Page 82 of Honeysuckle
It had taken me nearly an hour to get out of bed and I spent another forty-five in the shower. I didn’t want to be on campus. I could hear them whispering about me but no one had the balls to actually ask me.
Van shared his notes with me that I missed from the class before so I spent most of the time typing them up into my own.
“You alright?” He asked, noticing the muted mood.
“Yeah, just stressed out.” I shrugged, handing the papers back to him.
“You’ve been vibrating negative energy since Sunday, dude. I’ve never seen you so balled up.” Van pushed. "Spill.”
I dug the statement out of my jeans and handed it to him behind our laptops as the professor rattled on about the negative effects of something that I couldn’t find the time to care about. Van was quiet for five minutes before he scoffed and handed it back to me.
“You didn’t write this,” he looked at me, and I scowled. “I’ve proofread every essay you’ve handed in for the last three years,youdidn’t write this.”
Sinking lower in my chair, I pulled my hat down over my eyes and sighed. “Josh wrote it.”
“Yeah, that explains the ‘sexual preferences’ line. Dude made it sound like you were in court, not the press room. It’s too harsh, hold on…” Van said, and before I could stop him, he was scribbling out lines and rewriting them.It didn’t matter what he did to it, I wasn’t reading it. "Have we gotten him checked for robot parts?" He joked but I was too busy being wound up to laugh.
I couldn’t even figure out why the fuck I was carrying it around, other than the fact that I was trying to find my courage. Even if I didn’t announce myself to a room full of blood-hungry reporters, I would have to stand up for myself eventually.
“There.” Van handed it back to me, and as soon as I started, I knew that whatever magic he had worked actually made it a viable option. “Less Josh, more Dean.”
“Thanks,” I said with a small nod before I folded it up and stuffed it into my pocket again. It would rot there until I found my voice. Who knows when that would be.
When class was done I went down through the cafeteria to some of the study halls and found a spot to sit quietly. Going back to the Nest meant facing Josh or Cael and going down to the stadium meant facing Coach and Silas.
Nowhere felt safe.
“Franklin,” my Father’s voice inched across the divide and felt like a thousand small cuts.
Great.
I pushed from my chair, turning to face him and tried to hide the disappointment in my voice as I acknowledged him.
“Good to know you haven’t abandoned everything,” he jabbed with his grip tightening around his briefcase. “Your mother expects you at dinner on Sunday.”
I scoffed before I could stop myself.
His brow rose, and he stared me down when I didn’t elaborate on the outburst.
“What happened yesterday may have been uncomfortable for you son but you needed to hear it, there comes a day when you need to answer for yourself.” He shifted uncomfortably looking around to see if any of the other students studying were listening.
“Answer for myself?” I said, trying my best to sound anything but combative.
“Your explicit and sinful actions have consequences, Franklin. It was time that you learned that, and having your friends step in for you when you were being a spineless coward didn’t help your case,” he said tightly. "You’ll come to dinner Sunday, there’s more to discuss.”
Without another word, he walked around me and out of study hall.
My chest burned. My thoughts turned to slush. I stood staring out the glass doors to the hallway where he disappeared and let myself go numb again.
They didn’t give a shit about me, they never had. It had always been about what I could do for them, and never about familial love. I was a trophy to them, stuffed away in a display case to be fawned over during important holidays. Nothing more.
I didn’t want to stand on the pedestal they had built for me anymore.
They don’t deserve peace.
LOGAN
Theearlybi-weekhelpedus regroup, but the tension in the locker room since the last game was palpable. Dean hadn’t said a word to the press, Coach had been running interference. The problem was the longer he waited to do it, the moresuspiciousit all looked. The reporters all had their own narratives now, and there wasn’t a damn thing Dean could do about it.
