Page 44 of On the Edge

“Fine. I really like my ceramics class.” I squeeze the phone tightly in my fingers, pressing it hard to my ear as I step into my room and close the door behind me.

“That doesn’t sound like something you can make a career of,” Dad responds immediately, and I have the sudden urge to put my pillow against my face and scream.

“I guess not.”

“How about anything else? You’re taking a couple computer classes, right?”

Right, Dad, because all Asians are good at math and should work in tech,I think acidly. “Yeah.”

“And? Do you like it?”

“Not really,” I answer, unable to keep the petulance from my voice. Oh well, I tried.“I don’t want a job at a desk, Dad. You know that.”

His huff of impatience is so familiar to me, I almost laugh. Sitting down on the floor, I put my back to the bed, tip my head against the mattress, and close my eyes. I can’t number the times I’ve told my dad that I don’t want to do work similar to his, and each time has gone ignored. I don’t know why he expects a different answer every time he calls, like he’s expecting a different son to answer the phone or perhaps hoping that I’ve gotten a lobotomy and changed my entire personality. I have the sudden, gut-clenching desire to still be in Henri’s dorm.

Ridiculous, Atlas. You’re being ridiculous.

“Well, you’re going to have to decide what to do sooner rather than later. You’re going to run out of general studyclasses, and what then? Sell ceramics?” He chuckles at his own joke, and I think I might hate my father.

“Yeah, maybe,” I retort, because I love riling him up and also because peopledomake ceramics and sell them for a living.

“Your mom also wanted to know whether you were planning on coming home for Christmas break? We’re painting the house. If you’re going to stay at school, we’ll tackle the guest bedroom over Christmas,” he continues, ignoring what I said.

My mouth tastes sour at the mention of my room being the guest bedroom, and my stepmother being my mom. He knows I hate it when he calls her that. Heknowsit. Just once, I’d like him to listen to what I say and not use it as ammunition against me.

“I’m staying here.” I hadn’t actually thought about my plans for break yet, but if he’s giving me an out, I’m damn well going to take it.

Propping my phone between my shoulder and ear, I stand up and open my tiny window. Lighting up a cigarette, I take a deep inhale, leaning my head against the wall and closing my eyes. Henri’s voice in my head telling me smoking is bad for me makes me smile.

Dad gives up on trying to entice me into family talk, which means we’ve officially run the gamut of things we can chat about.

“I’ll put some more money in your checking account. Send me a text if you need anything else.”

“Sure. Thanks,” I mutter. I can’t wait for the day when I can earn my own money and cease being a leech on a family that I don’t belong in. A family that doesn’t want me.

“Have a good rest of the week,” Dad says, already sounding distracted.

“Say hi to the boys from me,” I request quickly, not wanting him to hang up before I get the words out. It’s not my stepbrothers’ fault that I’ve got a fucked-up relationship with my dad and their mom.

“See you,” he says before disconnecting the call, making me wonder if he heard me at all. Whatever. I’ll just text the boys myself to make sure the message is received.

Finishing off my cigarette, I’m just going to put my phone down when I notice a text message from Henri that came through while I was on the phone with Dad.

Henri

Thank you for coming over. I enjoy spending time with you. You forgot to take your owl picture, but I shall bring it to class for you.

No matter how hard I try and fight it, I can’t help but smile. I hate people that smile at their cellphones like idiots. I hate that Henri is turning me into one of those idiots. This is exactly how it starts; pretty soon I’ll be too attached to him to survive it when he inevitably leaves me.

Atlas

i left it on purpose because i don’t want it

Henri

But I worked so hard!

Atlas

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