The Tutor by Peter Abrahams Read Free Book Online Page B

undoing.”
    Led to their undoing—right out of Sherlock Holmes! Who could blame Ruby for lingering in the hall?
    “How was that?” she heard Dad say.
    “The cost was over three hundred dollars,” said the woman, “and the pound takes cash only. So Dewey and your son”—that
your son
part sounded very nasty the way she, Dewey’s mom, of course, said it—“took the credit card into a bank and tried to get a cash advance. The bank called MasterCard and MasterCard called me. I approved the advance without letting on, and they came driving merrily back in Dewey’s car—the car that was Dewey’s and is now for sale—with some story about working late on a science project.”
    “Is this true, Brandon?” said Mom.
    No answer.
    “Brandon?” said Dad.
    A little grunt, more yes than no.
    Ruby was transfixed. This sounded like
Ferris Bueller
, one of her favorite movies, but happening for real. Ferris: her own brother! She had a million questions, one of which was:
Are you going to take that bumper sticker off before you sell the car? If you do, I want it.
    “. . . reimburse half,” Dad was saying.
    “I’ll accept your money,” said Dewey’s mom, “but it’s not why I came. I wanted to inform you as to the character of your son, in case you didn’t know already.”
    “I understand your feelings, Mrs. Brickham,” Mom said, “but I think that’s a little harsh.”
    “If you choose to defend his actions, so be it,” said Dewey’s mom. A chair scraped on the kitchen floor, then another.
    “Here’s a check,” said Dad.
Yes!
He was a great dad.
    Footsteps came toward the hall. Ruby lit out for the entertainment center. She found Zippy gnawing on a pool cue and little puddles of something here and there.

    D ewey’s mom left, Brandon got up.
    “Where do you think you’re going?” said Scott.
    “Taking a fucking piss,” Brandon said, or shouted. In the bathroom off the front hall, with those lacy towels that didn’t absorb water, Brandon finally had time to think, but his only thought was,
Jesus Christ. You can’t do the simplest goddamn thing.
His parents were assholes, Dewey’s mom was an even bigger asshole, the tow truck driver was an asshole, those assholes at the car pound were assholes.
    Brandon left the bathroom. They were waiting on the other side of the door.
    “I can’t even take a piss around here.”
    “You realize the discussion about the prep course is over,” Linda said.
    “You’re taking it,” Scott said.
    Brandon felt much too hot. His clothes were uncomfortable. A zit was about to erupt on the tip of his nose. He could feel its push, like a goddamn volcano.
    “Do whatever you want,” he said, went past them, not really pushing, up to his room, slammed the door, lay on his bed. The message light on his phone was blinking. He hit the button.
    Dewey. “This is so fucked, man.” Unka Death was in the background. “How does that bicycle messenger job sound?”
    Real good.
Fuck you good as new all we do then it’s through.

    L inda checked the time, realized the SAT prep offices might still be open for night sessions. She called Kaplan, then Princeton Review, learned there wasn’t an opening in any of their central Connecticut courses until the next cycle, two months away.
    “I can’t believe this,” she said.
    Scott opened one of the flash card boxes. “Maybe we could do it ourselves.”
    “Do what?”
    “Teach him.” Scott checked the card. “What does
lachrymose
mean?”
    “Weepy.”
    He turned the card over, read the definition. “Hey, you’re right.” He tried another.
“Perfidious.”
    “Traitorous.”
    Scott looked on the back. “Wow. The English major.” He took another card.
“Miscreant.”
    “Miscreant,” Linda said. “That’s a tough one. Liar, maybe?”
    Scott checked the answer, shook his head. “Villain.”
    An English major,
Linda thought,
but from UConn.
Didn’t make any sense at all, she knew that right away, but it was one of those