Authors: Stephanie Guerra
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Boys & Men, #Social Themes, #Self-Esteem & Self-Reliance, #Dating & Relationships
Betting Blind (27 page)
I sighed. It was time for the bomb. “Mom, I dropped out of school. I’m staying in Vegas.”
I could feel her shock waves all the way from Washington. “You . . . you . . . what?”
I guess there was a part of me that was still mad, because I said, “I can’t live with Phil.”
Mom took a shaky breath. “I’ll leave him.”
Immediately I felt horrible. “Mom, you don’t have to—”
“No, you’re my son. You can’t drop out. I’ll leave him.”
I rolled onto my back and covered my eyes with my hand. “I’m sorry. I was being a jerk. It’s not just Phil. I’m eighteen next month. I’d be leaving soon anyway. And I’m not cut out for school. I screwed up my finals.”
“I’ll talk to your tea—”
I cut her off. “I’d have to do summer school, and I’m not doing that. I’m going to get a good job in a restaurant, I’ll make a ton of money. I’ll get to talk to people all day . . . You know I can’t do desk work.” I heard a begging sound in my voice.
Mom said thickly, “I had this same conversation with your nana when I was sixteen. I guess I passed it down.”
“You passed me down your big old cajones,” I said, but she didn’t laugh.
“What about tutoring? Your counselor said they have free tutoring. Or I can get Ph— I can pay for a tutor for you, a private one, not the ones at school.” She’d almost said,
I can get Phil to pay for a tutor.
If it hadn’t been for his name slipped in, a tiny piece of me might have considered it. “No, I’m done for real. It isn’t my scene.”
“Gabe, you can’t just quit. You’re two quarters away from graduating.” Mom’s voice was shaking.
“Two quarters and summer school, and who knows if I’d pass my classes that time around, either! Mom, I’m done!” I took a breath and said slowly and clearly, “I am not. Coming home.”
She started to cry.
My hand was twitching, I wanted to hang up so badly. “I’ll do my GED,” I said.
“It’s not the same.”
“That’s what
you
did, right?”
“Yeah,” she said, still crying. “Oh, Gabe.”
“Mom, stop it!”
“I can’t! I’m sad!”
“What’s wrong with a GED?”
“It’s just not the same. Hold on.”
I groaned. “Not a quote.”
But it was too late. I could hear the crinkle of pages. She read, “The rule seems to be that the bigger and more life-changing the decision, the less it will seem like a decision at all.”
“I know I’m making a big decision! Is that what you’re trying to say? I get it! I’ve been killing myself for years. I just can’t keep going!”
The silence dragged on so long, it was even worse than her crying. Finally she said in a heavy voice, “You should sign up for the GED right away, while you still remember how to do the math and things.”
“Okay,” I agreed. I thought I might as well. I heard Mom blowing her nose on the other end.
“How do you plan to support yourself?” she asked.
“Bussing or waiting. And I’m going to bartending school . . . when I’m old enough.”
“I always pictured you in a suit, with your own office. You’re so smart, Gabe.”
“You’re my mom! You have to think that!” I said, almost shouting. “And what does smart have to do with it? Just because I’m smart, I can’t be a bartender?”
“No, that’s not—”
“No, seriously? How come everybody has this idea that the only way to ‘succeed’ is to choke in a tie and sit behind some desk all day, staring at a computer? Isn’t it good enough just to do something I like?”
“It’s about money,” Mom said. “Money gives you the freedom to live how you want.” I knew she was thinking of her own life, and how she had to hustle to get by.
“Well, bartenders make plenty of money. And they don’t have to work eighty hours a week.”
“Will bartending really make you happy?” She sounded as if she didn’t think it would.
I started to answer, but she interrupted me. “Please, think about it before you say yes. Take Phil out of this. Just think about bartending.
Will it make you happy?
”
I tried to do what she said. I pictured myself boss of my own bar, talking with people all day, hanging out, making drinks, never sitting down. I
hated
sitting. Liked talking. Was good at being social. “Yes,” I said.
“Then do a good job at it.” Mom was crying again. And at that moment I decided I
would
do a good job. I’d be the best bartender ever.
She took a deep breath. “Where will you stay?”
“I got a place.”
“
Already?
Where?”
“Some apartment.”
“What’s the neighborhood like?”
“Just regular.” I thought it was best not to give too many details.
“What are you going to eat? You don’t cook.”
“Ding Dongs and Cheetos, Mom. C’mon, I can figure it out myself.” I tried to sound annoyed, but I sort of liked that she was worried about my food.
After that, she wanted to know more details: what exactly my apartment looked like, whether it was clean, who were my neighbors. I may have stretched the truth a little, because I wasn’t trying to give her a heart attack.
“What about Thanksgiving?” Mom got choked up again. “Are you coming home for Thanksgiving?”
I sighed. “No. I’ll get a package of Oscar Mayer or something. You know I like sliced turkey better, anyway.” Then we had to have a ten-minute conversation about what I should get for Thanksgiving that wouldn’t require cooking.
When I hung up, I set down my phone and looked out the window into the parking lot. Part of me had always felt like I was born one down, having no dad and a featherhead mom. But the truth was, Mom came through when it mattered. She had said she would leave Phil. I knew the sound in her voice, and she was dead serious.
That was big. No, huge.
It’s a good feeling to stop being pissed at your own mom.
I thought about the other people I should call: Missy, Kyle, Matt, Forrest. Missy would be jealous and ask when she could visit. Kyle and Forrest would think I was stupid for dropping out but cool for running off to Vegas. Matt would think I was stupid, period. I’d be one of those high school legends, who they all kind of laughed and shook their heads about. Or maybe they’d keep in touch. You never know. People can surprise you.
My first mail from Irina came two days later. She’d called from a pay phone when she got home and asked for my address, said she wanted to send something. But I’d expected a letter, not a package.
It was in a padded yellow envelope, addressed in loopy writing. I slit it open with my keys. There were three things inside: a letter, a GED study guide, and a little wooden picture of an angel with a shiny gold halo. The angel was a guy, which was different, with light brown skin and dark hair, not like the blond ladies in white dresses you see at Christmas. His eyes were almond-shaped and dark brown, and he looked very serious. I stared at him and then opened Irina’s letter.
Dear Gabe,
I miss you insanely. My mom said she’d get me a phone this week, so I should be able to call soon with my number. In the meantime, I don’t want to talk on my parents’ phone. I’m kind of paranoid. I’m sure you understand. Things have been so tense since I got back.
I told my parents I don’t want to go to conservatory, and they’re pretty upset right now. Like I’m not sure my dad is ever going to talk to me again. But I have to do this. I need four years on my own before I decide what I want to do with my life.
I don’t think I want to be a professional musician. It’s kind of scary to write that, because my whole life, everybody, including me, thought it was what I would end up doing. But I keep feeling like it’s the wrong path. Every time I imagine myself in conservatory, I feel blurry, fuzzy, and dull.
But when I think about going to college, everything gets clear, and I can actually imagine walking around campus, going to classes, and learning stuff. I see myself in a library inside a study carrel, for some reason.
Anyway, I’ve been researching colleges. I like Notre Dame, Dartmouth, and Penn, so far. I don’t know if I’d like living in South Bend or Hanover, but Philadelphia sounds amazing . . . so maybe it’s Penn if they’ll have me.
How are you? I want to hear more about bartending school. It sounds hilarious. I was thinking about what you said about not wanting any job to own you, and wanting your off time to be really off. I think you and I want the same thing; we’re just coming at it from different directions. We both want to dig deep into life, and not be on a mindless wheel, and actually enjoy our time here, and do something worthwhile, but not focus on money or being “big.” I hope what you said about us comes true. You know what I’m talking about.
The GED book is the one that my parents bought for me when we were trying to decide if I should homeschool or just take the GED. It’s really basic. I think you should just do it and get it over with.
The icon is of the Archangel Gabriel. I know you’re not religious or anything, but Anya’s mom gave me the icon when I got baptized, and it’s special to me. Those Russian words on the back say, “Irinushka, Archangel Gabriel brought the news of salvation to mankind.” Gabriel is your patron, and I just thought you should have at least one picture of him, even if you don’t believe in that stuff. I’m not out there, and it helps to think he’s watching over you. Also, I have kissed that icon (bottom-left corner) at least a thousand times (icons are like pictures of people we love), and so maybe in some way my kisses are soaked into it.
Anyway, I miss you, I want to wrap my arms around you and sleep in your arms . . . I want all kinds of things. I’ll call you later.
Love,
Irina
I stared at that word
love
for a long time before folding the letter and putting it back in the envelope. A light, insanely happy feeling boiled up in my chest. Irina wouldn’t write anything by accident, definitely not
love
. I checked my phone to make sure my ringer was on, even though I knew it was. Then I took the angel picture and set it on my window. I reached out and touched the bottom-left corner and thought of Irina. She said he brought the news of salvation to mankind. What did I need to be saved from? I thought about my life and almost laughed. There were plenty of things—but mostly from myself, I guessed.
LOOK FOR
OUT OF ACES
,
BOOK TWO IN THE BETTING BLIND SERIES,
IN 2015.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Stephanie Guerra is also the author of the young adult novel
Torn
and the middle-grade novel
Billy the Kid Is Not Crazy
. Stephanie teaches children’s literature in the College of Education at Seattle University. She serves as the Seattle host for the teen fiction blog Readergirlz. In 2013, she was awarded the Virginia Hamilton Essay Award for her writing on multicultural literary experiences for youth. Her research focuses on literacy instruction for incarcerated and at-risk teens. Stephanie lives in Seattle, Washington, with her husband and children. Learn more:
www.stephanieguerra.com
.
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