AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Marie, will you let Carter know that we’re starting dinner?” Mom asks. “Then bring out the first course exactly five minutes after you’ve alerted him.”
Alerted him? Is my father one of Pavlov’s dogs now?
I shoot a look at Phoebe across the table. She shrugs back at me. Maybe it’s Fiona charging her crystals in her front yard? She’s no longer sunning herself, from what I can see through the window, but her lawn chair is still there along with her crystal collection. My mother would definitely find that disturbing, but I doubt it’d be enough to make my father hide out in his study.
“Hey, Mom, do you have any plans tonight?” I wink across the table at Nana Rosie. “Because if you don’t, there’s a moon ritual happening—”
“Well, it’s true.” My father’s voice booms from across the house. “You didn’t want to believe me, Silvia, but it’s official.”
My mother’s eyes double in size. She looks straight at me like a deer watching one of its deer buddies standing in the road, just seconds away from being run over.
“What’s official? Is Dad pregnant?” I laugh nervously. “Did Maury Povich just confirm it?”
“Oh, Penelope.” Mom shakes her head. “For once, spare us the jokes.”
The soles of my father’s loafers squeak on the marble floor as he comes to an abrupt stop. He’s clenching a fax in his hand. The Princeton letterhead is visible from my seat, as is the disappointed look on my father’s face. My stomach flip-flops.
“Penelope, do you know who I just got off the phone with?”
“I’m guessing not Maury?”
“Your counselor.” He points at the fax. “When were you planning on telling us that you’re failing all your courses? Just last week you told us that everything was going fine, and now I find out that you were lying to us again.”
A wave of embarrassment flushes over me. All of a sudden, I’m a ten-year-old kid again, being chastised at the dinner table for hiding my report card. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, waiting for me to explain myself. Apparently, we can’t go a single holiday dinner without me giving a Sorry for being the family screw-up speech. It might as well be a course on the menu at this point.
“Thanks for the warm introduction, Dad.” I take a sip of the club soda Marie hands me, trying my best to play it cool. “It’s good to see you too.”
“Cut the crap, Penelope.”
His tone is harsher than I ever remember it being. It stings like ice water to the face on a snowy day. The corners of my eyes prickle with tears.
“Calm down, Carter,” Nana Rosie says. Her voice is calm but stern. “We’re supposed to be sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner. Not a boxing match.”
“We’ve talked on the phone every week this semester and never once did you mention you were struggling.” His face is red with heat. He jabs at the fax with his index finger. “Why would you lie to us? If your mother and I knew you were in trouble, we would’ve found a way to help you. You promised that we would be a team this semester, Penelope. You swore it.”
“Dad, she really did plan on telling you both today,” Phoebe says.
“Have you been blowing off classes like you did last semester?” my mother asks. “What about the money we sent you for private tutoring? Where did that go?”
I roll my eyes. “Mostly to my cocaine dealer, Mother.”
“Not funny,” my mother snaps. “Why is everything a joke with you?”
“Genetics are a mysterious thing,” I fire back. “Phoebe got the brains, and I got the jokes.”
“I’m going to fly back to Princeton with you,” my father says. “You and I are both going to meet with your counselor and whatever dean I can get a meeting with. I’ll see if I can get your academic probation extended, and you’ll go along with whatever option they give us. Do you understand, Penelope?”
I don’t. That’s the problem. And it’s not just Princeton I don’t understand. It’s my parents. Why do they so desperately want me to fit in at a place I so clearly don’t belong? And how do they not see that I don’t belong there?
“I’m sorry, but I’m not cut out to be who you want me to be.” My voice shakes despite my best efforts to steady it. “I wanted to go to school to major in creative writing.”
“Writing is a hobby.” My father shakes his head twice. “Do you have any idea how many students your age would kill to have the advantages you’ve been given? Do you know how many kids fresh out of college my company turns away? All you have to do is pass your classes, Penelope. That’s all I—”
I push my seat away from the table and toss my napkin on the chair.
“Where are you going?” my mother asks frantically. “Penelope, sit down.”
“I’m going across the street,” I say over my shoulder.
