there... My quandary was I couldn’t lie for shit like my big brother who got all the fun life skill genes. He was the only one who I'd been able to talk to openly about my problems.

When I was flat broke, my big brother stepped in mid way through his overseas Army deployment, and I was grateful.

Actually, that was the one thing that bothered me. We hadn't talked about the military much, or his life. More that it was a one way street of me oversharing and him listening but I knew that being in the army, he got it about eating ration packs or whatever it was that they had when they were away. His eyes got a bit haunted when he talked on rare occasion, though they lightened up when I offered him virtual chicken or beef noodles.

He usually raised me a stack of room temperature crispy bacon, over fried.

Two pieces, overcooked perfectly.

If Dad knew Vincent struggled, then he told lies, too.

“I just want to know…” Dad tried again, and trailed off, bringing me back to my own bomb shelter of an existence.

But it will get better. One day soon, Dad. I promise. This is only temporary.

All the words I couldn’t say.

“I'm great, honestly” I said, and managed to drop some of the false cheer in lieu of a dose of reality I could actually share with my sole remaining parent. “I love my classes. I suck at people, but I have my beehives. I study every night–” No lie there even if my study wasn’t always mine alone. “–and my papers are–” I scrunched up my nose. Time for the real truth I didn't actually want to share. “My papers are… I've got some work to do to get them accepted into scientific journals, but I promise I'll get there.”

Defiance and pride I didn’t mean to overshare warred in my voice, echoing how I’d talked to my lecturer just last week on exactly this topic.

Dad beamed at me, picking up on none of my inner turmoil. “That's my girl. The one who will win a Nobel prize.”

“Maybe one day.” A father’s dream I wouldn’t burst as it matched my own dream bubble far too closely.

Celia poked her head in the door and waved two fingers above her head. “Game time.”

I shook my head at her and pointed to my phone, mouthing, “dad,” back.

Dad frowned on the screen. “What's happening?”

“My housemate wants me to go to a sporting event. I don't do sports.” I shook my head adamantly at Celia and hurled finger gestures at her while smiling at him.

My expressions must've gotten crossed up because they both looked hellishly confused.

“You should go,” they both said at the same time.

Celia burst into a fit of giggles and shut the door behind her. There was a small thump as I guess she sat down on the floor behind the door, her laughter echoing along the hallway outside our apartment.

I hoped she just locked herself out.

“You should probably go,” Dad tried again. "Meet some people. I love that you’re academic, and I love that you're so smart, and clever and that you study so hard. But my baby girl should have a social life and meet some people. Maybe some nice boys?"

My lips twitched mischievously. “How about some nice girls?” I asked innocently.

Dad's eyes narrowed infinitesimally, but he didn't bite, bless cotton socks. “Nice girls, then,” he said evenly. “Waverly, I raised Vincent, watched him go through the Army. Sexuality isn't a topic that I shy away from.”

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