Page 2 of Anyone But Her

"No. I wanted to wait and tell you first. I thought..." I swallow and look down. "I thought it'd make you happy."

"How much you making?"

I raise my eyes to his. "Minimum wage. And I can golf for free whenever I—"

"I don't care about the golf. You know how much I hate that fuckin' game. Rich snobs wasting time and money hitting a ball around some grass."

"It's more than that," I say, defending my favorite sport. But I shouldn't have said it. I have to hide how much I love golf or my dad will make sure I never play it again. He hates that I even own a set of clubs. He only lets me keep them because my mom made him, because she didn't want to offend Albert, our neighbor, who gave them to me for my birthday a few years ago.

My dad glares at me. "Are you making this up?"

"No. I really do have a job."

"You better not be lyin' to me, kid, or I'm gonna be takin' you out to the garage with my belt."

My dad's only whipped me with his belt one time but I never want him to do it again. When it was over my backside hurt so much I couldn't even sit down. I had to sleep on my stomach that night.

My mom appears, tying her apron on as she walks over to us. "What's going on in here?" she asks my dad. "Why you yelling at him?"

"I want the boy to get a damn job. I'm sick of him not contributing."

"Dan, he's only ten," she says. "He's too young to get a job."

"Apparently not because he already has one." My dad puts his eyes on me. "Isn't that right, son?"

"Yes," I say, trying to sound confident but scared to death they'll find out I lied.

Why did I do that? I don't have a job! I go to the golf course all the time with Albert, and the owners know me and like me, but they'd never give me a job. I'm only ten. If my dad finds out I lied, he'll kill me!

"You got a job?" my mom asks.

I shrug. "Just doing yard work at the golf course. Albert told me they were looking for help so I asked and they hired me."

My mom looks at my dad. "You think we'll get in trouble? Letting him do this?"

Part of me thought my mom would tell me I can't do it. That I can't work because I'm too young and need to spend time being a kid. But the truth is, all she cares about is money. She's just like my dad.

"If he gets in trouble, we'll say we didn't know," my dad says. "We'll blame it on Albert."

They always do that. They push the blame onto other people. Albert has always been nice to my parents. He practically raised me since my parents have no interest in doing so, and yet they'll make sure he's the one who gets in trouble if I get caught working a job I can't legally work. Except I don't have a job. I made it up. What am I going to do?

"When's it start?" my mom asks.

"Tomorrow," I say.

"Call if you won't be home for dinner," she says before walking back to the kitchen.

"Bring me the money when you get paid," my dad says. He goes over to his recliner and sits down, the force of his body automatically reclining the chair and shoving the footrest up. My dad's a big guy; tall with huge muscles that come from hauling heavy stuff around at his job all day. "Go do your homework," he says to me. "And give me the remote."

I hand it to him. "Why are you home so early?"

"Inspections down at the shipyard. They let everyone go early." He turns on the TV and finds a baseball game to watch.

"Can I go see Albert?"

"If he wants to deal with a whiny-ass kid, then sure, he can have you."

I race out the back door and over to Albert's house. His door is unlocked and I go inside and find him in the kitchen.

---