Page 8 of The Substitute
Tobi hasn’t said a word to me since I moved in. It’s only been a couple of days, but he’s like a block of ice, especially afterseeing my hockey gear. I can’t wrap my head around what I did to piss him off so badly.
We had such a connection on the bridge. Or maybe I read into it way more than I should have.
I’ve walked the same path back to the bridge so many times over the last five months, hoping to see him, and now after seeing him in my room I’m back, trying to grasp at what happened.
Tobi won’t even speak to me now. It’s like he hates me for seeing him like that, and maybe I don’t blame him.
The path over the bridge is so familiar now, and I’m lost in my thoughts only to be ripped from them by the ghost of a familiar voice.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” he says from behind me.
I turn and find the wrong ghost.
Instead of Tobi, it’s my step-brother. I’m instantly angry.
"Why are you following me?” I ask.
“I saw you walk past.”
“Bullshit. Did you AirTag me or some shit?” I ask, crossing my arms.
He wouldn’t, but my father would. Although he dislikes my father as much as I do, I don’t know why he’d follow me for him.
“I really saw you. I’ve been following you for a while to see where you’ve been hiding.”
“Hiding? That’s rich. He kicked me out, remember?” I say, like any of us have forgotten the last few months.
“He didn’t kick you out. He said he’d cut you off?—”
I hold up a hand. “Making me choose is cutting me off. I’m never going to be who he wants. He can’t force me into the church because he’s ashamed his kid is—” I can’t bring myself to say it.
“I’m not trying to get in the middle of your argument. You know I don’t care who you take home at the end of the night,but Mom has raised you since you were nine. You can hate your father as much as you want, but Mom doesn’t deserve your silence. She’s so fucking worried.”
He’s almost nice.
Almost.
I shake my head, knowing I should drop it. There’s no reason to take his bait. He has no idea the extent of what that man did to me, and I’m tired of arguing with him about it. “I’m not having this argument with you or anyone else.”
“I’m not trying to argue with you. He’s not even home. She just wants to know you’re okay.” He steps toward me, and I move back. “She didn’t do this. He did.”
“She’s stayed married to him.”
“So?” he asks, clearly not getting it.
“So? Really? She’s fucking supporting his behavior. Condoning it even. She could divorce him.”
“I’m not saying she didn’t make mistakes, but you are on this bridge and not coming home at night.” He crosses his arms like he can force me to do what he wants, like when we were kids, but he’s not bigger than I am anymore.
“Tell her to take it up with my father.” I turn back around to continue my walk.
He follows but doesn’t speak.
“Can you fuck off?”
“I’m not going to do that.” He’s fucking smug about it.
“Don’t you have puck bunnies to fuck, or a party to go to?”
