Page 9 of For the Fans

“Well, nice to meet you, Avi,” she says. “I’m Theresa. But you can just call meThe Help.”

Avi laughs. And then they high-five each other. Like they’ve known each other for years.

The way this whole experience is boiling my blood feels very toxic, but I can’t help it. I don’t like what’s going on here. It’s one thing for my father to bring over this woman and her goofy son, but now they’re waltzing around like they own the place, befriendingmyTheresa…

I hate everything about this.

At that moment, my dad comes into the room with Hannah,holding hands, and croons, “Why don’t I give you two a tour of the house…”

He’s actually smiling, for the first time in what feels like my entire life. And he soundshappy.

What kind of fresh hell is this??

“Dinner will be ready in ten,” Theresa announces.

“Perfect.” Dad smiles down at Hannah, and she up at him.

And my veins are sizzling.

My father proceeds to bring Hannah and Avi all around the house, showing them things while theyoohandaahlike they’ve never seen a house before. And I’m just following behind them the whole time, seething.

I really don’t want to be jealous of these new people. Ihatefeeling jealousy, because I’m usually able to portray exactlyenough confidence and self-assurance to thwart such emotions. But I can’t help the little green monster inside me right now.

The way my dad is acting, it’s as if he’s been miserable for years, and now he’sfinallyhappy again, thanks to Hannah Vega and her smiling, dimpled-dimwit son. Not only does that make me feel like utter shit, but also, Hannah is so epicallydifferentfrom my mom, and my father’s usual type. Granted, I don’t know her well, but just watching her and listening to her speak proves my point. She’s nothing like my mom, and my dad seems elated by it.

We’re done perusing the upstairs, and my father and Hannah are walking downstairs chatting when Avi leans in to me and whispers, “Your room is really boring.”

And then he clomps down the steps, leaving me standing there, seconds away from tackling him to the ground.What the hell is wrong with this guy?? Does he have no manners whatsoever? We just met, for fuck’s sake, and he’s just throwing shade at me like some kind of cocky emo-douche.

My mood is more sour than a lemon wedge in my mouth as we all sit down around the dinner table. Theresa serves us, then scuttles off, leaving us to eat under a bubble of awkward tension.

I would’ve been fine pushing my food around in silence, but unfortunately, my father decides to make conversation.

“So, Avi, how are you liking Malden High?”

Avi looks up at him, chewing for a few generous seconds while blinking his wide eyes like he’s trying to figure out how to answer the question.

“It’s alright.” He fiddles with his fork. “My art class is pretty cool.”

“Avi prefers the arts,” Hannah says, peeking at her son. “Trying to get him to hold an interest in anything else has always been… difficult.”

My eyes shift to Avi. At a dig like that frommyparents, I’d be cowering inside. But he doesn’t seem disturbed by it at all. He simply shrugs and grins, popping another bite of chicken into his mouth.

“Oh…” my father utters, and I brace myself for him to go off on a tangent about how important education is, and how getting good grades will get you into a good school,blah blah blah. I’ve heard it a million times. But instead, he says, “Well, I’m sure you’ll find your footing soon. At least you have something you’re passionate about.”

I nearly do a spit-take with my mouthful of soda.

“Kyran does well in school,” he goes on. “But his main passion is football. Isn’t that right, son?”

He shows me a pleasant smile, which I balk at.Who the hell are you, and what have you done with my borderline fascist father??

“Yea,” I grunt through my bewilderment. “Football is great.”

Avi smirks at me. “Let me guess, you’re the quarterback.”

I purse my lips. Because he’s right… Iamthe quarterback. And I’m proud of it, but for some reason, I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of feeling like he knows me after only a few minutes.

Thankfully, my father does it for me. “Yes, he is!” Dad says proudly. “He’s in line to make varsity next year. Then he’ll be playing for a scholarship to BC.”