Page 81 of Chasing Infinity

I groan and drop my head into my arms on the workbench. I recall her pestering me all week, trying to get me to stay late so we could get this done, but I just ignored her. Now I’m going to pay the price. “You’re going to kill me. I can’t do it tomorrow. My dad has this thing tonight, and I’m sure it’s going to go late—”

“Noah,” she cuts me off, and I look at her. Her expression is shut-off, her eyes cold. “I literally don’t give two shits about what you have going on tonight or what your perfect family is up to. We have a project due Monday, and you’ve been procrastinating, so now you have to step up and do your part. And frankly, you better come tomorrow with a better attitude. I’m getting real tired of dealing with your shit.”

I can’t help but be surprised at the forcefulness of her tone. Where the hell is allthisattitude coming from? “Damn, Parks.”

Addison shrugs off her lab coat, hangs it on the racks in the room, and then grabs her backpack, swinging it around her shoulders. “I’ll be here at nine tomorrow. If you don’t show up, I will tell Mr. Reese that you didn’t participate at all in the project and that he should give you a zero. I’m not playing around here, Noah.”

“Clearly,” I mutter, annoyed. “Fine, I’ll do my best to be here tomorrow.”

Appeased, she lowers her weapons slightly. “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And she heads towards the door. Before leaving, she pauses and then glances at me over her shoulder. “I hope you have fun at your family thing tonight.”

Taken aback at the quick change in tone, I gape at her, feeling like I just got whiplash from her swift shift in approach. She sighs at my lack of prompt response and then steps out of the lab. I balk at the door for a second more, finally saying the “Thanks” that was stuck on the tip of my tongue.

Once I get my bearings back, I collect my things and leave. I’m running a little bit later than I would like. Still, hopefully, I’ll be able to get home and sneak upstairs before my father realizes I’m running late.

I pull my skateboard out of my locker and speed home, throwing the door open and bounding inside. My eyes are set on my room upstairs, but I’m not fast enough.

“Where have you been, Noah?” my father interrogates, stepping out of the dining room into the foyer. He shoots me an icy cold glare and turns slightly away to straighten his tie in the mirror on the wall.

I freeze mid-stride and look at him like a deer in the headlights. “I was at school late. We have a project due.”

“You know tonight is important for me, don’t you?” he asks me snidely, his gray eyes burning a hole into me like gunmetal. “Are you trying to ensure I don’t get elected?”

“No, Father, I’m sorry.”

“I would hope you’re sorry. How does it look for the future mayor of this town to have his son MIA on one of the most important nights of the campaign? If they think I’m incapable of managing my own family, why would they elect me? Voting day is next week, so everything that happens tonight matters. Now get your ass upstairs and go change. You look like a mess. That’s not how I raised you. I can’t have you embarrassing me tonight, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I mutter, thoroughly reprimanded as I head towards the stairs.

“You have thirty minutes, Noah,” he calls after me.

I jump in the shower right away to rinse off and wash my hair. I do it in record time, toweling off most of the way before tracking down the suit I laid out for tonight and pulling it on. My heart is racing as the imaginary clock in my head ticks down. I only have a few minutes before my father comes knocking, and I absolutely donotwant to deal with him any more than I have to tonight. Not to mention the fallout if I run any later than I am already.

Once dressed, I start messing with my shaggy hair, taming it back into something the Future Mayor will find presentable. As I comb the product through my hair, I hear a soft knock on my door.

“I’m almost done!” I yell in defense.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” the sound of my mother’s soft voice has me looking over my shoulder. My muscles sag as she comes up behind me, her hand resting on my upper back.

“He’s mad at me,” I say softly, showing rare vulnerability. Something I’m only ever comfortable doing around her. “I don’t want to go tonight and do something wrong and make it worse.”

“Oh honey, you won’t. Your father is just concerned about how tonight will play in his campaign. It’s nothing you’ve done.”

“You always say that,” I say to her, slowly turning around. “And yet he’s always mad at me about something. Why am I not good enough for him?”

When I meet my mother’s eyes, my stomach clenches. She’s looking at me withpityin her blue eyes, silently confirming to me that my feelings are valid. My mother places her hand on my shoulder again, an attempt at comfort, but I shrug her off. “Noah, just listen to me. Your father is under a lot of stress, and he just wants everything to be perfect.”

“And I’m not perfect enough for him. I get it.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all.”

“It’s fine, Mom. Just tell him I’ll be down in a few minutes and that I’ll try my best to beperfecttonight.”

“Noah.”

I turn away from her and stride into my en suite bathroom, closing the door behind me. As soon as I’m in private, I lean against the counter, breathing a shaky sigh. I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling the tears burn, but I don’t give in, not willing to let myself cry over him.I stopped doing that years ago.

This stupid campaign of my father’s has ruined everything. Not that my family was super tight-knit, to begin with, but now things are frayed more than ever. My father’s goals always come first, and my mother and I get dragged into it to put on a good show.

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