Page 10 of Broken Brothers

“Guess he didn’t want us playing around, huh?”

“You know how Dad is,” Morgan said, dismissively. “He’s just concerned. He’s a bit crazy.”

He was, but not in the way Morgan thought. The Hunt name needed to be protected. Morgan could do almost nothing short of commit a crime—as unlikely as Sarah running back to come to me… as much as that hurt to admit—to sully the name.

But I was not a true Hunt. I was not in on the family dynamics. I could sully the name. Hell, I already had to Sarah. What would it look like to the other kids when they heard the Hunts had adopted a child? Much less one who acted brashly and dared to not tell others his status for quite some time?

Mr. Hunt might have seemed crazy to Morgan, but only in the way that fathers seemed. I had experienced too much, even at this young of an age, to know Mr. Hunt wasn’t that crazy.

“Are you feeling OK?”

I appreciated that Morgan distracted me from my thought process, in no small part because it meant I didn’t have to thinksome more about how Morgan, for all his goodness, was also a naive spoiled kid who just happened to be my brother.

“OK enough, I guess,” I said. “I suppose I’ll get over it.”

I really had no other choice. I just prayed that the following days would be merciful.

4

Idreaded waking up on Mondays.

But on this particular Monday, I dreaded it even more.

I struggled going into an environment in which I knew I didn’t belong, and school did just that. The funny thing was, once I actually got to school and got situated in, I felt right at ease. I was tough for the teachers, but my students loved me, and even those teachers that openly complained about me had to admit I had the brains to pass for a Hunt.

I just didn’t act like I cared. But I did care.

Still, today, the facade had crumbled. It would be the first day in which I would have to own up for not being a true Hunt. It would be the first day that Sarah Hill would get to spread her tale of what had happened. It would be the beginning of the end for me, the moment in which I would have to decide between another half-decade of judgmental glares or a return to the foster home and a roll of the dice.

We had a valet drive us to school, as usual, and I remained unusually quiet in the back. Morgan usually liked to do homework in this time, and I had eventually grown to respectthat, not bugging him as much as I might have earlier in our brotherhood, but even then, I would occasionally pipe in with the smartass remark.

Today, though, I just clammed up. Morgan never noticed, or if he did, he didn’t say anything. It was just as well, really. The last thing I needed was to again explain the unexplainable to someone who could never understand the real explanation.

When we arrived at school, I pushed open the door, nervously walked forward, and looked for the first sign of Sarah Hill. I didn’t know what I was going to say. I didn’t even know if I was going to say anything to her. It’s not like I had some special secret to give to her or some confession to make. I didn’t have to apologize for anything, nor did she—if anyone, Mr. Hill was the one who owed me an apology.

Now that I thought about it, I’m pretty sure Sarah would have wanted to stay with me, but she sure as hell wasn’t willing to sacrifice anything for it. Was that really the same as being with me, then?

I looked down the row of lockers. Hers was remarkably close to mine, but she hadn’t shown up yet. Looking for a spot on the wall to try and do some homework, I slumped down, put my nice, silver headphones on—OK, living with the Hunts had its perks—and tried to work.

I tried, but I kept looking up every dozen seconds for signs of Sarah. I was like the guy who couldn’t take his eyes off of his smart phone—except the smart phone was Sarah Hill, and at least the hypothetical guy looked at his phone with purpose. I still didn’t know what I would say to Sarah.

A few of my friends came over and engaged me in conversation. I tried to ignore them at first, leaving the headphones on, but I didn’t succeed. I ended up just chatting with them, given that it did a better job of keeping me from looking for Sarah than my actual homework did.

Then, finally, I saw her.

She was speaking with friends, but she was moving forward. She didn’t look any different than she had Friday. She was still laughing with them and still smiling… as if what had happened on Saturday didn’t matter.

That was a fucking stupid thought, and I knew it. No one got over an ended relationship that quickly, especially girls. But still…

Why couldn’t she have looked like me, dour and depressed? Why couldn’t she have shown some grief on her end?

Or maybe, maybe she did, and was just the better actor between us. Maybe she knew how to hide her pain better than I could. It certainly wasn’t implausible. All I had to do was look at myself in the mirror and look at her to know the difference.

I stood up… but not really sure what I would do. Talk to her? Confront her? She had her friends around her, and for as sure of myself as I was generally, I knew better than to approach her surrounded by friends, and this did no favors.

Instead, I just sat back down meekly, undoubtedly looking like a fool but really not that aware if someone laughed. I might have looked like a puppet rising, or I might have just looked like a confused soul. Both seemed like apt metaphors right now.

I waited for her to look my way… just briefly make eye contact… but no, it never came.