How Not to Spend Your Senior Year by Cameron Dokey Read Free Book Online

choice.”
    â€œOf course there’s a choice,” I snapped. “There’s always a choice. You told me that yourself.”
    My father’s eyebrows shot straight up. “I did not. When did I?”
    â€œIn fourth grade. When Arabella Swackhammer told everyone in Mrs. Mitchell’s class the reason I was moving was because I’d been kicked out.”
    â€œOh, thaat,” my father said, drawing out the syllable the way people do when they’re remembering something long forgotten. “You did something to get her back, didn’t you?”
    â€œOf course I did,” I snorted. “I kicked her. What else? That night, after you’d gotten off the phone with the principal, you told me I could have expressed my anger in another way. You said I didn’t have to resort to violence. There was always another choice.”
    â€œI never said resort to violence ,” my father protested. “I’d never be that pompous.”
    â€œThe point I’m trying to make here, Dad,” I said, “is that you told me I had a choice . There was always another choice . That’s what you said. So now you’re saying what? You lied to me when I was a child?”
    My father scrubbed his hands across his face, the way he does when he’s totally frustrated or exhausted. I admit seeing him do this gave me a pang. I am not a total monster. But it didn’t give me a big enough one to back down.
    â€œCome and sit down, Jo-Jo,” my father said.
    I shook my head, stubbornly. “No. Until I get my explanation, I’m staying right where I am. It’s closer to the door, in case I decide I have to run.”
    My father looked into my eyes then.And, in that moment, I swear to you I felt my heart stop.
    â€œJosephine Claire Calloway O’Connor,” Dad said, his voice calm and soft. “Please do me the courtesy of doing as I ask. Come over here and sit beside me. Now. You’re not getting any explanation until you do.”
    What can I say? I went. Just as soon as my heart started back up. Not once in our lives had Dad ever done the full name thing. Not even the time I’d dumped an entire bowl of Neapolitan ice cream onto his brand-new laptop. Accidentally of course.
    Plainly whatever was going on was important. More important than anything else had ever been before.
    I walked over and sat down beside him. I tried to keep my distance. You know, to sort of get across the fact that I had obeyed his instructions under protest. Dad just reached over and pulled me closer, enfolding me in this big bear hug. He still had Mom’s picture on his lap. I could feel the frame digging into my stomach.
    The bear hug was one of Dad’s best remedies when I was little. If I woke up atnight, afraid because I didn’t recognize my newest bedroom yet, crying because, just for a moment, I’d lost track of where I was, he’d come right in and hold me the same way he was holding me now.
    It was either the best or the worst thing he could have done. The best because it really did make me feel better, just like it always had. The worst because I could feel the hot prick of tears, just behind my eyes.
    â€œI really like it here, Dad,” I said into his shoulder. “You know that, don’t you?”
    My father gave a sigh. “Of course I know that, Jo-Jo. If there was any way we could stay right where we are, I’d do it. But we can’t. Not right now.”
    At that, I lifted up my head, and my father let me go. I scooted back a little, curling my feet up under me so I could face him.
    â€œDoes that mean we can come back?”
    â€œI honestly don’t know, sweetheart,” my father replied. “I hope so, but it will depend on how things work out.”
    â€œWhat things?” I asked. “How come we even have to go at all?”
    I could hear it then. The way my voiceslid perilously close to a whine. I hate people who do