Saving Scott

Chapter Two: Bags of Sin

"Good," Mom said.

I didn't look up, but I pushed my last tamale around on my plate and it got my father's attention. He frowned at me. "What is that?"

"Ms. Alvarez made tamales and sent me home with some," I answered.

"Your mother made meatloaf," Dad said.

"He doesn't like meatloaf," Mom reminded him. "It's fine, Harold."

"Is it?" Dad asked. He wasn't looking at her, but staring at me. I hoped he didn't push it. I wasn't sure my stomach could handle meatloaf. He tapped his fork against his plate. "Your mother cooked, you should show her more appreciation than to eat someone else's food in front of her."

It wasn't worth the argument, so I nodded. "Yes sir."

"Why is that woman always sending food here anyway? We aren't Mexicans."

"She's just being nice," Mom said. "Now, eat up, there's lot's."

"Can I be excused?" I asked. "I have a lot of homework." That was a lie, but I needed an a reason to leave. Any reason would work.

"Sure, darling," Mom said, and presented her cheek for a kiss. I complied and nodded towards my father before climbing out of my seat and taking my plate to the sink. I turned the water on and let it run for a moment before going to the fridge. Stealing a beer was always careful work between my mothers organization and my fathers close eye on them, but as long as I took enough for the pattern to look the same, I could get away with it.

I got three.

I shut the water off and wrapped the cans carefully in my shirt before I headed for my room at the back of the hall. It was a mess, but I never had the energy to clean it. I kicked my door shut and locked it for good measure before starting up a video game and popping the first one open.

***

The thing about school was that it was easy. I'd always been surprisingly good at juggling people. The day started early enough for the cafeteria to serve breakfast and I always went, sometimes armed with burritos from the food truck down the street. No one liked to admit it, but they made the best stuff.

Whoever needed my attention that week - plus Matt - got a burrito. We'd crowd around one table and I'd listen to whatever wild story someone had to share. The crazy ones were the best, because I always had something to say back to them.

Classes kept me busy enough that I didn't really have to focus on anyone, I just had to make sure that I tossed around a few jokes, answered the right number of questions to keep the teachers from looking at me too closely, and grin at anyone who looked at me.

The real work happened at lunch. Bridgewood Academy had a nice courtyard where we liked to eat, Matt and I usually claimed a spot under the big tree, and then we waited for the masses to arrive.

It was work, but it was work I was good at.

"Man," Josh said as he appeared. "I literally do not understand girls. I mean, what are you even supposed to talk to them about?"

"Justin Bieber?" his friend, Walker, asked as they joined us. I didn't know either of them well, but that didn't matter.

There was a moan of distaste that went up around the whole group and I chuckled in order to cover up the fact that I didn't have anything to say. Girls were not something I was good at. I never had been.

"You know who is oddly hot?" Eric asked. He pointed his plastic fork into the air. "Ms. Porter. I mean, jeeze, it should be illegal to have honkers like that."