Page 72 of Monstrous Serpent

I line up the shot, then swing. The ball sails clean, high arc, drops into the 150-point zone, and bounces once before settling.

“Oh, come on.” Davis throws a fry at me.

Dad whistles from behind me. “Nice shot. So, how's school going?”

And now we’ve entered the buzzkill part of the evening.

“Fine.” I grab another ball and set it on the tee.

“Tutoring center still helping?”

“Yeah.”

“If it isn’t, we can always get you a private tutor.”

“It's fine, Dad.” I rip the next shot, and it cuts right, clipping the edge of the white target. “You’re up.”

He stands, walks to the mat, then lays a hand on my shoulder. “It's okay to need help, Cody.”

“Fine means fine. Jesus.”

His hand drops from my shoulder.

Fuck me.

I sigh, shoulders curling forward. “Sorry, Dad.”

He shakes his head. “No, that’s on me. Didn’t mean to push. I just don’t want you to struggle if you don’t need to.”

Davis looks up from his phone. “I can tutor you.”

I stare at him. “You're in seventh grade.”

“Excuse me for trying to be supportive.”

My eyes narrow. “You cried over fractions last month.”

“That was one time.”

“You called Mom from the bathroom.”

Dad presses his fingers to his mouth, but his shoulders shake.

Davis glares at me. “Can we just play?”

I rack my club and drop into my chair. “Yeah, Dad. Swing away. You're still going to lose.”

Dad hooks his shot so badly that it barely clears the first net. Davis and I glance at each other. He points at both of us without turning around. “Don't.”

“Wasn't going to say anything.” I hold up my hands.

Davis is biting his fist to keep from laughing, then he leans closer, scrolling through his phone again. “Oh my god, I forgot to show you.”

“If it’s another picture of Brayden in a sweater, I’m leaving.”

“It’s you, dumbass.”

Dad looks over. “Language.”