At 5:30, Gore drove me to work. We got there just as Dante was opening the back door. She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek right in front of him and his mouth dropped way open. I climbed out of Gore’s car. Dante spread his arms out and he shouted, “Workplace romance! You’re both fired! Didn’t you read the small print in the contract?”
“Shut up, man,” I said.
“Sure, Chunk. Whatever you say. I’ll shut up about your romantic love life!”
He was way too delighted, Mr. R.
RC III got in a few minutes later. He didn’t even really speak to me. Just got to loading different juices and milks into the drinks cooler out front. I think he was pretty nervous about what he’d agreed to do. He was sticking out his neck for us.
It was not a normal morning in a lot of ways. At like nine o’clock, who should come into the store but Seth Sellers? I was serving some Twin Cities tourist lady when the front door bell rang. I felt this presence. I could tell someone was staring at me. After the lady paid, Seth was right in front of my face.
“Hey, donut boy, good to see you didn’t eat up the whole stock.”
My heart started pounding really hard. I could barely speak. “Ha-ha. Can I get you something?” I asked.
“What? Speak up.”
I swallowed hard and then began to recover myself, began to get mad. “Do you want something?” I said louder.
“I want you to stop staring at Emily and Janessa, you fat pervert. Don’t you dare come up to the school while they’re practicing. Don’t you show your fat face up there.”
“Oh, really?” I said. “I can’t go in my own school?”
“You heard me,” he said.
Just then, RC III came out from in back. Seth shot up straight as a shovel handle, man. His face went totally red. “Hey,” he nodded.
RC III just stared at him. Seth is a football player, so of course they know each other.
“I’m not going to get anything, I guess,” Seth said. “Not that hungry. See you guys later.” He winked at me, turned, and took off. The bell rang on the door as he exited.
I had to breathe hard to keep from falling over. Man, I’m not used to conflict like that. I’m used to ass-dancing and laughing it all away.
“What did he say to you?” RC III asked.
“Stay away from Janessa and Emily. Stay away from cheerleader practice.”
RC III shook his head. “You should’ve let that fool have it, man. Kid’s a waste of space.”
“Yeah. Next time. Boom. Ha-ha,” I said.
“Really, don’t worry about him. I bet Emily likes the attention anyway, likes the drama of it all. That Janessa does for sure, man. Don’t you worry about Seth Sellers.”
I nodded. Then I thought I might throw up. But I didn’t, so I count that as a victory.
No, I don’t know, Mr. Rodriguez. I don’t know if RC III knows Janessa and Emily at all. He…he talks to Kailey. Talked to. I know he had a couple classes with her, but that wouldn’t—He was just trying to make me feel better. Those girls did not enjoy the attention we gave them. I know that for a fact.
Okay. So that was weird. I’d never been verbally assaulted at work. But it wasn’t anything compared to what was coming for me.
I was serving Vic Hansard, who owns the State Farm Insurance next door, when the real trouble came in the door. Grandpa and Dad.
Dad was as pale as Gore herself. Grandpa, on the other hand, turned blood red when he saw me doing my donut business as if nothing in the world had happened. As I rang Vic up, I saw them and gave a normal “Hey there!” kind of wave, which makes no sense—I mean, by that point, I knew for a fact Dad was going crazy. I’d plugged in my phone in back and I’d heard the messages. He’d left ten voice mails.
I don’t know why I didn’t call him back to tell him I was okay, that I’d just fallen asleep by accident.
Grandpa almost spat when I waved. “Well, he ain’t dead in the lake,” he said.
Dad just nodded and swallowed.
Vic turned to leave. He said, “Morning, gentlemen.”
Grandpa replied “Yeeeeaahhh” in that gravelly voice of his.
The bell on the door rang, and the protection of Vic Hansard was gone.
There was no one else in the store because it was midmorning by then and the customers sort of dry up between early morning and noon. Thank God because Dad and Grandpa crowded right up to counter and they definitely would’ve frightened any customers who might’ve been in there. They scared RC III. He backed up against the wall, tilted his head down, and stared at the floor.
“What the hell are you doing?” Dad whispered. “Where in the hell have you been? Why are you here?”
“Uh…because I work here?”
“You never came home!” Dad shouted.
“It was an accident!” I said.
“Were you with him?” he pointed over at RC III, who pointed at himself and shook his head no.
Dante popped his head out from back, smiled, and said, “Hey there, Rob, why don’t you come back here and help me lift some…lift some dough…onto the table?”
RC III nodded quick and disappeared in back.
“We’ll talk later, okay?” I said fast. “You can’t just shout in a business.”
“Are you on drugs with that kid?” Grandpa whispered, jaw clenched.
“RC III? No! Are you serious? I wasn’t with him at all! He drove me to Gore’s.”
“Who the hell is Gore? Is Gore that zombie chick’s pimp?” Grandpa barked. Dante was clearly listening right at the door because he let out this big-ass laugh and then pretended he was coughing.
“Pimp?” I said. “Are you crazy?”
“Gabe,” Dad whispered. “Where were you last night?”
“I’m sorry. It was stupid. I fell asleep at Chandra Wettlinger’s house. She’s Gore, the zombie you’re referring to, and she’s not a prostitute!”
Dante laughed loudly again, sir. Then he turned on the food processor, which drowned him out. Grandpa and Dad looked at the door and then back at me.
“I didn’t sleep a wink,” Dad hissed. “Your grandfather and I drove all over town. I called Justin, but he didn’t know where you were, which scared me worse. I couldn’t get the number of your quarterback friend. And I called and called you. Again and again, Gabe. You just had to pick up your damn phone, which I pay for exactly because I want to be able to get hold of you in circumstances like this.”
“I’m so sorry, Dad,” I said. “It went dead.” I was breathless. Oh, shit, Mr. Rodriguez.
“You,” Grandpa said, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I really didn’t think you’d care,” I said.
“Why the hell wouldn’t he care if you’re dead?” Grandpa hissed.
“I just didn’t think you’d worry that much, Dad. You know I don’t get in trouble like that.”
“Come right home after work,” Dad whispered. “I took the day off. We have some talking to do.”
“Okay,” I said. “Okay. Sorry.”
“Good for you,” Dad said. Then he turned and left.
Grandpa stood staring, his face still red, sort of trembling. “You’re a fat turd. You got that? An ungrateful, fat turd,” he said. That was like getting kicked square in the junk, sir. My stomach dropped.
“Jesus Christ, Grandpa,” I whispered.
“See you at home, Chunk,” he said.
Oh, crap. What a great morning, huh?
I just wanted to fold over and die, but it didn’t end there, Mr. Rodriguez.
As soon as Grandpa and Dad left the store, RC III popped his head out from in back, blinked, then said to me (not Dante), “Sir, might Gabe and I take a quick break?”
“Ten minutes,” Dante said. “Don’t call Chandra’s pimp! Ha-ha!”
I was shell shocked, you know? Wasn’t exactly sure what was happening. Felt a little dizzy in my head, sir. I followed RC III around the counter and out the front door. He leapt up on the picnic table, pulled up his hood, which he wore underneath his donut T-shirt, and then said, “Man, that was one giant verbal ass-whupping you just got dealt.”
“I had it coming,” I mumbled. “But ow, my verbal ass hurts pretty bad now.”
RC III took a deep breath. He nodded and then said, “You can’t go home after work.”
“No, I have to.”
“You can’t. You have a bigger responsibility.”
I sat down in a plastic lawn chair next to the picnic table. “Dude, my dad might literally kill me, okay? I can’t—”
“Hey, man. Have you noticed my name?” RC III asked.
I looked up at him, “Well, I clearly know your name.”
“My pop’s name is William. Bill.”
“That’s great,” I said.
“But everybody calls me RC III like Robert Griffin the Third, right? RG III?”
“Uh-huh,” I said.
“Dude. There’s no Robert Carter the First. Pops is not Robert Carter Jr. He’s Bill Carter. I’m RC III because RG III is a hero of mine. I named myself after RG III.”
“Oh,” I said. “I didn’t know that.”
“Nobody even thinks about it, except Pops, and I’ll tell you this: It pisses him off. ‘Your given name isn’t grand enough for you?’ He says shit like that.”
“Oh?” I said because I didn’t have a clue at what he was getting at. “Sorry?”
“No reason to be sorry. My pops is a hard ass and he gets on me all the time, grounds me for coming home one minute late. But I’m me. I’m RC III, man.”
“Okay?”
“You gotta be Gabe. You set up this protest and Gabe has to be there, even if your old man kicks your ass for it.”
“I can’t,” I whispered. “Dad’s imbalanced.”
“Don’t talk to me about imbalanced. My pops took a thousand shots to the head playing ball. He’s imbalanced. And you and me are supposed to be up at the school at 2:15, man.”
“Dude, I can’t.”
“If you don’t show today, your band nerd movement is done. You get that? It’s all over. I’m not opening the school door without you, man. I can’t be responsible for that without your leadership.” RC III pushed himself off the tabletop, pulled down his hood. “We’d better go back in.” RC III reentered the store.
I sat there, blinking. “Oh. Damn it. Okay,” I said to an old lady with a dog who happened to be passing by.
When I reentered, Dante started making zombie prostitute jokes. But RC III told him “Not now” and Dante shut up. Wish I had that kind of power.
RC III didn’t say another word to me. He didn’t even really look at me. He was friendly enough with customers. Many wanted to talk football with him. I think he was worried about the band nerd movement. He likes the band nerd movement. He likes me, I guess.
After the lunch rush, I pulled my phone off the charger, took a deep breath, shut my eyes, and called Dad. He answered right away. I said, “Dad, this is a lot to explain. But I’m leading a protest after work and I can’t come home because everyone is counting on me.”
“No,” he said. “Come home.”
“No, this is serious.”
“Come home.”
“I won’t,” I said. “You’re…you’re not listening to me.”
“I’m telling you to come home.”
“Sorry. Some things are too important.”
“What the hell are you talking about? What kind of protest? Who do you have to protest?” he barked.
I hung up and felt like I’d been kicked in the wang because even though I don’t really like my dad, I love my dad. I had to lock myself in the bathroom to regain my composure.
Yeah, he knew there was something going on with the band! He’s the one who told me to write the stupid letter to the editor!
Dad called back three times, but I didn’t pick up. Then I texted his cell, This is important. I’m helping the band and all geeks.
Dad texted back, You’d better come home.
I didn’t go home.
You know, when Mom first left, I stayed at Justin’s for about a week. Dad couldn’t feed me. He couldn’t hold it together at all. He broke a bunch of Mom’s stuff and he stayed up all night sort of trashing crap and crying, which was not too great for me to see. When I went to Justin’s, Dad barely knew I was gone, I swear. Doesn’t matter. It sucked. That time sucked bad. Anyway, one morning, me and Justin were watching Adventure Time in his basement, eating some pancakes, and during a commercial, Justin looked over at me and said, “My mom thinks your dad is emotionally controlling. He’s, like, kind of abusive.”
I looked at him, blinked, but didn’t say anything because I was trying to figure out if what he was saying could possibly be true.
“Dude, you can totally live here if you need to. We want you to. Me, Mom, and Dad all agree,” Justin said.
“Okay. Thanks,” I said.
But right after I said thanks, I felt horrible, sir. That made me feel so bad for Dad. He’s not a bad guy, Mr. Rodriguez. I think he’s just had a crappy life. I don’t think he was that bad to Mom and she was obviously not that nice to him, okay? I went back home the day Justin said that.
No, I don’t want to hang out with Dad. Not at all.
No, no, definitely not. I don’t blame him for being pissed at me about being at Gore’s. I stayed out all night without telling him. Mom ran away without ever letting him know she’d fallen for some Japanese dude until she was already out the door. Makes sense he’d be freaked out.
Yeah. Yes, sir. Justin is a good guy. His parents are awesome and I miss them because they’re my family too. They would’ve taken me in, no doubt. I’d probably be a far more successful human being if I’d lived with them instead of with Dad and old dirty-mouth Grandpa.
That makes me feel bad too. I really like my grandpa.