Page 25 of Late Fees

Wyatt

1993

“Mom, c’mon, tell the driver to stop the car.”

My face was pressed to the glass as I watched Tilly drift away. Slowly. Panic rose within me, and I could feel my pulse in my throat as we drove farther and farther away. We were a block from her now, and the car was heading toward the main road just outside of our subdivision. Soon, she’d be out of sight. And the thought of that made me want to punch a hole in the glass window.

“No, you’ve already made us late. We’ll be lucky if we get to the airport in time.” My mom wouldn’t look at me; her reading glasses were on, and her latest mystery novel was planted on her lap.

“Fine,” I said, lunging toward the door handle. My fingers were just about to wrap around the latch when my brother’s hand grabbed my wrist and squeezed.

“Don’t be stupid, man,” Brad said. Even though they held a careful warning, his words were sharp, bitter, and angry.

I shook my head. “We’re not going that fast.”

“Faster than you think. Besides, what are you gonna do? Run down the street and profess your love to the girl?”

“I mean…yeah.”

“Wyatt, stop this nonsense,” my mom muttered. “Enough is enough.”

Brad ignored her and continued, looking only at me. “And then what?”

“Dude, I don’t know.”

“I do.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You’ll end up exactly where you are now…right back in this car, headed to the airport. Only it’ll be worse because we’ll miss our flight, and Dad will be pissed. So, what’s the point?”

Leaning back into the seat, I avoided Brad’s stare. “You don’t get it.”

“Are you forgetting I had to break up with someone, too? Only I didn’t act like a total pussy.”

“Language, Bradley,” my mom warned, ripping off her glasses and glowering at him with wide eyes. “For God’s sake.”

Brad continued to ignore her. We’d both been giving our parents our own versions of the silent treatment since we found out about the transfer.

“No, I’m serious,” he said, never taking his eyes off mine. “Do you think I want to spend my senior year in Norway, Wyatt? Or that I wanted to break up with Kristi—who I’ve been dating for four years?”

“Of course not.”

“Do you think I wanted to walk away from a potential football scholarship? Only to go to a hole-in-the-wall, little European country where they don’t even play the goddamn sport?”

My throat burned. “Shut up, Brad.”

Brad leaned forward, his chest heaving. “You didn’t, did you? Because you think you’re the only one with problems.”

“Whatever.”

“I got news for you, you little shit. Not everything is about you. So, stop being a whiny bitch, and just deal with it. Dad got a promotion; we’re moving, period.”

“Bradley!”

“Oh, give it a rest, Mom.” He scowled, rolling his eyes at our mother. “You’re not any happier about this than we are. We all know Dad’s the only one who wants to go to Norway.”

Mom sighed, pressing her lips together in a thin line but saying nothing. She placed her glasses back on the edge of her nose and tilted her shoulders back in silent defiance. She cleared her throat and opened her book.

Nice.

My mom was never good at confrontation. But Brad and I knew the truth. Mom was terrified to live in another country, especially one where English was not the preferred language. Mom was a planner, and if Dad had given her more notice, she would have taught herself Norwegian and researched all there was to know about the culture of the country we’d be living in for two years. Instead, she was just as shell-shocked as we were.

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