The Big Time

CHAPTER THREE

TROY'S MOM'S GLARE FADED. She hung her head and quietly said, "You were always clever, Drew. I bet you're some lawyer."

"That means you agree," Troy's father said, pushing back the flaps of his leather blazer so he could plant his hands on the waist of his jeans.

"No," she said, shaking her head so that the sheets of her long brown hair fell in a curtain about her face. She looked up with burning eyes. "I won't agree. I'd still like you to leave now. We're having a celebration, and you weren't invited. You're not part of my life, and you're not part of Troy's. You missed your chance. Go."

Drew's face fell. He dropped his hands and shifted his cowboy boots so that they scuffed the grit on the stone stoop. "You can't just-"

Seth stepped forward and held his hand up like a traffic cop, almost touching Drew's chest. "No. She asked you to leave, so you need to do that."

Troy saw the flicker of anger in his father's eyes. His jaws were working side to side, and his hands curled into fists.

Troy stood paralyzed by it all-unable to move, unable to think, barely able to breathe.

"Don't do this," Seth said, quiet and almost friendly.

Then the fire went out. Troy's father cast a sad, almost desperate look at Troy before he turned and retreated down the stone walkway. The orange Porsche's lights blazed and the engine revved, then the car shot out backward into the road. The tires yelped, and the Porsche surged up the street to be swallowed by the night.

Troy descended the steps, moving in the car's direction until he stood alone on the edge of the light where it met the shadows of the front lawn's towering trees.

"Dad?" he said.