6. Benji
BENJI
THE KING OF FUCK-UPS
The grin started to hurt by the time I got home, but it still wouldn’t leave me alone.
Never in a million years could I have imagined that the setup Gordy and I came up with would work this perfectly.
Sam even offered to waste his time without me having to ask.
What an idiot. And the best part? There was almost zero chance that anyone—including him—would ever find out.
As long as Gordy didn’t blab about it, this was a consequenceless crime.
I pulled the necklace out of my pants pocket and slipped it back around my neck.
I’d now only have to remember to take it off in the morning, put it back on while Sam wasn’t looking, and tell him that I found it during the day.
It was sneaky. It was satisfying. It was the warmth-infusing revolt I needed to feel alive again.
The door to my house opened more easily than usual.
A homey smell of a meatloaf hit me—the best smell in the world—as if Mom somehow knew I deserved to be celebrated tonight.
Leaning against the kitchen counter, she held our old landline to her ear and grinned as if the doctor had just told her that the data was mixed up and she didn't have cancer.
“Let me know what day works for you. Yeah. Bye,” Mom said, then hung up, beaming at me. “Who put that smile on your face?”
“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” I replied, closing the door behind me and tossing the car keys into the bowl on the side table.
“That was Brenda. Do you remember her? I used to work with her at the library.”
“Uhh...” Mom used to be ridiculously popular when I was younger. She always had people over, way too many for me to keep track of.
“She’s the one who always brought the lemon brownies and forced me to take some home for you and your Dad.”
Those I remembered, but I still couldn't attach a face to the little treat.
“How nice of her to call,” I said anyway.
“She didn’t just call. She suggested coming over in a week or two, when she’s got a day off.” Her eyes sparked in a way that had seemed impossible to ever happen again.
“That’s awesome,” I replied. Because it was.
She hadn’t had visitors in ages. And anyone who would put a big smile on her like that was welcome—even if they shouldn’t have taken so long to come around.
I made my way over into the kitchen, turning my back to her as I grabbed a glass from the cupboard above the fridge.
“She also said her son now works at the farm?” Mom said. “His name’s Samuel? Do you know him?”
My heart sank to my bottom as all the dots suddenly connected. Brenda, the woman who put that fat smile on my Mom’s face, was the lady from the grocery store. The same one who told Samuel to stay away from me. The rich snob, who looked down on us like we were garbage.
Keeping my back to Mom, I poured myself some water.
The last thing I needed was Sam’s Mom—who clearly only called to check whether I was a threat to her son—coming here. Not after the prank I had just pulled. Not after how she spoke about me.
“Yeah, he started on Monday,” I said, because there was no point denying we had met. All I could do was play along now. “He’s the one who was so slow. But he’s gotten a lot better today.”
“That’s good to hear. Probably thanks to your excellent guidance. Apparently, the boy wouldn’t stop talking about how nice you were to him, how thoroughly you showed him everything.”
Shit. What else did that busybody tell my Mom?
“It’s not that complicated, and he’s smart enough to listen.” I took a sip of water, pretending to look out the window, so I wouldn’t have to face her.
She stepped up behind me and rested her hand on my shoulder, making me turn around. With her chin lifted high, her smile aimed straight at me, as if it had been refreshing to hear someone say something positive about me for once.
“Still, you made him feel very welcome, and after everything, that’s exactly what he needed.”
Her smile froze, like she’d accidentally said too much. We stared at each other, a new tension sizzling between us, as she pulled her lips into a thin line and turned toward the sink. Unfortunately for her, she had already piqued my curiosity.
“Why did he need that?” I asked.
Her head shook ever so slightly.
“No, tell me,” I pushed. “He’s such a nice guy. If there’s anything I can help him with, I’d like to know.”
Mom took a deep breath, turned around, and as she stepped toward the kitchen island, her knees buckled. I rushed forward, catching her arm to steady her.
“I’m okay,” she said, sinking into my support.
“Don’t say that when you nearly fall over.” I guided her to the kitchen table and settled her into the nearest chair.
“Thank you, sweetie.” Her hands trembled as she folded them on her lap. “It’ll pass in a minute.” Her eyes rested on me, not having forgotten what we had talked about thirty seconds ago. “About Sam... promise me you won’t make it obvious you know, okay?”
“I promise,” I replied at once, eager to hear the rest. I backed away, leaning against the counter, unable to take my eyes off her.
“Well, Brenda said he’s been trying so hard, but for over a year now, nothing has worked out.
He’s been applying to over forty colleges, most of them twice, hopping from one job to another, never getting serious because he didn’t want to trouble anyone when he eventually left, but.
.. he didn’t get into college. And,” she sighed, “he still thinks there’s a chance. ”
“I... didn’t know that.”
“Probably because he refuses to accept it himself. They even made him move out, hoping he’d finally realize that he can’t put his life on pause forever, but...” She shook her head.
“Can’t they just pay for him to get in?”
“Oh dear. The Cauleys aren’t rich. They’re struggling as much as everyone is right now. They poured a lot of their savings into prep classes, hoping this would secure him a scholarship. But that didn’t work out.“
Her words didn’t match anything I’d assumed about Sam. He seemed rich. He bought new clothes for work without blinking. His parents dropped money on expensive groceries without even thinking twice. The way he spoke to me made it sound like college was already a sure thing.
“They really had to convince Mr. Farley to give him a chance. The poor guy’s not made for physical labor. They had to patch him up pretty well after his first day at the farm. But it’s good that he’s settling in, thanks to you.”
My stomach got as heavy as if I had swallowed a mouthful of gravel. I didn’t know what to think. I only knew one thing for sure: I wasn’t going to drag my mom into this.
“I’ll try my best to make him feel welcome,” I told her, forcing a smile.
The oven timer beeped, sharp like a gunshot, making us both flinch.
“Is that for dinner?” I asked, looking at the oven and then back at her. “Want me to get it out?”
For a moment, Mom studied me, letting the alarm beep like she didn’t hear it, before she pushed herself onto her feet.
I rushed forward, ready in case her knees gave out again, but as if she had anticipated it, she wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a hug that didn’t seek hold but offered it.
“You’ve grown into such a good man,” she said, her voice softening to a whisper. “I don’t care what anyone else says. You’ll prove them wrong. One person at a time. I know that just as much as you help me, you help Sam feel welcome at work.”
Each of her words was like a nail hammered into me, the ongoing beeping of the oven timer a harsh reminder that, inevitably, I would disappoint her, too. If she knew the truth about what I had done to Sam, none of these words would’ve left her mouth.
But there wasn’t much I could do about it now.
Sam was probably already home, or at least on his way.
He couldn’t have looked for more than another fifteen minutes, thirty tops.
With the walk back, that made a maximum of an hour and a half spent alone out there; that was nothing in the grand scheme of things.
People waste more time doom-scrolling on Insta every day.
And even if the prank was unjustified, Sam still had it easier than I did.
He wasn’t branded with a bad reputation.
He wasn’t the town's screw-up. Sam was the teacher’s pet and a parent’s favorite.
He was smart, and his family had enough money that he could move out.
I’d never have opportunities like that. So why should I feel bad for Sam? Nobody feels bad for me.
I broke from Mom’s embrace and pulled open the oven, finally shutting down the alarm.
The mouthwatering smell of freshly baked meat filled the room.
It was my favorite dish because, somehow, Mom always managed to make the discounted meat taste as if it came right from a fancy restaurant.
Usually, that smell made everything feel a little better.
Tonight, it mocked me, reminding me that I didn’t deserve it.
I couldn’t enjoy the meatloaf. With each bite, the voice in my head got louder, screaming that I don’t deserve this, and by the time it reached my stomach, it only added to the heaviness already dragging me down.
I couldn’t enjoy watching Ted Denzi with Mom—a show we never watch together for a reason. She was so surprised when I slumped onto the couch next to her, smiling the entire time, just like me, trying to keep the facade, trying to turn the lies I had told into truth.
In fact, I couldn’t enjoy anything that evening. Not the sunset from my window. Not the critters chirping behind the house. Not hugging the fresh sheets in my bed, when all I wanted was sleep.