The Cocky Hockey Captain

Chapter 3 ● Small Town Hospitality

The next morning I sat across from my dad at the only diner in town. I sipped from some decent chocolate milkshake that just about made me feel better. The absurdity of the whole situation just added that extra touch that had me waking up in the middle of the night, laughing myself to tears, and now had me struggling not to spew out my drink. Meanwhile I was sure dad had burned his tongue, because no one could drink steaming coffee so fast.

But then again, he was raging.

"There has to be another way," he said with a thicker accent than usual. He had his iPad out and was scrolling down pages and pages of information about the Canadian education system. We knew the options by now. Join a school or take the GED. Not doing either was not an option as I remained under his roof, according to him. I had suggested that I could move to a different roof, namely, back to Trinity in Orlando, but that was quickly shut down by the powers that invest an adult with authority over a minor. That is, money.

I shrugged. Last night was a shocker for both of us. I was expecting some run off the mill school, but what shocked me the most was that my dad, powerful CEO of an oil consulting and financing company that he was, and man who had to stay on top of every single aspect of his and our lives, simply didn't think to check the school out for the basics. We'd found that the next school where girls could actually enroll was some 85 miles away, which, when looking at a back and forth commute, meant a complete waste of time.

I spotted a girl dressed as a waitress walk around the diner's counter with a mug of coffee. Her face perked as she noticed that dad's cup probably could use topping. She glided over in a smooth motion and asked, "Would you like a refill?"

Dad looked up from his screen with narrowed eyes. "Yes, please," he said. I could see the cogs turning in his mind. "Young lady, do you happen to be a high school student?"

Her friendly facade faltered as she said, "Yes?"

My dad jumped the gun. "Do you mind telling me where you go to school?"

The poor girl's jaw slackened. So did mine.

"Oh my God, dad! Way to be a creep."

Color rose up his throat and he cleared it. "I mean, I'm wondering if there are other options for my, uh, kid here, aside from St. Andrews."

The girl relaxed and a polite little smile came to her face. She lifted her glasses up her nose and cast me what should have been a brief glance. But then she lingered. And lingered some more.

My eyebrows went up.

She also cleared her throat and looked back at my dad. "Well, St. Andrews is the only high school in town."

Dad deflated again. I put my chin on my hand and asked the girl, "Why's that?"

One of her shoulders lifted. "Male to female ratio in town heavily favors the former. Don't get me wrong, the residents have been trying to at least turn St. Andrews co-ed, but the mayor is worried that putting a minority of girls together with a majority of boys will breed trouble."

My progenitor mumbled something in Spanish that only I could understand and made me want to smack my forehead. I agreed, this was bizarre and didn't bode well for Canada. Unfortunately, my dad was not known for being a reasonable man and his plans were set in stone no matter what. We were to stay in Silver Grove for as long as it took him to turn the Canadian branch of his company around. At that point I was beginning to get resigned to my fate.

"Sorry but I have a question, if I may," she said and I nodded at her to go on. "Why would you want to go to another school?"

She looked between my dad and I. Twice. He and I exchanged a glance. I opened my mouth and closed it with a yelp when I felt a hearty kick to my chin.

He folded his arms and attempted a chill look. "We just wanted to know our options. Not entirely sure St. Andrews is the right place for us."

That was my dad's version of surrender, now that another local had laid the facts bare to him. I was going to have to somehow attend St. Andrews so that he could fulfill his plan of working 24/7 while keeping me under his own surveillance 25/8.

Sweet. Time to troll my father.

I leaned back as I swirled the shake with my straw. I figured at that moment that I was lucky to already have a rasp to my voice that at least made me sound like a slightly feminine guy, but I still tried to deepen it as I directed a smirk at the girl and said, "It's just that I'd prefer a place with a lot of girls around me, if you catch my drift."

My exaggerated wink had the effect of lighting her face up in bright red. She clutched the coffee mug closer to her chest and excused herself, since she could suddenly hear her name being called out. I looked around at the people eating their breakfast around the diner. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to us, or calling out for the waitress, and the counter seemed void of any other employees.

In other words, she'd fled in embarrassment. And I caused it. By fake flirting with her.

I threw my head back and laughed. "Phew, this whole being a boy thing sure is easy."

My dad groaned and put his face in the palms of his hands.

"Carlota, por favor."

"What?" I asked. "It's obvious what we have to do. You can't complain if I play my part too well."

He cast me a look of warning. "Don't play it so well that you end up swinging for the other team."

I froze as a chill ran up my back. He kept talking, developing a plan of attack aloud, but I was still hung up on those words. He and I had never got along very well, or even talked much, but I'd never thought about the fact that he was one of those old school people who thought it was so terrible for a girl to like a girl.

I looked at him with attention, at the salt and pepper hair that curled on the ends, the scruffy beard that pretended to be down to earth but was manicured to perfection and his fake lumberjack brand clothes. He fit the profile. Mi papá was all about appearances. Success. High class. Money. Everything he did from the way he dressed, to how he held a coffee mug, to how he expressed himself, was supposed to convey that he was better than his origins. A poor boy from the barrios of Caracas who rose up in the ranks of the national oil company by sheer grit. He wanted everybody to know that he was better than those who lived on the fringe of society where he came from and he instilled this in my brother and I from a young age.

He'd get an aneurysm if Miguel and I were anything but perfect. In any sense. And now I guessed that included sexuality in his books, too.

The taste of the chocolate milkshake was gone from my mouth after that. We left the diner and I felt like a third party had joined us — a massive dark cloud that hung over me. Dios, how was I going to survive living under the literal same roof as him?

And I asked Him, again, why he'd taken mi mami instead.

homophobia is NOT OKAY. yes, older generations struggle under the weight of an entire life of hearing and saying the wrong things, and it's up to us to not perpetuate those mindsets. we can and should do better 😊

that said, i hope you're enjoying the story so far and that you're looking forward to the next events! big things are happening in this one.

hit me up with your thoughts and feels. i always enjoy reading your comments so much, and please don't forget to vote and spread the word!