The Pull of Destiny (6 page)

“What
happened yesterday?” dad barked, snapping his slim phone shut and glaring at
me.

Apparently
he
didn’t
want that sandwich.

And
you see how right I was? His bad mood
was
my fault! Not only was I rich,
I was psychic too? If I started hearing peoples thoughts I was going to kill
myself. I wasn’t interested in knowing what people thought of me. Sometimes,
even
I
hated me.

I
shrugged, trying to look as innocent as possible. I had an idea where this was
headed.

“What
happened with what?” I asked, taking a bite out of the rather dry sandwich.
Shit. I forgot the mustard.

Dad
came closer to me, stabbing his finger into my chest. I flinched at the angry
look in his steel grey eyes. He was well and truly pissed off, thanks to me.

 “Don’t
play dumb with me, young man; you know what I’m talking about. I made an
appointment for you to go see the leading neurologist in the country,” he spat,
his eyes locked on mine. “I had to call in some favors, grease a few palms, all
so Doctor Khan could get your head checked out.” He slapped me on the forehead
as he said this, making me wince. “I even let you stay home from school so you
could get ready! And what happens? You don’t even bother showing up for your
damn appointment!”

Yeah,
I know what you’re thinking, a whole day for just one doctor’s appointment?
Blame my dad. He doesn’t know how close I am to being expelled. Missing a day
of school for no apparent reason is just more ammunition for the school to kick
me out.

“I
can explain,” I started, holding up my arms in defense. I was a brown belt in
karate, but I didn’t think I was a match for dad. He had pure animalistic rage
on his side today. All I had on my side was a headache.

“Oh,
yeah, I’m sure you can,” dad said, chuckling without a trace of humor as he
started to pace the kitchen. He placed his hands behind his back and looked at
me. “Well? Start explaining, kiddo. I’m anxious to see how the legendary Luke
Astor, with all his tall tales, can get out of this one.”

I
took a deep breath, racking my brain for any lie I could tell that would seem
believable. None came. My mind was a total blank.

“I
don’t care. I don’t want to know what’s wrong with me,” I said finally, feeling
like a wuss for even saying it out loud.

A
couple of weeks ago, I went to my doctor’s office for my regular checkup. The
x-rays uncovered something that my doctor wasn’t quite sure about, a growth in
my brain. “It’s probably nothing, but let me refer you to a neurologist,” he
told my dad, who came into the doctor’s office fuming because the call made him
miss a golf game.

Because
golf is way more important than your only son’s health, right?

When
I heard that I had a strange growth in my brain, I was so scared that I didn’t
sleep for two nights straight. Even now, I was positive that it was more than
just ‘nothing’ as Doctor Miles had put it. Coupled with my headaches, the
growth-it could be a tumor.

And
I didn’t want to find out.

“I
don’t want to know what’s wrong with me,” dad mimicked, sneering into my face.
I groaned silently. Same old shit. He was a bully in every sense of the word.
And his favorite target? Me, of course. His voice turned cold. “You think I’m
letting you chicken out of this appointment? I don’t care if you piss yourself
when you’re getting that CAT scan, you’ll go to the hospital and they’ll find
out what’s wrong with you.”

“And
I guess it doesn’t matter if I want to know or not, right?” I asked, knowing
the answer already. It didn’t matter what I thought. If dad wanted it, it would
come to pass. He was the law around these parts.

“You
damn right it doesn’t.” Dad laughed derisively again, stopping right in front
of me. “You done acting like a schmuck?” he asked, leaning in so close I could
smell the alcohol on his breath. There was no use in arguing with him when he
was like this. I simply nodded.

“Yes,
sir.”

“Good,”
he snarled, looking more like a club bouncer than the urbane, polished
businessman he was supposed to be. “This afternoon. 3.45. Mount Sinai. I’ll
pick you up myself. Understand?”

I
nodded dumbly, hating the way he always talked down to me, making me feel like
a kid again. Nothing I did was ever good enough for him, so why should I try?
We all knew I was gonna end up a screw up, anyway. “Sure,” I mumbled.

His
eyes probed relentlessly into my face, searching for something, a sign of
weakness, maybe. I stared back at him impassively, willing myself not to blink.
Seemingly satisfied, he nodded and took a step back, grabbing an apple from a
fruit bowl.

“Good.
Go get your bag and get a move on. You’re going to make me late,” he ordered,
already walking out of the kitchen. I followed him into the living room, my
lack of sleep making me feel oh so slow.

I’m
going to make
him
late? Since when did I ride with him- anywhere?

“I
got a ride,” I protested lamely, knowing that it was no use. Dad
owned
every conversation. He was always right. This meant I was going to have to
spend 15 minutes in his limo as he yelled out some poor unfortunate sucker on
his phone. Bully. “Wendy’s picking me up.”

He
grabbed his newspapers off of the coffee table, not looking at me. “Bullshit.
Every time Wendy picks you up, you and your friends head over to her house for
one of your stupid parties. You’re going to school today, son. And if I have to
walk you into the building myself, so be it. Let’s get a move on.”

I
didn’t even bother replying and telling him that I hadn’t even been to Wendy’s
since Shane died. He wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t even care. Shane had been my
best friend in the whole wide world since we were in diapers and my dad hadn’t
even gone to the funeral. He’d even had the nerve to say Shane, who
had
dabbled in drugs from time to time (but nothing too heavy, we all used to do a
little E once in a while), had brought his death upon himself and that I would
be next. What dad forgot was that Shane died in a car accident, not from an
overdose. Ever since that day, my respect for my dad just- slid away. He was
still my dad, but he was too wrapped up in his own awesomeness to give a damn
about me. Unless he was trying to run my life, like now.

I
grabbed my bag and we went down the elevator in total silence, except for the
occasional rustling of newspaper. Dad’s Mercedes limo was parked right outside
our building and we got in, umbrella’s being held over our heads even though it
was barely showering. Just another perk of being rich and infamous, right?

We
were silent most of the drive to school till out of the blue-

“You
better not skip out on me today. You have any idea how much that missed
appointment cost me? You always cost me cash with your histrionics,” dad
barked. I slouched back in the comfortable seat of the limo, popping open a can
of Dr. Pepper and swigging down my Tylenol’s.

“I’ll
pay you back when I’m 21 and gain access to my trust fund money,” I replied
evenly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

He
snorted loud and derisively. “If I come pick you up and you’re not at the front
desk, you’re in deep trouble, young man,” he said, changing the subject
brusquely.

I
stared out of the tinted window at the people hustling up and down the
sidewalks and wondered if Celsi was there.

“Can’t
wait,” I said idly, sticking my hands in the pockets of my jeans.

The
car stopped at the Dalton school entrance. Dad glared at me over his newspaper.

“Get
a move on.”

Just
another warm, family moment.

“Gotcha,”
I mumbled, opening the door and stepping out of the car, blinking as my eyes
adjusted to the light and pain flared up in my temples. I slammed the car door
shut and walked slowly up the stairs, wondering if the nurse had something
stronger than Tylenol. Like maybe some Vicodin.

***

I
got through the morning by sleeping through most of my classes- luckily, I
don’t snore. Then I started on Mission Apologize to Celsi.

Easier
said than done. I couldn’t even find the girl, let alone apologize to her. She
wasn’t in the canteen. She wasn’t in the library. She wasn’t in the gym. She
wasn’t even under the bleachers.

Walking
back to the school after paying a freshman 5 bucks to check in the girl’s
locker room (she wasn’t there either), I spotted Wendy, Ahmed and Joanna
strolling towards me.

“Hey,
daddy’s little princess!” Ahmed greeted me, slapping my back. “You get a wide
with daddy dearest today?”

Joanna
snorted, kissing me on the cheek, her sweet smelling hair sliding across my
face. “Don’t listen to him, he’s hung-over,” she advised me, putting an arm
around my waist.

“I
never listen to him. And he’s always hung-over.” I smiled down at Joanna as she
placed her head on my shoulder, breathing on my neck.

Ahmed
grinned, shrugging casually. “Just because you decided to quit doesn’t mean I
should too. I love booze too much, he admitted.

“If
your mama only knew,” Wendy said in a warning tone, tossing her blonde hair.

“She
would straight up kill me,” he said cheerfully.

Joanna
linked her arm in mine, looking up at me. “I’m having a pool party at my place
tonight.” She winked at me, managing to look deliciously sexy and evil all at
once. “Clothing optional.”

“Is
your boyfriend invited?” I asked, bringing my lips closer to her ear so that I
could nibble it. She giggled naughtily.

“No.
but what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him,” she said teasingly.

Joanna
is my ex and even though we broke up about two months ago, we still hook up
whenever we feel like it. No strings attached. It works well for both of us,
but I didn’t see her boyfriend liking the fact that we were friends with
benefits. The guy already hated me, how much more would he hate me if he found
out that I occasionally hooked up with his girlfriend?

I
looked up and groaned as I saw Timothy Wheeler striding towards us across the
quad.

“Speak
of the devil,” I told Joanna, letting go of her. She straightened her dress and
turned to Timothy, who was flexing. Moron.

“Hi,
baby,” she said before giving him a big kiss. I wasn’t jealous. It’s not like I
was in love with her or anything.

I
turned to Ahmed, suddenly remembering my mission and also remembering that his
sister was friends with Celsi.

“Hey,
dude, where does your sister have her lunch? I asked as casually as I could,
scratching my nose.

Ahmed
gave me a quizzical stare. “Why? You planning to hit on her? Coz if you get her
pregnant, you two are tied for life,” he said in a mock threatening voice.

“Dude.
No way would I hit on your sister. That’s sacred ground, man,” I protested
lightly. Even though, given the chance, I’d tap that. Shazia’s pretty hot.

“Yeah
right. You’re still hitting that,” Ahmed said, cocking his thumb in Joanna’s
direction. “I don’t trust you with Shazia. No sale.”

Thank
God for Wendy.

Rolling
her eyes, Wendy punched him in the stomach and he doubled over, groaning.

“He’s
all talk,” she said to me, grinning. She grabbed his arm and twisted it behind
his back. “Tell Luke where your sister is, or I’ll break it.”

Never
cross Wendy. Ever. She’s a black belt in every martial art you can think of.

“She’s
in the canteen, dude. Just tell Wendy to-ouch! Tell her to stop twisting my
arm!”

I
grinned to myself as I turned my back on a yelling Ahmed and Wendy. It was easy
to tell who wore the pants in that relationship.

***

Shazia
was in the canteen, sitting with Robyn Miller. I groaned in frustration. Celsi
was nowhere to be seen. Why was this so difficult?

Smiling
friendlily, I slid into the seat next to Robyn.

“Hey,
ladies,” I said, trying to muster up enough charm to win them over. Nothing was
feeling right anymore. I felt like a bit actor in someone else’s dream. I just
didn’t have the energy for anything.

 Robyn
was giving me a distrustful look, but Shazia was glaring at me like she wanted
to dip me in honey and feed me to fire ants. Obviously they stood by their
friend, which meant that Celsi wasn’t just a pity friend and Ahmed was just
being a dick, as usual.

“What
do you want?” Shazia asked shortly, stabbing her fork into a French fry. I bet
you anything she was imagining that was my eye.

“I
was actually looking for Celsi,” I said cautiously.

The
instant I mentioned Celsi, both of the girls glared at me. I was beginning to
feel like Public Enemy Number One.