“I don’t want that,” he says, defiance brimming in his tone. “I’m not doing that.”
Plopping the last two slices of actually not that bad french toast onto a plate, I pass it to my son and take a seat next toanother. “Rawley, everyone gets help getting ready for the SAT.”
He flinches, and his eyes jerk to Tanner, then back to me. I glance at Tanner, too, and don’t like the look on his face. Heknowssomething, which leads me to the horrifying fact that thereissomething to know.
“Rawley, what?” I say calmly, kind of. Maybe a little quivery.
Another morale-boosting glance at his younger brother and he licks his lips. “I’m not going to college.” His nostrils flare and I sit, rigid, unmoving, uncharacteristically stunned.
With three boys, it takes a lot to rattle me.
Boys are wild and free beings. They’ve been beautifully challenging to raise, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
But they’re gross.
Sometimes—and I’m saying only sometimes—they’re downright disgusting.
We do not speak of the kitchen tongs in the bathroom incident.
Yet this is more shocking.
“I don’t need to take the SAT if I’m not going to college.” He glances at Tanner and I clear my throat, trying to dislodge way too much confusion for a split second.
“You’re taking the SAT. You’re going to college.” I am proud of myself for remaining so calm.
Sweat bubbles up on my forehead, and beneath my arms grows heated. I lick my lips. “Rawl, everyone needs a tutor. Your score will be your score—I’m just trying to help you get ready to take the test. And do your best taking it,” I tell him, speaking from the heart. I really do just want what’s best for him and anyway, thisiswhat’s best. It’s not my agenda—Rawley taking the SAT and giving himself the option to get into college is what’s bestfor him.
If he really doesn’t want to go, I’m honestly not averse toit. But I am averse to him closing doors that don’t need to be closed. It’s just a test.
“It’s expensive, anyway. It’s saving you money,” he says, not fidgeting or looking at his brother anymore.
It’s just his decision and mine.
“You’re taking the test, Rawley. It’s not a choice. And I already paid the tutor. He’s coming here after school. Now finish the french toast and go to school.” I stand up, my heart absolutely racing with all the anger I’m holding in.
I don’t even know why I’m angry.
It’s within reason that he’d want to start planning his life if he’s on the cusp of adulthood. That's what hopeful, energetic, plan-making young adults do. They take life by the balls.
At the sink I begin calmly scrubbing the pan off the stove, nearly burning my fingers in the process.
“I don’t want to go to college.”
Soapy water splashes my top as I scrub the burned butter from the pan. “We can discuss not going to college next year. But either way, you’re taking the SAT and you’re getting tutored. So be home on time. Please.” I roll out a small kink in my neck. “And I’ll see you at Tanner’s game. You can tell me all about how the tutor went after we take home the win.”
Rawley grunts. “I’m going to the game with the Turners and doing movie night at Jo Jo’s after. I won’t be home till late.”
Turning to face the boys, I smile. “Okay. We’ll talk about it in the morning. I can’t wait to hear.” I face Tanner. “Good luck today. Your first starting QB game!” I do a little excited shimmy, which earns me a smile from just Tanner and Archie. Two out of three on the happiness scale isn’t bad. All things considered, the chaotic morning is a win.
After convincing Archie that swim trunks are, in fact, not real trousers, I get him dressed and manage to leave the house on time. Rawley, who drives himself and Tanner to high school, refuses to wave back to me this morning. He refuses to look my way, even.
I let out a sigh as I pop the passenger door closed with my hip, watching Archie skip up the school steps before joining a sea of tiny people. In my car, I take a deep breath.
Rawley will take the SAT, and when he gets a good score, which I know he will, maybe he’ll change his mind about college. He can be mad at me all he wants. We’re stuck together. I’m good cop and bad cop.
And this cop has to start a ten hour shift at Goode’s Diner in twelve minutes.
Back behind the steering wheel, I exhale. The morning was, as usual, a bit chaotic. But the rest of the day will be better.
