Dad and I drove in angry silence in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.
Three days of passive aggressive comments since the conversation with my brother hadn't got me anywhere but the wilderness of Alberta. Ever since we left the airport and bundled into the rental car, the scenery had been damn beautiful and it was pissing me off. For the first half hour of the drive dad had tried to use the view as leverage to convince me that this change didn't suck. Meanwhile I made sure he understood that it did. No matter the mountains that scrapped the sky, no matter the fluffy clouds that drifted above us in the blue, casting shadows above us and cutting sun rays like they were painted by an invisible hand, it still fucking sucked.
I did not want to be here.
There was no Hogwarts nearby, and even though I spent hours Googling for a boxing gym in the area we were going to live in, I couldn't find one. I'd been counting on at least the visa process delaying the imminent departure, but Canada was freaking efficient. Or dad started it early, without telling me.
Either way, I was trapped and he knew it. But it didn't mean I had to make things comfortable for him. I felt a sick sense of satisfaction as his knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel.
He cleared his throat and pushed his sunglasses up his nose. "Why don't you play some music you like? We still have quite a ways to go."
I bit my lips to stop myself from bursting into laughter.
"Sure," I said, as smoothly as possible.
I plugged my iPhone to the car and searched for the most ridiculous, strident song I had in my training playlist. I hit play on Karate by Babymetal and had the pleasure of seeing him jump out of his skin. The hardcore executive that he was, who had no problem staring down at government reps or other cutthroat businessmen like him, had a hard time composing himself at the relentless auditory attack of Japanese heavy metal sang by cute girls.
"Is uh, this the type of music you like?" he asked after a minute.
My lips curled into a poisonous smile. "You wouldn't ask if you'd paid me attention these past few years."
His knuckles turned white again, but just as I thought I had won the battle, he attacked.
"Well, the good news is that we'll have plenty of time for that now." He smiled sweetly as my jaw dropped. "Silver Grove is a small town, so there'll be little to do but to hang out with each other."
I folded my arms and didn't care that I was pouting. "If you think that makes me feel better, breaking news, papá, it's not working."
He ignored that, because he'd put a chink in my armor and thought he stood a chance again. "I heard there's only one school in Silver Grove called St. Andrews, and that they like to play hockey there. I was thinking that I could escape work sometimes to watch games with you."
I rolled my eyes. "Not interested."
"I heard that sometimes players will start fighting in the middle of games. It sounds like boxing with knives on their feet."
Okay, that did sound interesting but I couldn't let him see that. I tightened my arms around myself and said, "I hate the cold."
Dad cringed, because he hated it too. It was the curse of having been born in the tropics. Everybody complained about Central Florida in the dead of summer for being too hot, but for my family that was normal. Meanwhile we complained when it got a tad chilly in the winter. It also explained why he and I were decked in fleece from top to bottom, even though it was only September and the car heating was running. This was already too fucking cold for our Caribbean bodies.
The silence stretched for long enough that the song ended. The playlist played another random song that didn't sound any friendlier, but I had to give the old man kudos for sucking it up.
We made a stop at a gas station that appeared to be miles away from human civilization. I saw a cow grazing at the back and snorted. Was this what my life was going to be like now? Then I shuddered because it really was fucking cold.
Once we got back on the car I asked, "What if I die of pneumonia?"
"I heard that there's no such thing as bad weather, but bad clothes."
I shifted in my seat to face him. "Let's have it, then. What else did you hear from this mythical creature that gave you a response to everything?"
Dad gave me a wry smile. "It must be the same person who taught you how to be a smartass with anything I say, huh?"
"It must be."
He startled as some salsa music started playing from my playlist, but cranked up the volume just a little higher, as though craving for a piece of the tropics already. I couldn't fault him for that.
"Well, I heard people are very friendly in Silver Grove, so I'm sure we'll make some friends. And that aside from hockey, the town's specialty is bear claw pastries glazed in maple syrup."
That sounded disgustingly Canadian. I hated it already just as much as I wanted to try one.
"And that's about it."
I let out a cross between a laugh and a snort. "That's it? Sounds just like Manhattan, or something."
"It won't be for long," he said. "It may take me anywhere between a month and a year to fix things here, and then we'll both be back to Florida."
"You say it like that's not already going to derail my entire senior year."
Dad pushed his sunglasses up his nose again. "I know that, chiquita. But I didn't want you to feel like I was abandoning you." Something preoccupied him from noticing that with that stroke, he'd driven the knife of guilt effectively all the way into my heart and won the war. But then the reason for his preoccupation tumbled out of his mouth. "Besides, if I don't fix this quickly the executive committee's going to go into a panic. It'll help me a lot if I don't have to worry about you on top of that."
I grinded my teeth so hard it was a wonder I didn't run them down. Forget about the guilt, I was pissed now. One thing was that the company had some sort of trouble, a whole other one was that I was just an afterthought about it. Why was it that no matter what, it always seemed like I was only second priority to him?
He kept talking after that but I didn't listen. I flipped through my playlist and turned up the volume until he finally got the hint.
It was dark by the time we passed the sign saying Welcome to Silver Grove, Home of The St. Andrews Bears. I decided that if the whole reason I was forced to come here was so that he wouldn't have to worry about me, then I had to make him sick with worry about me. I started to formulate a plan to do that as we got out of the car at a convenience store to buy some groceries for the night without knowing that in the next 24 hours or so I'd learn that life had a funny but powerful way to heed a person's deepest desires.
I stomped into the store after dad and veered off to the section with beers. All they had was a brand called Molson, and sure, it wasn't like I was going to be able to buy it, but I'd get a kick out of the embarrassment dad would feel when I tried anyway. I grabbed a case and found him chatting with the cashier, who was probably the owner of the store. The portly man looked like a real life version of Santa Claus.
"We don't get a lot of visitors in town this time of year," the old man said, and I looked around half expecting little elves to pop out of nowhere. "What brings you to town?"
Dad placed a bag of bread and another of cheese on top of the counter as he said, "Oh, I'm here with Bernal Oil-"
The old man's face puckered as though he'd swallowed a sour lemon. He turned his nose up and rang the groceries with barely contained anger. "So you're one of those high brow corporate types that are ruining our town, huh?"
Dad's jaw slackened and I realized I had my job done for myself if this town hated him already. I marched forward and put the beer case on the counter with a smirk. Dad asked for it to be rang anyway, and I didn't know if it was to annoy me that my plan backfired, or if he really needed them.
"I, uh," he said as he pulled out his wallet. "I'm here hoping I can improve the conditions for the townsfolk, actually."
Santa slapped the change on the counter. "We'll see about that, won't we?"
He turned to leave, but dad stopped him. "Sorry to bother you but do you mind telling me the way to St. Andrews?" He pulled me closer to him. "You see, I need to enroll my kid there and my GPS seems to have trouble working ever since a couple of miles back."
I had the pleasure of seeing a performance of Canadian rage. The old man was angry that he was in the presence of a corporate type — his blazing red cheeks said that much — but he still grabbed a blank sheet of paper and slapped it on the counter to draw a makeshift map. He explained the way without taking his eyes off of my dad, as if the weight of his displeasure would be enough to displace dad and send him packing up the hills.
Dad thanked him and grabbed the paper. I had to use it to guide him as he drove through the streets of the smallest town I'd ever laid eyes upon. The streets were cobblestone. The lamp posts looked like they were 200 years old. There were barely any people out, and the buildings were so short that I could see the dark shapes of the mountains, darkening the starry sky. I hoped to hell this town had internet connection, because otherwise I was going to have to call the police and tell them Gabriel Bernal had kidnapped me — never mind that he was my father.
We parked outside the gates of St. Andrews and even in the dim lights of the street lamps I could see that the school was a lot bigger than I expected. The only school in town was also probably the home to kids from smaller communities in the outskirts, who knew.
As I got out of the car I said, "Isn't it late? It makes no sense to try to enroll me now." I was there was panic lacing my words, but at that point I didn't care. I felt like I was a freight train heading for a wreck and I had to postpone it as much as I could. "Should we come back tomorrow? In the bright of day?"
Dad locked the car and walked around to meet me on the other side. "No, I called earlier this morning and they said they had no problem waiting for us today. You have to start class on Monday, after all."
I planted my feet firmly on the floor, yet after a few pushes I found myself following him. Fine, I could play along and enroll, officially ending my tenure as a student of Holy Trinity in Orlando. That was fine. I could just become the most problematic student St. Andrews had ever seen. That, and the fact that probably everybody in town hated my dad already meant that this was going to be the most miserable decision he ever took.
So be it.
A pretty old man greeted us at the door. He must have heard our car pulling into the curb, or otherwise had nothing better to do in this sleepy town than stand in wait for a weird Venezuelan-American dad and his weirder daughter.
"You must be Mr. Bernal," he said, offering his hand to shake. Dad sagged in relief as he shook it in return, probably because the next person he met in town didn't seem to have it out for him. But then froze as the old man said, "I'm Albert Lapierre, principal of St. Andrews School For Boys. Welcome."
I blinked. Then blinked again and looked at my dad, who stood frozen like I'd never seen him before. I could swear the words St. Andrews School For Boys danced around his head. I could also swear he'd never been stumped for words in his life. Ever.
His mouth flapped until he was able to utter, "For boys."
"Yes," the other man nodded. He shifted his gaze away from my dad and looked at me. He must have been blind as a bat, or it was dark enough that it played tricks on his eyes, because he said, "This must be your son. What's your name?"
I was nobody's son, what the hell?
And then it clicked. I'd asked life for some lemons to squeeze in my dad's eyes, and it had delivered.
The old man didn't sound unkind, and next thing I found myself shaking the old man's hand vigorously and deepening my voice to say, "Charlie Bernal, it's a pleasure to meet you, sir."
I could have cackled at the way my dad's eyes bulged.
aaaand things are officially set! where do you think this story is headed? no spoilers but... i don't think y'all are ready for some of the twists i have in store for this one *innocent whistle*