J A C O B
I hadn't sat down for dinner with my family for years, not at home anyway. I was convinced the dining room was a movie set, only there to convince viewers that a real family lived in our house, even though it didn't. The kitchen was the same. Breakfast was always had on the go, and lunch wasn't even had at home. I imagined my parents sitting behind their desks, looking down at their schedules, and then up at me, shaking their heads to say, it will be difficult to fit you in.
I didn't mind. I couldn't remember the last time we sat to eat together without it being about business or politics or one of Derek's great comebacks, and I wished I couldn't remember those either. All together they felt like a multiple-parts interview for a very important job. It had taken me a while to understand what the job was exactly, but I had figured out eventually that it was life itself, and that, of course, I was failing.
I was sure the letter would come in the mail soon:
Dear Jacob,
After reflecting carefully, we are sorry to tell you we will not be taking your application further for this role.
Thank you for your interest in joining life.
It was all the same. All this meant was that I would rather eat in bed than have to sit at a table with my family. Except today I didn't have a choice. For the first time in years, my mother had asked for the table to be set in the dining room and for someone to call me down for dinner. Down I went.
A large tray of meatloaf served as the centerpiece. Derek and both my parents all looked at me when I showed up under the door. I was in my pajamas. They were in suit and ties. Derek was still wearing the black eye I had given him an hour ago.
I asked, "What's the occasion?"
My mother opened her mouth.
I heard, "After careful consideration, we are sorry to tell you we will not be considering you for this role any further."
She said, "Sit down."
I did. The table was only set for them. Derek had a smug look on his face. I couldn't picture him without it. He had tried it on as a kid, after telling mom on me over something I did â I was always doing something then â and had liked it so much, he hadn't taken it off ever since.
"Look at your brother," my father said. I looked at Derek. "You do realize how serious this is, right?"
No.
"Your brother has a very important meeting tomorrow, and it seems he'll have to show up with that nasty bruise on his face," my mother said. She was very calm. "Please guide us through your thinking."
I had tried before. It was a Saturday and my father had called me down to his office. Coach Sargent had called. I had been skipping practice. Neither of them was happy about it. I wasn't either. I tried telling him. It reminded me of when I was a kid and sprained my ankle at practice. I had shown him the swelling, and he had shrugged, and said, that's nothing. It was always nothing.
I did the same that Saturday. I told him I thought something was wrong with me, and my father looked up from the documents in his hands, which he held like a child, shook his head, and told me to close my door on the way out.
"Jacob, are you listening to your mother?" he asked now. He hadn't touched his food. I wondered if the meatloaf was really just a centerpiece. Wondered when someone would yell, cut, and all the lights would go on, and they would get up and walk back to their director's chair without even sparing a look at one another.
I said, "Yes."
My mother said, "And?"
I couldn't even guide myself through my thinking. I hadn't been at the wheel for months. Of course punching Derek had been simple enough. I had wanted to punch him, and so I had punched him.
He had come up to my bedroom after Kylie left.
"How the fuck did you nail that?" I suspected Derek only ever cursed in front of me, and even then, it seemed like he was trying on a very ridiculous outfit.
I hadn't answered. I hadn't thought it was worth it.
"You're not gonna answer?" Nothing ever escaped Derek. "This room smells like shit."
I hadn't answered that either.
"I don't know how guys like you get girls like that," he said. "She must be really stupid not to see the piece of shit you are."
I hadn't answered that either.
"How long have you been in that bed for?" He had been standing by the side of it as he said it. "She's gonna leave you. Anyone with at least half a brain would."
I hadn't answered that either.
"I mean, how long until you go back to diapers? Does she even know how to change one? I doubt she'll want to get her pretty little hands dirty."
I hadn't answered that either.
"But do keep her around. I might want to take her out for a ride."
I had punched him then.
Back at the table, my mother said, "You know what, don't even bother answering that. It's all the same to me. I'll just cut the chase. I know you're busy."
She folded her hands on her lap, "Your father and I made some calls and got you a place at a military school upstate. You'll join them this summer. Not that we think you'll somehow finish high school. If it was up to me, you would be packing your bags and leaving tomorrow. I've wasted too much time on this already. If you grow up to be a parent one day, you'll understand. There is just so much you can do for your children, and we've done enough. We've given you everything, Jacob, things most kids can only dream of. Still you insist on behaving the way you do. Why?"
I opened my mouth.
"Oh, honey." There was nothing sweet about the word. "Save it. I'm not asking for your take on this. Your father told me about it. It's nonsense. You don't need to tell me there's something wrong with you. I know there is. You're a spoiled arrogant lazy little brat, and I, for one, am done with it. But you're still a minor, so you're still our responsibility, and so you're going to that school. Is that understood?"
I opened my mouth.
"Good," she said before I could even start. "You can go now."
I didn't move. I wanted to say something but came up with nothing. Derek said I was good at making something out of nothing. Derek said that was exactly what I was doing. Maybe he was right. Maybe they all were.
I got up and left. The smell in my bedroom was suffocating, even with the windows open, and my phone was ringing. Kylie was calling.
I grabbed my phone. She had come all the way to my house to check on me. She had stayed even after she saw the mess I had turned into. She had said everything would be alright before she left. I didn't think it would. I thought I deserved that it didn't.
I threw my phone on my bed. I was just going to waste her time. I had wasted so much of people's time with my illusions of grandeur. I had been completely delusional, even now, sitting in bed, looking at my phone, still ringing, and ringing, and ringing. I was delusional. Of course I was going to pick up. I was a self-centered piece of shit.
I grabbed my phone and picked up her call. She knew a therapist. I had an appointment next week. She would go with me if I wanted her to. I opened my mouth to say no. I didn't need a therapist. I didn't need to waste anyone else's time. The show was over. There was no need for my little dance to go on any longer, no need to distract people from the fact that I was just lazy. Just entitled. The therapist would see right through it. I wasn't depressed. I was just a piece of shit.
I was going to say no.
I said yes. The sooner the truth was out the better.
Later that night, in bed, I really thought things could get better. I thought maybe if I went back to school, if I really tried, I could get my grades back up, I could go back on the team, I could get my sports scholarship. I could get out of this house, and never have to think about military school ever again, or even better, never have to see the disappointment in my parents' face again, or the smugness on Derek's.
I set my alarm for the next morning. I had a missed call from Edward. I thought about calling him back, but I never did. I just laid in bed thinking about it. He knew too much already anyway. He was a constant reminder of most of my mistakes because he had been there for almost all of them. He had been faster than me at recognizing them â at recognizing me for who I really was â but then again, he was always smarter than me.
I kept thinking about this. I started with the big things, the really terrible ones, and then I couldn't stop. I spent the night awake, thinking of all the kids I had picked on at school, the girls I had led on, the classes I was failing, the games I was missing, the lies I was spinning. By the time morning came, I couldn't get up.
I couldn't even move to turn off the alarm. Derek must have heard it from his room because he barged into mine and almost broke my phone against the floor. I still didn't move.
"What's wrong with you?"
I didn't answer. He was standing by my bed.
"Where is this all coming from? There's no reason for any of it, is there? You made it all up. This sad boy disease. It's not real."
I still didn't answer. He put his hands on his waist.
"And for what? So you can skip school? So you can get away with failing your exams? A month ago you wouldn't even come home to sleep. Dad said you were out every night. Are we supposed to believe any of this? What do you want? A doctor? Doctors just want to sell pills, Jacob. You're just being lazy."
I said, "I know."
"Get your shit together," he said, pulling the pillow from under my head and throwing it across the room. "Or don't. It's all the same to us."
"I know."
He took a deep breath and then left. I just laid there.