Say Yes (Something More) by Tara West Read Free Book Online Page A

sitting around me, I remember why I’ve been dodging this class for the past three years. I hate psychology. I hate having to analyze why people are selfish and cruel.
    I tried to make sense of why my dad raped me until the day he died. Maybe he’d been abused when he was younger. Maybe he’d had too much to drink and wasn’t in his right mind. I wanted so badly to justify why he would have hurt me. I guess it made my pain less real, less significant, if I knew he had suffered, too.
    It took me a while to realize the real reason my dad raped me. He was an asshole.
    Damn, I hate psychology.
     
    * * *
     
    So yay, I just took the psychology test from hell. I had to analyze the psychotic behaviors of famous scumbags like Hitler, Charles Manson, and Jeffrey Dahmer. I didn’t know who Charles Manson and Jeffrey Dahmer were until I was forced to take this stupid class. Frankly, my world would have been a lot less morbid had I never heard of them.
    My next class is an Advanced Arts practicum. I really don’t have to do much but check in and show my teacher a few of my projects. Since I airbrush vehicles every day, I’ve got plenty to show him. In fact, I don’t need to go to Advanced Arts today. I’ve already sent him a text with a photo of a tour bus I airbrushed with the Alamo, the Riverwalk, and a field of bluebonnets, and gotten a positive response back. My only other class isn’t for two more hours, a digital graphics class I could probably teach in my sleep. I suspect my professor knows this, which is why he’s always looking to me for approval after he posts examples of his work. I send him an email that I’ve had a death in the family, and he answers right away that I can take the day off.
    Breathing a sigh of relief, I text Andrés I’m ready to be picked up. Though I want to go home and mourn the loss of Mrs. Peterson, I’ve got to try and get hold of Karri. Her phone has been shut off. I found that out when I tried to call her this morning. Karri’s brother is flying in from Japan, which is where he’s stationed. He could only get a few days leave, so I know I’ve got to make most of the other arrangements, but I don’t know where to begin.
    One thing I have to say about my mom is she handled my dad’s funeral very well, from picking the coffin to making arrangements for the mourners who piled into our house. She acted as if she was a funeral pro, and she did it all without shedding a tear. I had always wondered how she was able to keep her cool during those days of grieving and visitors. Karri jokingly refers to my mom as The Spitting Cobra, probably because she had the heart and compassion of a snake, and her words are venomous when she turns them against you.  
    My phone buzzes, and I read Andrés’s text that he’s ten minutes away, so I find a spot on the grass beneath a shade tree and wait. The day is already starting to warm up, which is weird because it’s nearly winter, but predicting the weather in Texas is harder than finding a fraternity guy without a superiority complex.
    “Teeny!”
    When I hear that familiar nasal whine calling my name, ice shoots up my limbs and I cringe. Oh, God. What the hell does Jackson want?
    I crane my neck to see him marching toward me with purpose, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hurry.
    If only.
    He stops for breath, bending over as he clutches his knees .
    Geez, Jackson, when did you get so out of shape?
    “ Hey,” he asks on a rush of air, “is it true what I heard about Mrs. Peterson?”
    “Yes, it’s true.” My eyes cloud over as I turn away.
    “Damn. That woman looked like shit. I’m not surprised.”
    I turn back to him and narrow my eyes and do my best to channel my mother’s venomous voice. “She was my friend.”
    He straightens up and grimaces. “Oh, sorry.”
    Wow. I think that’s the first time Jackson has apologized to me. Ever.
    He scratches his head while shifting on both feet. He’s got something to say to