Page 19 of My High School Rebel Boyfriend
“Your dinner’s in the microwave. Sorry it’s not much.”
I peeped in, unimpressed by the two hotdogs in a bun. But I sucked up my bitterness, “It’s all good.”
“Did you stay over at Titan’s last night? I didn’t hear you come home?”
“Yeah, I did,” I said.
“Can you help me to bed, honey? I’m absolutely exhausted. I had Jessie and Harriet today.”
“You shouldn’t overdo it, Ma,” I said, pushing the walking frame up to the table. She grimaced as she stood, her stubborn joints behaving like steel posts.
“I’m not,” she said, forcing her lips into a smile. I followed her to the bathroom, then put her heat pad in the microwave while she washed up. I closed the drapes in her room and she asked for an extra blanket on the bed. “I’m sorry he yelled at you last night. He was very tired, it was a long long day for him.” I didn’t respond, straightening the cover. Mom’s pain got worse in cold weather; she joked that her arthritis qualified her for a job as a meteorologist. “He works hard, you know.”
“Are you warm enough?” I asked, handing her the heat pad which she rested on her knees.
“Yes, that’s good.” She coaxed me closer and kissed my cheek. “Love you, honey,” she said, her eyes roving and resting on the pale bruise. I sensed it then, the quiver in her voice, “We both love you.”
She wanted it to be true, so badly. She willed it to be true. Because it wasn’t just her body that had her trapped, it was her whole miserable existence. A woman who’s star had faded, stolen by an unplanned pregnancy and then a debilitating disease, rescued by a man she had come to rely on. Somewhere along our nightmare journey she’d made decisions for the both of us. Wade could look after us, provide us with a home; it was something we hadn’t had before. I had to play my part in making that happen.
“Love you too,” I muttered, the words always a struggle to vocalize.
“You’re not going out are you?” she asked, propping her laptop on a tray.
“Nah, I’ve got homework.”
“Have you got early training tomorrow?”
“Yep.”
“Make sure you don’t make any noise then,” she said, “Dad won't be home till aftermidnight.”
I nodded and went to shower, disgusted by so many things. But it wasn’t worth my energy. Nothing would change until I graduated. At least that was part of my life that I could control. I could keep my grades up, play basketball and create a future for myself.
Life could have been so much worse, Mom had told me. Growing up in a number of foster homes, there had been no one to turn to when she’d found herself with a tiny, fatherless baby (yeah, me). Living in a car or in a homeless shelter was no way to live, she’d wanted me to have the best chance in life.
Apparently living in this three bedroom house in Jackson Park with a step-father who had anger issues was it.
I lingered under the shower, and dressing in clean clothes felt good. I put in a load of laundry, then stretched out on my bed. My legs hung over the end, but it beat being cramped up in my back seat. I’d ached all day because of it.
Height was going to be my ticket in life, but it came with a price. My unknown father’s legacy was supposedly an advantage—successful sports people, actors, models—they were all tall. But no one talked about the growing pains, the relentless aches night after night since seventh grade, calves, knees, back.
“It’s just your bones stretching,” Mom would say, though she’d had me tested for rheumatoid arthritis in case. Thankfully I was negative, but that didn’t mean I’d always be negative, they reiterated. Yeah, good to know.
And then the other stuff no one mentions, like the bed my feet are dangling over, the pants and jeans that show off your ankles or socks, the sleeves that barely reach your wrists, the limited number of shoes in your size, most of them ugly.
But you can reach the top shelf easily, you can change the lightbulb, you can make millions of dollars in the NBA.
Yep, you can.
Wade had Saturday off, my cue to get out of the house and stay away for as long as possible. Titan had organized for us to do an early morning training on Saturday as he was going out of town to a family gathering later. That sucked. I was hoping to hang with him for most of the day.
I slept like a log, mainly because I’d had a couple of restless nights before, and my alarm awoke me with a jolt. I’d been pleasantly dreaming, Harper Dent had been teaching my English Lit class. It was too weird. Harper Dent wasn’t even in my English Lit class.
Mom had given me some money the night before (from her child minding job), so I stopped at the gas station and picked up some hot drinks and bagels and donuts for us. I needed to get back into his good books, food and drink would do it.
It made me a few minutes late, I could hear the noise of him jumping as I strode up to the door.
“Hey, my man, surprise!” I called, as I pushed the door open with my shoulder, hot chocolates held aloft. But it was me who was surprised, my heart leaping into my throat at the sight in front of me.
