mr. badboy

Part 15

hair and his penchant for wearing a cape to school sometimes, he could pass the part.

"Hey, loser," I tell him, reaching over to muss up the top of his head. He wrenches away from me with a look of disgust. "You know, you think you could sound happier about being picked up from school in the world's coolest car."

He glares at me, so sullen. "It's not the world's coolest car. It's the world's oldest car."

I bristle. "Well it's better than your friends and their lame minivans."

Good one, Crawford.

"No," he counters with a haughty scowl. "Jill Carroll's mom drives a Porsche Cayenne. That's a Porsche. That's expensive and way better than this piece of shit."

"Hey," I snap at him. "No car is better than Mr. Mean. I bet Jill Carroll's daddy bought the car as a present, saying he's sorry for shagging the maid." I pause, Kevin's eyes widening as he takes this new information in. "Also, don't say shit. It's bad and I don't want another lecture from your mother about how your language is going downhill over the last year."

He flops dramatically against the seat, his head lolling on the headrest. "Whatever. She doesn't care enough about me to even notice."

Ah, fuck. The little bastard has a way of cutting deep.

"She cares, Kevin. A lot."

"Then why isn't she here?" he mumbles.

"You know she's working."

"She's always working."

"Well, maybe she's trying to buy a Porsche Cayenne of her own so you don't have to ride in this ancient piece of shit with me." I grin at him, hoping he'll return the favor.

"Maybe," is all he says, staying just as sullen as before. I start the car and we drive off, and I don't even have to look to know that Mr. Mean's engine is turning the heads of all the MILFs in the parking lot. Take that, Jill Carroll's mum.

"How is Fluffy?" he suddenly asks me.

My grip tightens briefly on the wheel and I exhale. "Fluffy is fine."

"Not giving you any trouble?"

"No," I say, then mutter under my breath, "thank god."

"Have you given him lots of cuddles?"

I laugh and give him a pointed look. "Kevin. You know I'm not the cuddling type. No exceptions for family or pets. Or girls for that matter."

"I used to cuddle him all the time. Till mom got mad." He looks at me, his features softening so much that I'm suddenly aware of how much he's aged over the last year. It's like he's been hit with the frying pan of adulthood way before his time. "Thank you so much for taking care of him. I swear, Mom will let him back at home at some point."

"No problem, kid," I tell him. "Though I'm pretty sure she wanted him out because you cuddled him too much. Ever hear about Lennie in Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men?"

Kevin's look tells me no.

"It doesn't matter. You'll read it in high school."

"Aren't we going home?" he asks me when I take a left and start heading toward downtown Victoria.

"Your dad wants me to bring you to the store," I tell him.

"Paul," Kevin says, that ever-present edge to his voice whenever he says his name. "I don't call him dad."

Even though he's been your dad since you were four years old, I think, but I don't voice this to him. After all, Paul is my actual dad and my relationship with him is just as complicated. Who am I to talk?

Downtown Victoria isn't too far, especially as all the traffic on the Pat Bay Highway is heading away from the city, and pretty soon we're pulling up to Crawford's Books on Government Street.

Right. So my father owns a bookstore. It's been in the Crawford family for generations, basically since the city of Victoria was founded in the late 1800s. It's something of a local treasure, a spot that historians fawn over and tourists fall in love with. But at the end of the day, it's still a business trying to make money, and for the last five years the store has been taking a hit. Some, like my father, blame self-publishing and the rise of ebooks. Others, my mother included, blame the fact that my father never had a logical or business-minded bone in his body. Even the best intentions from the most passionate people can fail if they don't have a sound mind at the helm.

That's where I'm supposed to come in. I'm the supposed sound mind. My father, for a bunch of reasons he hasn't yet voiced to me,