The Cascading Waves of Caden Lee

38

CADEN LEE

When I get home from work today I see my mom on the couch. Seemingly waiting for me based off the look she sends my way, weary but firm.

"Come sit down Caden," she crosses her arms over her stomach, almost hugging herself, "I need to speak with you."

It's only natural that my heart skips a beat, my throat closing in on itself, stomach heavy. Mind racing. Does she know? This doesn't seem positive. I immediately begin to think up countless excuses, the phrase 'she knows.' repeating like a mantra in my mind.

"What's up? Did I do anything?" I can't seem to catch my breath. Each and every exhale I take suffocates me even more. I'm drowning yet theres not a drop of water in my lungs. All that's left for me to do is choke on my own fear.

"Nothing too bad, here," she opens up her laptop, it barely works and is as slow as it can get, but it still powers on. And that's all that really matters. "I've just noticed something about your grades."

Relief pumps into my veins. It feels as if ice-cold water has drenched the fire brewing in my muscles—pure adrenaline at the thought of getting caught being replaced with a carelessness.

So what if my grades are bad? It doesn't matter anyways. I don't say that though. But rather I just nod and press my lips together tightly to hold back any remarks.

The screen finally loads, and my grades appear in tiny, organized squares. They're anything but perfect.

"You're failing three classes, Cade, why didn't you tell me about this?"

I decide to be honest. Somewhat. "I didn't know. I guess I just didn't think to check, I thought I was doing fine."

"These are core classes. They're important. Will you be able to get these up? Do you need a tutor?" I don't like the look on her face. Disappointed. I mean, my grades have never been this bad before, but she's being dramatic about it. I don't know.

"No, mom," the thought of having a tutor makes me want to die, "I don't need a tutor. I can just study harder, or something."

"And you will? Study, I mean."

"I will, just," how can I escape this conversation without seeming too eager? "I have homework I need to do."

She waves me off, smiling tightly, eyes frustrated. "Of course."

_._._._._._._._

My arms itch. Everywhere. I wouldn't be shocked if my nails tear through my irritated skin. But I cant stop, don't know how, there no other way to quell the urge than to just give in.

"Are you listening to me?" My dad is leaning on the countertop, trying to make eye contact with me over the countertop. But he can't—my heads hanging down, eyes low.

"Yeah," I say the last thing I heard him say before tuning him out, "you're going to work."

"Keep the doors locked, okay? Your mom will be home by five."

I don't like the way he tries to act like a parent. As if he's been here all of my life rather than only re-entering it a few months ago. But I don't say that.

"Sure."

He doesn't say more, only nods and grabs his keys from the counter. The minute the front door slams shut I'm immediately hopping off of the stool and escaping upstairs to my bedroom. If I stay down here any longer with my state, who knows what will happen. Not only is Jesse home, but my mom will be too. Soon.