Ghosting Read Free Page B

messed-up dad.
    He never talks about his dad.
    But I’ve seen.
    It’d be a bummer to have a dad like that,
    who expects, no,
demands
,
    that his son be Perfect.
    Just so he can tell all his buddies
    what a “great fucking son”
    he has.
    And his mom is like a shadow.
    Beautiful and country-club perfect,
    but barely there.
    I know I’m lucky.
    I love how my dad
    loves me.
    And even though my mom can be a bitch,
    ragging me all the time about curfew,
    I know she loves me too.
    I promised her I’d get home on time tonight.
    But it’s the last weekend before school.
    So screw that.

BRENDAN
    I head down to the garage, grabbing
    car keys off the hook in the kitchen.
    My little brother, Bobby, is at the kitchen counter,
    bent over papers spread out on the black granite.
    Yo, Bobby, it’s Saturday night,
I say.
Plenty of time to crack the books tomorrow.
    He smiles and jumps off the stool,
    following me out to the garage.
    What’s today, Bobby?
I ask
    It’s a running joke we have since Bobby
    found this book at the library.
    It’s got all these weird holidays in it
    and Bobby thinks it’s great.
    It’s Race Your Mouse Day,
he says with an ear-to-ear grin.
    No shit,
I say.
Too bad we don’t have one. But Happy Race Your Mouse Day, big guy.
    You, too,
Bobby answers.
    I grab a few plastic bags I’d hidden
    behind some old ice skates.
    They’re mine from a long time ago.
    I’ve logged a lot of ice time on those skates.
    What’s that?
Bobby asks, watching me carry the bags to the car.
    Just some stuff I’m taking to the party we’re going to.
    You and your girlfriend?
he asks.
    He says the word girlfriend in that teasing,
    exaggerated way kids do.
    But he likes Emma,
    has right from the start.
    Yep,
I say.
And a few friends.
    I open the door of the SUV,
    stick the bags and a cooler inside.
    Robert! ROBERT DONNELLY!
    It’s Dad’s voice, coming
    from inside the house.
    Bobby’s face gets that
    paralyzed look I know so well.
    Then Dad appears in the garage doorway.
    He looks pissed. Damn.
    Robert, you get your ass back to that kitchen counter. Now!
    Bobby doesn’t move right away and in seconds
    Dad is at his side, grabbing his arm.
    I can see his fingers biting
    into Bobby’s tanned skin.
    Hey, Dad,
I say,
it was my fault. I asked Bobby to help with . . .
    He turns to me,
    frowning.
    Don’t make excuses for your brother,
he barks.
Robert knew he wasn’t to leave the table until he finished his assignment.
    But . . . ,
I start.
    Dad is already yanking Bobby
    out of the garage.
    Dad . . . ,
I start again, following them.
    You stay the fuck out of this,
Dad says without even looking at me.
    He shoves Bobby toward the granite counter,
    and Bobby quickly climbs onto the chair.
    I can see the white marks where Dad’s
    fingers grasped Bobby’s arm.
    Bobby looks over at me,
    gives me a shaky grin.
    Have fun with your girlfriend,
he says.
    Thanks,
I say.
I’ll wish her a happy Mouse Day for you.
    Happy Race Your Mouse Day
, Bobby says, correcting me.
    Dad is standing there, arms folded,
    watching Bobby until he picks up his pen.
    It isn’t until I’m sitting behind the wheel,
    turning the key in the ignition,
    when I suddenly remember,
    clear as a bell.
    The first time Dad hit me.
    I was just Bobby’s age.

ANIL
    1. I know I should wear a T-shirt and
    baggy cargo shorts.
    That’s what the other guys
    will be wearing tonight.
    For Christmas Viraj gave me
    a couple of T-shirts from rock concerts
    he’d been to in Boston.
    Foo Fighters and Death Cab for Cutie.
    Either would probably be perfect.
    But I can’t.
    2. And it’s not because of the disapproving look
    I would inevitably get from my father.
    These American teenagers are so disrespectful,
he says frequently.
    No, it’s because of some deficiency in me.
    When I put the Foo Fighters T-shirt on
    and gaze in the mirror,
    I look like an impostor,
    with my Indian eyes and brown skin
    and black hair.
    Viraj can pull it off.
    Me, I look like I’m trying too