Page 81 of Wherever You Are

Either way, I’m ready for the distraction.

A second later, a notification buzzes my phone.

@willowaIIflower:Tonight?

It’s a date.I almost hit send, but I shake my head and delete those words and retype:perfect.

We’re not a couple. We’re still just friends, and honestly, I can’t lose Willow to anything else. I’m already cursed and shit at most things, including relationships. But—I don’t know. Sometimes, I think about kissing Willow.

What it would feel like. Where I’d put my hands. How I’d make her comfortable. What she’d be thinking—since it’d be her first.

Her lips look soft.

Shit.Stop thinking about that stuff.Just friends.

Sometimes I even wonder if we could be more. After Christmas, this next stretch of high school will be our last. We’re seniors, and she’s getting more comfortable at Dalton. The timing seems better than it was.

Each step down the stairs, I feel more strongly about this. About her.

“Garrison, honey, can you come here?” my mom calls from the formal dining room.

I dip into the kitchen and pass through another archway that leads to the dining room. My mom, in a form-fitting red dress, sits next to my dad at a glossy oak table, decorated with a red winterberry centerpiece and Christmas garland.

I rarely see my dad. If he’s not working, then he’s at home with his face in an iPad or computer. Checking stocks, making business plans—or maybe he just surfs the internet. I wouldn’t know, would I?

Today, though, he has no electronic nearby. In a powder blue button-down and expensive slacks, he’s seated beside my mom. My dad has always looked a lot like a fifty-something Jeremy Irons. Not physically intimidating, but his resolute expression is less friendly than my mom’s gentle one.

I have no idea what this is about. Ever since my mom joined this new church when I was ten, we don’t open presents on Christmas Day. We attend church on Christmas morning, but it’s always insanely packed, so we have to show up hours early just to secure a chair.

Because of that, we open gifts on Christmas Eve.

Even last night, I was reminded that I’m on the “naughty” list for my family. Good to my dad’s word, he didn’t allow anyone to give me a single gift. Punishment for vandalizing Loren Hale’s mailbox and then squirting punch on some of Lo’s roommates. His sister-in-law, Rose Calloway, was one of them.

I didn’t fight the punishment because I deserved it.

Watching my three brothers open their gifts while I was left with nothing—that was the least of what could’ve happened.

“Take a seat.” My dad points to the chair across from them.

I don’t sit. My gaze falls to a white envelope on the table’s glossy surface. I stuff my hands into my black hoodie. “What’s this about?”

“Sit, please.” He never raises his voice with me. Doesn’t physically hit me. Doesn’t do much of anything.

He’s not a big force in my life like my mom. His million-dollar tech company leeches his time and energy, and this holiday, I only saw him smile once. When Davis asked him to throw a football outside.

He found the time to play a quick game with all three of my brothers.

I sat out, and maybe he’s here to lecture or scold me. But what’s with this envelope?

I teeter, stuck between sitting and standing, not knowing which to take. I decide to sit before he repeats the request.

Maybe this isn’t about me. Maybe they’ve decided to split up or something. Uncertainty binds my lungs, and I’m not even sure how I’d feel about a divorce.

My mom slides the envelope closer to me. “This is your Christmas gift.” She seems more nervous than excited.

I reluctantly pry the envelope off the table. Frowning, I haphazardly tear open the paper and find a sleek brochure inside.

Faust Boarding School for Young Boys