Page 6 of Anyone But Her

Chapter Two

Luke, Age 15

"When you get back you're working double shifts," my dad says.

He's standing at the door to my room, arms crossed, a scowl on his face. I don't know why he's angry. He gets rid of me for two whole weeks, and when I get home I agreed to work sixteen-hour days at the shipyard until I make back the money I would've earned while I'm gone.

I'm so angry he's making me do that but I have to hide my anger. If I show even a hint of annoyance with either of my parents they'll yell at me and say I'm being ungrateful.

I'm convinced my parents hate me. I don't even know why they had me, other than to provide them with another source of income. Since the age of 13 I've been working every day after school and all summer at that shipyard and I only get to keep ten percent of what I make. The rest goes to my parents. And yet I'm the ungrateful one?

I hate living here. I can't wait till I turn 18 and can move out of their house. I won't have to listen to their fighting anymore. I won't have to give them the money I make. And I won't have to hear my dad tell me what a disappointment I am. I'll have a whole new life. I'll finally be able to do what I want, to work toward my dream to play professional golf.

Grabbing some extra socks from my drawer I notice the fifty dollar bills I hid there so my parents wouldn't find them. The money's from Albert. Every time I get a hole in one he gives me a fifty, and this past year, I've had a lot of them. I'm getting really good at golf—so good I was invited to an exclusive golf camp for teens who show potential for playing professionally. That's where I'm going now. I can't wait. It's a dream come true. Two whole weeks playing golf, learning from some of the best coaches, hanging around people who share my passion. And an added bonus? Getting away from my parents.

"Don't think you get to go back to regular shifts when you're home," my dad says.

"What do you mean?" I ask, shoving the money under the only pair of socks left in the drawer.

"What's that?" He rushes over to me just as I'm closing the drawer.

"What?"

"What's in there?" He points to the drawer.

"What were you saying about the double shifts?" I ask, trying to distract him. If he finds that money, he'll keep it. He'll take it and gamble it and lose it.

He can't do that. I'm saving that money for when I move out. That's still three years away but I did a budget and I know how much I need to get out on my own. As of now, I'm not even close to having enough.

"Dad," I say, noticing his eyes are still on the dresser. "I already told you I'd work extra to make up for being gone."

His attention returns to me. "That's not enough. You have to work until you make up for not being here to help out. Living here isn't free. You have to earn your keep. You think I'm gonna let you go off and play around for two weeks and not pay your mother and me for all that we do for you?"

I want to remind him that he and my mom do almost nothing for me but instead, I say, "How long before I make up the money?"

He cocks his head. "I haven't decided yet. I'll discuss it with your mother and let you know when you get back."

I go around him to my bed where my duffle bag is sitting. I stuff my socks in there and zip it up. "I need to go."

"What the hell?" I hear my dad say.

I turn around and see my sock drawer is open. My dad pulls out the money—a total of five hundred dollars. I panic, not just because he's going to take it all but because there's a good chance he'll forbid me from going to golf camp as punishment for hiding the money from him.

"Dad, I—"

"Where'd you get this?" he yells, holding up the money.

Should I lie? But what lie would I tell him? He knows how much I make at the shipyard. And if I lie I'll get punished even more.

"It's from golfing," I say.

He narrows his eyes at me as he squeezes the money in his fist. "You're supposed to give me what you make at that job. Are you saying you've been stealing from me?"

Did I mention I have two jobs? In addition to working at the shipyard I also work at the golf course. I clean the clubhouse and do lawn maintenance and just recently I've started caddying. That's where I make the most money but I haven't told my dad that. I just let him think I make minimum wage. The extra money I make caddying is hidden in another spot. For now it's in a shoebox in Albert's guest room closet. Nobody ever goes in that room so I figure it's safe there until I find a better hiding spot.

"It wasn't from my job," I say.

"You stole it?"

---