I shake my head. Do I really care about class rankings when my dad is sick? Honestly, all I want to do in that moment is drop out and go home, so I can take care of him. I’m guessing that’s why he’s avoided telling me all this time. He’s too freaking selfless. It’s not fair. My eyes water and Zack reaches out to rub a tear from my cheek with his thumb, trailing strange sensations across my skin.
“You beat Tristan Vanderbilt again,” he says with a low chuckle, and I almost laugh. Almost. But nothing in this world is more important to me than my father. Nothing. “You’re number one again.”
“Number one?” I echo, and my heart drops into my stomach. If I’m number one … then why do I feel like I’m coming in dead last?
I close my eyes, exhale, and then open them back up.
I’ve never needed to be stronger than in this moment.
Squaring my shoulders, I take the lead and head back to the chapel.Dad won’t talk to me about his illness. If I bring it up, he changes the subject. If I cry, he holds me tight. He most definitely does not get drunk this year.
On Friday, just before the big game, he cups the side of my face with one of his rough palms and gazes lovingly into my eyes. My throat gets tight, and I choke on unshed tears.
“Marnye,” he begins, his voice soft, “you’ve always known what you’ve wanted, even as a little kid. You went through a hard time in middle school, and yet you never stopped fighting. You got this scholarship on your own merit, and you do nothing but continue to exceed my expectations.”
“Dad—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“As a boy, I dreamed of going to a school like this. There was an all-boys academy just outside the town I grew up in called Adamson. I fantasized about going there every day, but I never tried to change my circumstances; I just accepted them.” I try to speak again, but he shushes me gently. “All week, you’ve been hinting that you want to come home and take care of me. I don’t want that for you.”
“Nothing is more important to me than you,” I choke out, but Dad’s already shaking his head. Everything makes sense now: his gifting me his mother’s bracelet, trying to force a relationship with Jennifer, his getting drunk last year at Parents’ Week. It’s all coming together into this horrible conclusion that I just want to wake up from.
“And nothing is more important to me than you, Marnye-bear, but you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. I’ll do whatever it takes to be there for as much of it as I can, but you cannot give up this opportunity. I won’t let you.” He sighs and drops his hand to his side. He’s so different from all the other parents in their expensive suits, designer clothing, and fancy high heels. Charlie Reed wears raggedy old jeans, the watch I got him for Christmas last year, and scuffed work boots. It only makes me love him more that he wears it all with pride. “I see the way they look at you.”
“Like they hate me and want me dead?” I ask, and Dad smiles softly.
“Like they’re jealous, Marnye.”
“Jealous of me?” I echo with disbelief. “With their Lamborghinis and their yachts and their mansions?” I sound so pathetic when I say that, it makes even me cringe. I know better than anyone that money isn’t what makes a person happy. Dad makes me happy; learning makes me happy; friendship makes me happy.
“Money can’t buy confidence or love or genuine sense of self. Marnye, you are better than their superficial shit.” I raise my eyebrows because I’ve rarely, if ever, head my dad curse around me. “Honey, the best revenge is success. Remember that. Keep doing your thing, and make me proud. That’s what I want for you. Make a better life for yourself than the one I gave you.”
“You gave me a great life,” I blurt, and Dad laughs, pulling me in for a hug. I’m wearing my new cheerleading uniform: a polyester shell with long sleeves, and red and white stripes under the word Burberry sewn into the front, paired with a short black skirt and sneakers. Underneath, I’ve got on shiny black shorts with the school logo on the right butt cheek. Seems a weird place to put it, but it is what it is. The uncomfortable material rubs me the wrong way as Dad gives me a squeeze for the ages.
He pulls back and puts his hands on my shoulders.
“My little girl, a cheerleader,” he says, and then he chuckles as I narrow my eyes. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“I’m just doing it for college,” I repeat, and then silently add in my head and revenge. “Besides, it’s good exercise.” Dad grins at me and hooks an arm around my shoulders, trying to head us in the wrong direction. I laugh and turn him around, guiding him to the back door and the waiting academy cars. The football field is so far from the chapel building that it takes a good half hour to walk down there. Some people left a while ago to head down, but Dad and I ate in The Mess together, and I refused to be rushed.
