to find Samantha, as he knew he would, perched on the top of the counter, her eyes buried in her phone as she sipped from the steaming and cracked mug that read: Goest and Fucketh Thy Self.
“Coffee’s not bad, you finally got the sugar right.”
“Good morning Sam, would you like a little breakfast?” Dave asked with a calm and neutral tone. Any sort of emotion he showed to Samantha, she was most likely to exploit it, or explode. He preferred to avoid this all together.
Dave was an excellent listener, a great studier of humans. He made sure to always observe before attempting to establish the correct way to deal with, how could he put it nicely, strong personalities. They surrounded him.
“Nah, I have to get going.”
Dave looked up in surprise. Samantha was a wonderful student but she absolutely hated school. Usually he would be out in the car for twenty minutes while she and Georgette screamed bloody murder at one another. They fought about boys, or clothes or periods or existential dread—these confrontations were always filled with tears and raging hormones. And like a sudden and violent storm, it was over as quickly as it began. They would hug and kiss goodbye, laughing and joking their tears away, everything completely fine as Georgie waved her daughter off.
With a sullen glare, Samantha would drop into his passenger seat and roll her eyes out of habit all while blasting screaming metal music on her headphones. Dave loved rock music; it didn’t bother him in the slightest, which at one time had been Samantha’s goal. No, the only thing that disappointed Dave was that he wasn’t able to talk to her, get to know her better. He never really planned on having kids, but he was more than happy to fill the role of stepfather in any way he could. He knew it meant a lot to his wife and Samantha was bright, filled with potential. If Dave could contribute to making sure she stayed on the right path, he was more than up for the job.
He would drop her off at the curb, like he did every morning—tell her to have a great day. Then she would half wave and disappear into the throngs of moody teenagers.
It was their morning routine. But now it seemed she was changing it up.
“Great, let me just grab my jacket,” Dave said, as he crossed the kitchen with haste.
She jumped down off the counter, snatching up her backpack and one of Georgie’s spare cigarettes. Dave frowned but didn’t comment as they headed out the door.
“You have a test or something?” He asked casually, as he held open the car door for her. She yanked it shut in response.