Armed and Dangerous (The IMA) Read Free Page B

Coswell. I'll be a freshman.”
    Dad almost dropped his teacup. “Coswell? What? Where the hell is that?”
    “Arizona — remember? I was telling you about it a couple months ago, on the phone.”
    Em righted his teacup as he spluttered, “I thought that was your safety school in case you didn't get into Stanford. Which you did. I remember you telling me you did.”
    “Perhaps this isn't the time,” Em posited delicately.
    We both chose to ignore her.
    “I did get accepted into Stanford. But I don't want to go to Stanford. I told you that, too.”
    “ You don't want to — ” I rarely saw Dad get angry. When he did, he developed a twitch over his left eye and his entire face turned purple. He looked seconds away from having an aneurysm, a heart-attack, or both. “Do you have any idea how many people would kill to have the opportunity you've so candidly passed up, Christina?”
    “ Lots. I know.”
    “ Rubens — ” Em valiantly tried to edge her way into the conversation. Again. Dad and I continued ignoring her.
    “ I don't think you do.”
    “ I do, believe me. I took everything into account. But I'm tired of being front and center all the time. I want to be on the fringe. I'm a lot happier there.”
    “ Christ.” Dad mopped at his forehead, turning towards Em but speaking at me. “My daughter just gave up her full scholarship to Stanford.”
    “ It wasn't a full scholarship — and it wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision, either. I've been thinking about this for a long time.”
    “ Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
    “ Well. Yes, actually.”
    Dad shook his head.
    He might have looked like he was hamming up his anguish, but he didn't have a dramatic bone in his body. He could never afford to, being married to Mamá. That made his hurt and anger worse, because it was real. But at the end of the day, this was still my life, my choice. Going to school with the best, the smartest, the richest, the superlative-est — it didn't really appeal to me. It wasn't what I needed.
    What I needed was tranquility, peace. Solace.
    I no longer trusted myself in crowds. Not after learning that the so-called real world is just the white light being emitted through the neutralizing prism of our society's norms. Not after viewing the full-color spectrum of the human capacity for emotion and intent, and being blinded by that dizzying intensity. Not after seeing how much I wanted all that, despite knowing that lifestyle would ride me hard and leave me with a broken soul.
    No. What I needed was safe, quiet exile.
    “I'm sorry, Dad.”
    “ Christ. Where's the bourbon? I need a drink.”
    “ Rubens, so late? But your heart — ”
    “ That is exactly why I need a drink.”
    “ Dad, no — ”
    But he had already gotten to the bottle and was knocking back the shot glass as Em and I watched, scandalized. He pinched the bridge of his nose and coughed, then looked at us sheepishly. “Doesn't go down as smoothly as it did when I was younger — ”
    “Thank heavens for that,” said Em.
    “ But it certainly takes the edge off.”
    “ It's psychosomatic.”
    “ Whatever works.”
    “ Really — ”
    “ I'm sorry,” I began again.
    “ It's okay, Sweet Pea.” He coughed again, shrugging off the napkin Em was trying to press on him. “Really. It's your life, and I'll get over that. If Coswell is where you want to go, then, well, Coswell is where you'll go.”
    “ How are you going to move your things?” Em asked.
    Trust her to notice the details. “Um, well — ” I bit my lip, remembering the argument that drove me to my father's house at night in the first place. “Mamá was going to help.”
    “That was, er, nice of her,” said Dad.
    “ Was?” said Em.
    “ Yeah. I think tonight might have changed her mind.”
    Dad sighed. “She'll change her mind again, don't worry. And if she doesn't, I'll have a talk with her. Or her lawyer will. She isn't allowed to blackmail you into choosing sides.”
    I sure