Chapter 6 Conrad
Conrad
Sunshine clawed my eyelids open.
With a yawn, I looked to my side to see the girl from last night still there asleep next to me. Sleeping on her stomach, her light brown hair fanned down her back and onto the pillow.
Sarah… was that her name? Or maybe Stella?
After the party, we went out to a bar in New Harbor. And since a certain set of brown eyes were stuck in my brain, I figured a hookup would help. Because Malena and James had a… rapport. Which meant he liked her. So, the sooner those eyes stopped appearing in my mind for no good reason, the better.
My phone buzzed on my nightstand, pulling my attention from the woman at my side.
I wiped my palm down my face slowly. My skull, heavy and throbbing, felt like it was being packed with sand.
My heart rate spiked when I saw the missed calls and text. It was my dad.
Satan: You’re late.
I checked the time on the screen, my eyes shooting wide. Fuck.
I was supposed to meet him an hour ago. He’d probably already had his sit-down with the university provost and president by now and was irate that I missed it.
I pushed off the sheets, grabbed my towel, and rushed to get ready.
By the time I was out of the shower, last night’s… friend had already left. I prayed it was a good omen, since I hated having the “let’s keep this casual” talk.
“Sorry I’m late, I was rowing,” I lied, practically sprinting into the newsroom before doing my best to appear unruffled.
My dad stood like a monument in the middle of the room, staring at the board Dillian had put together for the latest edition.
“Since its founding, every Hastings man has rowed crew at Winchester.” His brow furrowed and he tucked his hands in his pockets. His dark hair, pushed to the side, stood eerily still. “You happen to be the only one without enough brain cells to both participate and focus on your education.”
I took a breath and reminded myself not to take the bait. “Why did you want to meet me here?”
“Or is it a different extracurricular that’s the problem, son?” He ignored me and continued. “Scroll places like this did.
“I’m not fucking around here, Conrad.” His hand landed on my shoulder with a sharp crack.
“Do you know what had to be done to repair your academic shortcomings? To ensure you graduate with the rest of your peers? Can you imagine how humiliating it is to find out you could have been the first Hastings to be held back?”
Could have were the operative words here because it would have never happened. He’d throw money at it, take his concerns all the way to the top, the usual. It was how he solved everything, proving it didn’t matter what I did. The result was always the same.
“It’s not going to happen,” I said instead of all the other things I wanted to say. “Like I said, I’m retaking the class now. I’ll do fine.”
“And all the work for the paper you’ve pawned off for three years?”
“I’ll handle it,” I answered. It wasn’t fucking rocket science; I’d find something acceptable to complete.
“Listen to me when I say this.” He squeezed my shoulder hard.
“You’re a senior—this is the last year before you need to grow up.
In lieu of the pieces I know you won’t write, you can assist in running the paper’s operations.
” He smiled like he was enjoying this. “The early mornings and late nights checking copy, securing advertisers, proofreading. For the entire semester.”
My heart dropped. “Dad—”
Crew reached its offseason in November. From now, the first week of September, till then, most of my free time would go to practice or races. Any downtime outside of that I’d planned to spend with Scroll & Ivy members. Not the paper.
He was doing this on purpose, taking away the only things that mattered to me.
“I’ll speak to Coach Durham, make sure you’re excused from crew. I think that should be sufficient repayment to this paper in place of—”
“He’s already doing an extensive feature.” My dad and I both turned to the doorway to see Malena and Professor Fulton—the paper’s new faculty advisor—standing at the threshold. “A likely contender for the Keller Feature Award.”
Professor Fulton’s brow dipped, apologetic for the interruption. Malena, however, looked smug.