Better than Perfect (2 page)

“The rest of you gentlemen are dismissed,” Crowe declares. He takes a seat in his big leather chair and picks up his phone as my friends file out. “Martha, call Mrs. Fitzpatrick and inform her that her stepson has been expelled.”

Wait!
What?

“Expelled?” I practically choke on the word. What about a warning or detention or suspension? “It was a harmless prank.”

He carefully hangs up the phone. “Expelled. Actions have consequences, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Despite numerous warnings about your cheating, drug use, and pranks, you have again disobeyed our rules and proven yourself unworthy to be a student at Regents Preparatory Academy. Obviously this also means you will not be invited to rejoin us for your senior year.”

I don't move or say anything. This is not happening. I can count a dozen other students who've gotten caught pulling pranks and have escaped without so much as a warning. I accidentally left my notes on the floor during a test and Mr. Rappaport wrote me up for cheating. And the drug accusation . . . okay, so I went to a party with a few friends and came home wasted. I didn't mean to puke on the statue of Regents' founder after I found out someone slipped XTC into my drink, and I sure as hell wasn't the one to post pics of me puking on the school website. A certain senior on student council was responsible for that one, although he never got caught because nobody would accuse a guy whose dad donates a crapload of money to the school every year.

“Since you've already finished your finals, I'll be lenient and allow you to receive full credit for your junior year. As a courtesy to your father, I'll also grant you forty-eight hours to remove your belongings from campus.” He starts writing on a piece of paper, then glances up at me when he realizes I'm not moving. “That will be all, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

Lenient?

I walk to the junior dorm as the absurdity of my situation sets in. I'm being kicked out of Regents and have to move back home. With my stepmother, who lives in her own, clueless world. This is bullshit.

My roommate, Jack, is sitting on the edge of his bed, shaking his head. “I heard Crowe say you got expelled.”

“Yep.”

“Maybe if we all go back there and tell him the truth, he'll rethink—”

“If your dad finds out, he'll make your life a livin' hell. The other guys'll be in the same boat.”

“You shouldn't take the fall for this alone, Derek.”

“Don't sweat it,” I say. “Crowe had it in for me. This just gave him the excuse he needed to kick me out.”

A half hour later Brandi calls. My stepmother's heard the news from Crowe and will drive the three hours from San Diego to Regents tomorrow. She doesn't yell or lecture me or act like she's my mom. Instead, she says she'd try to convince Crowe to change his mind about expelling me. As if that's gonna work. I doubt Brandi was a member of her high school debate team. I don't have
much faith in her persuasion skills. To be honest, I'm not even sure she graduated from high school.

In the morning I'm still figuring out what the hell I'm gonna do when campus security knocks on my door. They have specific orders to escort me to the headmaster's office immediately.

As I walk across the quad with campus security flanking me, I'm all too aware of whispers from students I pass. It's not often someone gets expelled. I walk up the stairs to the front office, where photos of former students who became famous athletes, astronauts, congressmen, and business gurus are proudly displayed on the Wall of Fame. If it were two years ago, I might have imagined my own picture on the wall, but not anymore.

When the door opens to Crowe's office, my eyes focus on the woman sitting in front of his desk. It's Brandi, my dad's wife of eight months. She's fourteen years younger than my dad (which means she's twenty-five, only eight years older than me). Her orange stilettos match her oversize orange earrings dangling down to her shoulders. Her dress looks two sizes too big, which is definitely out of character. Every time I've seen her she's worn tight-fitting, low-cut outfits like she's about to go clubbing. She looks out of place in this office full of mahogany and dark leather.

Brandi glances at me when I walk in, then returns all her attention to Crowe. “So what are our options?” she asks as she fiddles with her earring.

Crowe closes the folder on his desk. “I'm sorry, but I see no options.
Heinous
crimes involving animals are not tolerated at Regents, Mrs. Fitzpatrick. Your son—”

“Stepson,” I correct him.

Crowe regards me with disgust. “Your
stepson
has finally crossed the line. First, I'm told he's quit all extracurricular activities. Next, he's been rumored to attend parties with alcohol and drugs. That's in addition to the cheating on tests and defacing school property with vomit. Now this prank with live farm animals. We've been patient with Derek and sympathize with the challenges he's faced in recent years, but that does not excuse delinquent behavior. We have a duty at Regents Preparatory Academy to mold our young students into productive citizens and future leaders who are responsible for their community and environment. Derek obviously no longer wishes to be part of that proud tradition.”

I roll my eyes.

“Can't you just assign him community service or have him, like, write some kind of apology letter thingie?” Brandi asks, her bracelets clinking as she taps her brightly polished fingernails against her purse.

“I'm afraid not, Mrs. Fitzpatrick. Derek has given me no choice but to expel him.”

“By expelling him you mean, like, he can't come back for his senior year?” A speck of sunlight shines on her wedding band, a stark reminder that she's married to my dad.

“That would be correct. My hands are tied,” Crowe tells her, which is a complete lie. He makes the rules and changes them on a moment's notice to suit his needs. I'm not about to call him out. It won't change anything, so why bother? “The decision has been made,” Crowe continues. “If you'd like to appeal to the board, most of whom witnessed the debacle yesterday at the graduation ceremony, you're free to fill out the appropriate paperwork.
Although I warn you the appeals process is lengthy and a positive outcome is unlikely. Now if you'll excuse me, we still haven't located one of the animals that your stepson let loose and I have to do some very extensive damage control.”

Brandi opens her lips in a last-ditch effort to persuade him, but closes them with a sigh when, with a flick of his wrist, Crowe motions for us to leave his office.

Brandi follows me back to my dorm, her stilettos clicking on the sidewalk.
Click, click, click, click.
I didn't notice back in the office, but she's definitely gained weight since I last saw her. Doesn't she care that everyone is staring at her and her ridiculous outfit and big blond hair with overly long extensions? Knowing her, she probably doesn't even realize the scene she's causing.

My dad sat me down before he announced they were getting married and said Brandi made him happy. That's the only reason I haven't completely written her off.

“Maybe,” Brandi says, her cheery tone carrying across the quad, “this is for the best.”

“The best?” I give a short laugh as I stop and turn to her. “What's
the best
about it?”

“I've decided to move back to Chicago to live with my family,” she says. “Since your dad's gone for six months, I figure it's the best thing for Julian. He'll be starting kindergarten in the fall, you know.” Brandi gives me a big smile.

I think she expects me to jump up and down clapping in excitement at her big relocation news. Or smile right along with her. None of those things are about to happen.

“Brandi, I'm not movin' to Chicago.”

“Don't be silly. You'll
love
it in Chicago, Derek. They've got snow in the winter, and in the fall the leaves are, like, the
coolest
colors—”

“Come
on
,” I say, interrupting her Chicago-is-all-that speech. “No offense, but we're hardly family. Y'all can move to Chicago. I'll stay in San Diego.”

“Yeah . . . about that . . .” She bites her bottom lip. “I canceled the lease. Another family is moving into the house next week. I was gonna tell you, but I knew you had finals coming up, and since you'd already planned to stay on campus all summer I, like, didn't think it was urgent.”

A feeling of dread settles in my stomach. “You're sayin' I,
like
, don't have anywhere to live?”

She smiles once again. “Sure you do. In Chicago, with me and Julian.”

“Brandi, come on. You don't honestly think I want to move to Chicago for my senior year.” People move from Chicago to California, not the other way around.

“I promise you'll love Chicago,” she gushes.

No, I won't. Unfortunately, there's no one I can stay with in California. My dad's parents are dead and I heard my mom's dad died a while back. My mom's mom . . . well, let's just say she lives in Texas and leave it at that. No chance in hell I'm living with her. “I don't have a choice, do I?”

“Not really.” Brandi shrugs. “Your dad left me responsible for you. If you can't live at the academy, you'll have to stay with me . . . in Chicago.”

If she mentions the word “Chicago” one more time I think my
head might explode. This is not happening. I hope I'm living in some kind of realistic nightmare and I'll wake up any minute.

“There's one more thing I haven't told you,” Brandi says as if she's talking to a toddler.

I rub the back of my neck, where a knot is starting to form. “What?”

She puts her hand over her stomach and says in a high-pitched, excited voice, “I'm pregnant.”

No.
Fucking
. Way.

She can't be.

I mean, it's physically possible, but . . . the knot on the back of my neck is throbbing in earnest now, threatening to burst out of my skin. This is definitely a nightmare.

I want her to tell me she's kidding, but she doesn't. It was bad enough my dad married the bimbo. I expected him to realize eventually that marrying her was a mistake, but now . . . a baby permanently seals the deal.

I'm gonna be sick.

“I wanted to keep it a secret until you came home for the Fourth of July,” she explains excitedly. “Surprise! Your father and I are expecting a baby, Derek. I think your being expelled is a sign that we're all supposed to be together in
Chicago
. As a
family
.”

She's wrong. My being expelled is a sign, all right, but not that we're supposed to be together in
Chicago
. . . it's a sign that my life is about to implode.

I've been the only girl on the football team at Fremont High since freshman year, so it's not a big deal when Coach Dieter shouts a warning to the guys to make sure they're decent as I head into the boys' locker room for the first football meeting of the summer. My coach pats me on the back as I pass, just like he does to the guys.

“You ready for senior year, Parker?” he asks.

“It's the first day of summer break, Coach,” I answer. “Let me enjoy it.”

“Don't enjoy it too much. Work hard this summer during practice and at that football camp in Texas, because I expect a winning season come the fall.”

“We'll take State for the first time in forty years, Coach!” one of my teammates yells out. His words are met by enthusiastic cheers from the rest of the team, including me. We almost made it to State last season, but we lost in the playoffs.

“All right, all right. Don't get ahead of yourselves,” Dieter says. “Let's get down to business first. It's that time of year to vote for who you consider the player most deserving of leading this team. Think of the player whose talent, hard work, and dedication to this team is undeniable. The player who receives the most votes will be chosen as captain for the coming season.”

Being voted captain is a huge deal at my school. There are a bunch of clubs and sports teams, but only one counts—football. I glance proudly at my boyfriend, Landon McKnight. He'll be voted captain. He's the first-string quarterback and expected to lead us to the Illinois state championship. His dad was in the NFL, and Landon is all set to follow in his footsteps. More than a few times last season Landon's dad even brought college scouts to watch his son. With his talent and connections, there's no question he's going to get a scholarship to play in college.

We started dating at the beginning of last season, right after Coach Dieter moved me up to first-string kicker. I perfected my technique the summer before my junior year and it paid off. The guys on the team would watch me practice, making bets on how many field goals I could make in a row.

I used to be self-conscious about being the only girl on the team. Freshman year I stayed in the background, hoping to blend in. The guys made comments to intimidate me, but I laughed them off and threw comments right back. I never wanted special consideration and fought to be treated like another teammate who just happened to be a girl.

Dieter, wearing his trademark khaki pants and polo shirt with
FREMONT REBELS embroidered on it, hands me my ballot. Landon gives me a nod. Everyone knows we're dating, but we keep our relationship on the down low at practice.

I write Landon's name on the ballot, then hand it in.

Dieter goes over our brutal practice schedule while the assistant coaches count the ballots.

“You don't win games by sitting on your asses,” Dieter says during his lecture. “And besides, we're expecting to attract more college scouts this year. I know more than a few of you would like to play college ball. Seniors, this is your year to prove yourselves.” Dieter doesn't say the obvious, that the scouts are coming to see Landon but we'll all benefit from their presence.