Page 7 of I Saw You First

But now I’m in the manager rotation at Hometown, and—except for this merch eval—I’m good at what I do, and I want to prove him wrong. Prove to him that I’m capable of helping Hometown Electronics succeed. I want him to see my value. To trust me to run one of his stores—this one, the flagship. Maybe then I’ll finally fit in with this family of overachievers.

I stare at the clear expression of disappointment across his features, nothing I haven’t seen before. A look that makes me wonder if maybe I don’t want to fit in, after all. If I should follow in my mother’s footsteps instead and leave it all behind.

I thought that the merch manager rotation would be a breeze, especially the media department, which sells CDs, movies, video games, and software. Because I love music. Because when I was a kid and would tag along with Dad when he toured stores, I’d spend all my time in that department. Second nature, right? Wrong.

“This is your final rotation. I don’t want to see you fail,” he says.

I’ve heard that my whole life. “We agree on something, at least,” I mumble. If he heard me, he ignores it.

He might not want to see me fail, but he doesn’t have enough faith in me to believe that I won’t.

“Don’t be so hard on him, Jeff,” I heard Mom late one night when they thought I was asleep but could hear every word with my door cracked. “Give him time. He’s got what it takes.”

“Does he?” Dad asked. “He’s not motivated. He’s lazy. How can he even pay attention to the world around him when he’s always got those damn headphones on? He’s got to live up to his name.”

Mom scoffed. “I never should have agreed to give him that name.”

“You didn’t have a choice,” Dad said. I could imagine his scowl, and Mom rolling her eyes. “You coddle him too much. You’ve got to stop treating him like a baby and show him that the world doesn’t owe him any favors.”

“He’s not even ten years old, Jeff!” Mom said.

“And already, he’s too much like you. Too sensitive. Too emotional.”

“I suppose that’s a bad thing?” she spat. “I’d rather he be too sensitive than heartless!”

I’d heard enough, so I shut the door as quietly as I could and put my damn headphones back on.

“Here’s what I’d suggest,” Dad says now, arms crossed. “Think about who you’ve got leading the media department. Maybe it’s time for a change, to find someone who really knows what they’re doing or who can better adapt to your leadership style.”

“Is there something wrong with my leadership style?”

Dad shrugs. “I think we can all agree that you’re not quite as driven as your siblings.”

I scoff. Neither of them would last a day in the stores.

“Maybe you need to… speak with a team captain from another store. Someone ready to take the next step in their Hometown career.”

I shake my head. “Aurora knows what she’s doing.”

Mostly. I’ve got a list on my notepad that suggests otherwise. But that’s my problem to solve, not his, and poaching someone from another store isn’t cool. It happens, but it’s not cool. And I’m not going to fire Aurora to create an opening.

“Stubborn,” he mutters. “Like your mother.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Don’t bring her into this, I think, but I don’t say it.

Too sensitive. Too emotional.

I’d like to think I got the best parts of her, not only her stubborn streak. Her attention to detail. Her compassion. Her laugh, her smile. It’s been too long since I’ve heard that laugh. It’s been too long since I’ve had a reason to smile.

“Get your act together, Wil,” he spits, “or you’ll find yourself back at the inventory desk. Permanently.”

At that, I turn and walk out of the Dugout. I’ve heard enough.

Sam picks me up at 7:15.

“You’re late,” I say. “I hope your lucky parking lot isn’t full. I don’t want to miss the opening act.”

He dismisses my comment with a wave of his hand. “Of course my lucky parking lot won’t be full. That’s why it’s lucky. Have you even heard of the opening act?”