Book of Luke (Book 2) (5 page)

Dad stopped typing and looked at me.
“Burke?”

“No,” I wanted to say, “his
other
stepdad.”

But I didn’t feel like pissing him off just
to be a smart ass, so I nodded. “Yeah, Burke.”

He rubbed his chin and looked at my mom. She
smiled at him, and looked back down at her work.

“So?” I asked after a silent moment. He was
so quiet I was getting anxious. “May I please go?”

Dad sunk back into the sofa and crossed his
arms. I waited breathlessly.

“Burke will be with us, and he’s strict.”
Well, that
could
be true.

Dad still mulled things over. I wished he’d
at least say something as he thought about it, so I could know
what’s going through his head.

“Come on! It’ll be hard to sleep with him
with Burke there!” I blurted.

My father’s eyes widened. My mother’s, too.
She looked to him as he stared at me in horror, mouth slightly
hung.

“I meant…” I attempted. “You know, no one
wants their boyfriend's stepdad watching over them their
first
time
…” I bit my lip uncertainly. “And he’s not that kind of guy
anyway,” I added. “We’re not even
married
. So there’s
nothing to worry about, Dad.” I wasn’t breathing, and my face felt
hot. I was probably beet-red.

When my phone vibrated, I answered
immediately, and blurted, “I can’t talk. My dad thinks I had sex,
and I think I’m grounded!”

I didn’t even know who the hell was on the
other line.

My father still stared, dumbstruck.

I hung up the phone and fiddled with my
fingers. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I rushed upstairs, in
time to burst into tears.

This terrible miscommunication between my
brain and mouth wasn’t getting
any
better. At that point I
didn’t want to go
any
where, because that would mean leaving
my room.

My blood froze as I stared at the caller ID.
Whom did I blurt about sex and being grounded to?

Only the
chancellor
of the University
of Northern British Columbia!

You know, the
president
of the
university? The guy who gets paid hundreds of thousands of dollars
to get to know everyone? To keep the staff in the loop?

To make unexpected calls to peoples’ cell
phones?!

Guess who’s
not
going to college…? At
that point, I would have rather
died
.

He’d left me a voice mail after I hung up on
him. He said he was just calling to welcome me to his university,
to see if I had any questions, and to get to know a bit about
me.

Well at least he got to know a bit about me,
right?

I spent about an hour in tears. It sounded
like my parents were bickering downstairs, and I could not make out
most of it. All I did hear was Mom’s,

“You can’t keep her in a bubble, Paul!”

After that they fell silent, and I thought
they’d left home—I just couldn’t bring myself to go check.

A while later, there was a tap on my
door.

“Yeah?” I answered quietly, setting my
laptop aside.

Dad opened it and stuck his head in. “May I
come in?”

When I didn’t answer, he entered and sat
beside me on the bed. He didn’t say anything for a long
minute—maybe he was waiting for me to talk. I just stared at my
feet uncomfortably.

“I just wanted to let you know that—as long
as Burke really is going—you can go with Luke to ski in the Alps.
I’ll even make you reservations, so you can have your own room.
Just let me know where you’re staying.”

I was still too embarrassed to look at him.
“Thank you, Daddy.”

He set a hand on my shoulder. “Just one
request. I need to talk to you daily. Okay?”

My eyes met his, uncomfortably. “Sure,” I
breathed, and looked away.

He slapped his knees and got up. “Great,” he
said. “Dinner will be ready soon. We’ve ordered pizza.”

~ ~ ~

Anna and I met Lilly by her locker in the morning.
We asked her what happened, but she was too busy looking for her
geography homework.

We waited.

She slammed her locker door and looked at
us. “He didn’t answer his cell.” She looked over her shoulder at
Gino, about twenty feet away. “I can’t believe I
love
that
guy. Seriously, what a
jerk
, dumping a pregnant girl!”

“You’re
not
pregnant,” we noted.

Lilly grimaced. “What if I
were
?”

Anna rolled her eyes, about to leave. Then
we heard a door slam, and Luke stormed in.

Luke’s face was dark and his eyes were wide.
He moved quickly, grabbing Gino’s collar as he passed, and swiftly
slammed him into the lockers.

The hall fell silent.

“What is this I heard about my sister?” Luke
demanded. “You knock her up and
dump
her?”

Gino was taken aback.

We gasped. Lilly’s face turned white.

Sure, Gino could fight him—and for a moment
he looked like he wanted to—but his face fell. His eyes glided to
Lilly.

“Luke,” I said, taking a step toward him.
Luke looked to me, but Lilly’s gasp brought me back. She shook her
head no, pleading silently for me to keep quiet.

Her eyes were scared.

Luke pushed on him and moved closer, glaring
into his eyes. It was odd seeing a six-foot-tall guy pinning a
six-six to a locker. “You’re
going
to man up, and you’re
going
to marry her, or I will make your life a living hell.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Got it?”

I questioned—from the betrayed look in
Gino’s eyes as he gazed at her—if he knew she was lying.

Luke let him go. The crowd parted for him.
He glanced over at us, and walked to class.

Anna and I turned, waiting for Lilly to say
something, but she was in shock.

“Lilly,” I breathed. “This isn’t right.”

She bit her lip. “Why did Lukasz do that? I
did
not
expect him to do that!”

Anna put her hand on her hip. “Maybe because
he’s your
brother?
What did you expect, girl, a
high-five?”

Lilly stomped her foot. “I expect him to
mind his own business
.”

“Lilly, we need to tell Luke,” I urged. “And
you need to tell Gino.”

Lilly put her hand up. “Don’t tell Lukasz
anything. I’ll do it when I’m ready.” She sniffled. “I’m just too
scared right now.”

“It’s better to fix it now than let it get
worse,” Anna advised.

I glanced at Gino. The soulful way he looked
at her made me feel even worse for him.

~ ~ ~

I never thought the day would come when I’d
voluntarily go see Mr. Bias. There were no college applications to
discuss, but for once, confiding in a clueless idiot was better
than confiding in no one at all.

“Miss Morrison!” He pulled his feet off the
desk, put his shaver away, felt his chin and grinned at me. I’m
actually starting to think Cuba Gooding, Jr. is his
twin
.
“What a pleasant surprise!”

“Thanks,” I said lamely. “Is this a good
time?”

“Sure!” he exclaimed. “Not many kids come
see me!”

I could see why.

“What brings you here?” he asked with his
permanent grin.

“I’ve been having a crazy week,” I
started.

“Good, good,” he said. “I’d love to hear
about it.”

“For starters, I threw up on my boyfriend’s
dad’s lunch. I ordered the same thing he had and I had a bad
reaction.”

Mr. Bias’ grin grew. “And what did he
have?”

“I forgot what it’s called. It’s an
Icelandic dish, it’s rotten shark…”

“Hákarl!” Mr. Bias said with a snap of the
fingers. “That stuff’s not for beginners!” His grin widened still.
Didn’t his face hurt? “It made you sick?”

“I spewed my vomit,” I admitted.

“Yeah, you gag immediately when you taste
it. I’ve tried it once.”

“Really?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely! And
never again!”

I chuckled.

He leaned back in his chair and glanced at
the wall behind me; at the poster of the hula girls.

“Anyway,” I said, kind of wanting his
attention. “I don’t think his dad likes me now.”

His attention snapped back to me. “Why not?”
he asked cheerfully.

Well,” I said, “I sort of puked
everywhere.”

Mr. Bias shrugged. “What else?”

“I was trying to convince my dad to let me
go ski in the Alps with my boyfriend, and I got nervous and blurted
some stuff. When my phone rang, I answered and blurted into the
phone that my dad thinks I had sex and I may be grounded.”

Mr. Bias smiled and rubbed his chin. When I
fell silent, he made a little hand gesture and said, “Proceed, I’m
listening.”

“Well,” I said. “It turns out it was the
chancellor of the University of Northern British Columbia on the
phone.”

He raised his eyebrows.
“Awkward.”

“Very,” I mumbled.

“Have you applied to a new college?” He
reached into his desk and pulled out what I swear was the millionth
viewbook he’d given me. “How about the state university?”

“Actually, I’m going to skip it altogether,”
I said.

His face fell. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I honestly just don’t want to fork up
forty grand a year for a liberal arts degree. Mr. Tweezer says my
writing’s great, I can work from home.”
More time with Luke,
anyway.

He held his chin and nodded. “Good, good.”
He put his feet on the desk and crossed his legs. “Sounds like
you’ve got a plan, then. Although you can still change your mind;
maybe the chancellor will forget.”

Who was he kidding? If someone blurted
that
to me over the phone, I’d remember it till the day I
die. The guy will still be talking about it in thirty
years—guaranteed.

“Did you tell your parents you’re not
planning to attend?”

“No,” I said. “Please don’t.”

His smile evaporated for a moment. Then it
returned. “When will you?”

“I don’t know,” I said. I thought Mom would
understand, but Dad’s going to be a bit tough to convince. Not even
sure why I have to convince him of anything—it’s
my
life.

Just then I realized I’d told this guy the
worst things about my week—he listened, and offered
no
useful advice whatsoever.

Not that I expected a different result.

“Well,” he suddenly said, rocking himself in
his chair. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but it’s hard
to market yourself with an English degree.” He shrugged. “Sure, you
develop good grammar and memorize Shakespeare; it
could
be
used in other areas. But in general, most people teach. And you’re
not planning on doing that…?”

“No thanks!” I don’t want to end up like my
teachers. “Do best-selling authors have writing degrees?”

“You don’t
need
a degree to be a
best-selling author, you just need to write well. I think it’s
mostly talent—you either have it or you don’t. Like artists,
writers don’t need college to be amazing.” He revealed his pearly
whites before changing the subject. “So you say you’re going to the
Alps?”

“Yeah, Luke’s taking me,” I said, my spirits
lifting.

“Is that your boyfriend?” He made a little
hand gesture. “The
current
one?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about him?”

“We’re leaving Thursday night, so we’re only
missing three days of school,” I exclaimed.

“That’s nice,” Mr. Bias said. “Do you look
forward to it?”

“That’s why I’m going.”

“Right, right,” he said between his teeth.
“Well! Sounds like you’ve made up your mind about some things! Glad
I could be of help! Is there anything else you want to talk
about?”

I hesitated for a moment. “Is it right to
tell a guy you’re pregnant, just to get what you want?”

His eyes widened. “You’re
pregnant?
Did you want to talk about that? I can clear my schedule.”

“No, no! I’m asking for a friend. I meant,
is it right to
lie
and say you’re pregnant, to get a guy to
move in with you?”

“Oh, for a
friend
. Is it
right
? Who determines what’s right or wrong? Is it ethical?
No. Why doesn’t he want to move in with you?” He put up a finger.
“With your
friend…
?”

“Well, he wants to prepare for medical
school, and there are none where she wants to move. But she doesn’t
know this, she thinks she’s getting shoved aside for her
brother.”

“What does her brother have to do with
anything?”

“They’re best friends, the boyfriend and the
brother.”

Mr. Bias’ smile shrank. “That must be
awkward
.”

“I’m sure,” I said.

“Well,” Mr. Bias said. “It sounds like this
guy should tell your
friend
that he wants to go to medical
school. I don’t think her fabricating a problem will solve a
problem.” He shrugged. “What happens when he learns she’s
not
pregnant? If a woman did that to me—or even to a friend
of mine—I would be
furious
.”

“You would?” I asked breathlessly, beginning
to sweat.

“Absolutely! Not only that, but I’d be mad
at every person who knew it was a lie and didn’t tell me. The
longer the lie, the harder it would be to forgive.” He stared at me
for a few moments; then his smile grew into a grin. “Does that
help?”

“Uh-huh,” I peeped, terrified.

“Good, good! Well, have a safe trip, Miss
Morrison! I’ll see you next week!”

Our final project in writer’s workshop needs
to be at least a hundred pages. It can be a novella, a novel, a
play, or anything one can think of, so long as Mr. Tweezer approves
it.

The project’s due at the end of the
semester, and so far I’d accumulated a book of approximately eighty
pages, filled with daydreams and fantasies I would never dare
publish.