Shifting Gears

3. Dinnertime Talks

"How was practice today, Clay?"

Both Clay and I glanced up quickly at Dad's question. For my dad to ask how riding was going was surprising. I was impressed he even remembered that racing season kicked off today.

My brother looked at me, eyebrows raised over his chicken salad, and I jerked my head insistently towards our dad.

"Uh, great! The bike's running smoothly—I finished the practice with the best time of the day," Clay said. A boyish smile was on his face, and my own smile grew at that.

"Good, good," Dad replied absentmindedly. "Is there a race soon?"

"Next week."

"Hm. I trust Cory is still focusing on her school and tutoring? Coming to your races won't bother that?"

Clay's face fell. I chewed my inner cheek. Of course that was what this was all about.

My brother took a deep breath, looking at me to answer. I shot him an apologetic look.

"Yeah, Dad, I'm fine. I actually just found a kid to tutor, I contacted them and got accepted. I'll start soon."

"Really?" my dad asked, eyes brightening. "What will you be training them in?"

I ignored my brother pushing around his food with his fork, and my mom staying quiet throughout it all. "Apparently their kid—a little girl around five—had some trouble with math the past year. She has memory problems, too, so I'm really excited to work with her."

"That's a good foot in the door," he said, dipping his head appreciatively. "How often?"

"Once a week, probably. On Mondays."

"Do you need a ride?"

"I can drive, thanks," I answered, offering him a small smile, one he returned. I caught my brother's clenched jaw, and my dad turned to follow my gaze. At the kick on his leg from me, my brother relaxed his composure.

Our family lapsed into a tense silence. It was like this most evenings—I honestly didn't understand why our parents forced us to sit down for a meal each night together. It usually ended up in arguments or awkward silence.

"How's Reid doing?" Mom asked, her voice timid.

"Good," my brother answered shortly. So much for a conversation starter, Mom.

I swear my brother and I shoveled our food in every night just to get the meal over with.

"I think you two should clean the dishes for your mother—she spent a lot of time on that meal."

"Cory helped me quite a bit, Carl," my mom said calmly. "Maybe she should take a break."

"Ah, yes. You can go get more work done on those scholarship applications. Clay, you're on dish duty today."

"I got a lot done this afternoon," I said hurriedly. "I can help with the dishes."

Clay sent me a look of gratitude as Dad got up and went to his study to finish some paperwork—he always had paperwork. My mom offered to help us, but we shooed her away. I knew she was anxious to curl up with the new book she got last week.

"Thanks, Cory," Clay told me genuinely as he grabbed a few plates and started towards the kitchen.

He started washing while I dried, the only sound between us being the clanking of utensils and dishes. But it wasn't a hard, suffocating silence like at the table. It was a comfortable one.

"You ready for the race next week?"

Clay nodded in response. "Definitely. I've been training a lot for this competition. I know I can win." His eyes were gleaming, no doubt imagining the crowd cheering as he passed the finish line first.