Blinded By Venus

Chapter #3

Thomas

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I live in an old townhouse three blocks away from Southview. It's been my home as long as I can remember. As soon as I get home, I go to the kitchen to eat an apple and start my homework. I reluctantly pull up my outline for my essay on The Scarlet Letter. English has never been my cup of tea, per say. We already know how to read and write, so why do we need an English class? School books are so boring and old, there is absolutely nothing meaningful in them to the 21st century. To make matters worse, my English teacher, Mr. Manson, pulled me aside after class today.

"Thomas, can I talk to you? You're not in trouble." I looked up at Mr. Manson's young, bearded face. He probably regrets his decision to become an English teacher. "I think you're a brilliant student, I really do, but I don't think you're enjoying the books I assigned the class, no?" I shrugged in response. "It's okay if you don't." I looked at my shoes.

"I just think the books are boring and outdated, no offense," I said quietly to the floor. Words are hard for me. I used to talk a lot in elementary school, but now I can't put words into coherent sentences. They are tricky and get stuck in my throat. Mr. Manson smiled.

"None taken. As an English teacher, I make it my mission that every single student graduates Southview having read at least one book they love. I think many adolescents nowadays such as yourself have trouble finding a connection to literature." Mr. Manson leans toward me slightly and whisper-shouts behind his hand, "partially because the curriculum offers such outdated material. But don't tell anyone I said that ." I forced a meager smile in response. Mr. Manson chuckles. "I have a list of books I think you might enjoy. This is entirely optional, you don't have to read any of them. But one day, Thomas, you will find a book, and feel the magic of literature."I took the list Mr. Manson was holding and said thank you. 

Back to my homework. I painstakingly finish my outline and start my calculus. An hour later, mom comes home.

"Hello, Thomas. How was school today?"

"Good. In Calculus we started learning derivatives."

"Very good, Thomas. Your father and I are very proud of you." I lick my lips, a bad habit of mine.

"Hey, mom, I have a question-"

"Thomas, don't lick your lips, They'll get chapped." I clench my fists, annoyed at her nitpicking.

"Sorry, mom. Uh, I was wondering if, by any chance, Z can sleepover this weekend?" I'm always a bit wary about Z with mom. I don't think she likes her eyeliner and purple hair, it's a little edgy for her tastes.

Instead of speaking, she looks down at the table strewn with my homework and picks up the list of books Mr. Manson gave me. Damn it, I should have put it away before she could see.

"What's this?" 

"Um, I don't know, maybe it's dad's?" I cringe. I have always been bad at lying, and mom has always been good at detecting them. But she didn't arch a brow at me, didn't even take her eyes off the page.

"Did you know I used to love books when I was your age?"

"N-no." Mom rarely talks about her childhood, so I was surprised and interested in what she had to say.

She was silent for a moment. "My parents were very strict, so books were my way of exploring the world. I think I still have this book." She pointed to The Giver by Lois Lowry. "It's a children's book, but incredibly well done."

"Huh." She puts the list down and looks at me. 

"What did you say?"

"Oh, uh, is there any way Z can sleepover this weekend?"

"No Z this weekend. I want you to visit your sister."

Shit. "No, mom! You know I can't!" The reason I haven't seen Lily in four months is that I'm scared. Scared of seeing her once rosy face, pale and forlorn. Scared of seeing her too-thin body that looks more like a bag of bones. Lily is a shell of her old self and it's terrifying.

"Come on Thomas, she misses you, and I know you miss her. You can't avoid the hospital forever!" 

"Mom you don't understand, I-I can't! It's too much." Mom sighs.

"We'll talk about it when your father gets home."

I put my homework in my backpack and check my email.

Dear Southview Juniors,

We are delighted to announce our very first trip to New York! We can't wait to explore the Big Apple with you! The trip will take place on March 20th-30th. To learn more about cost and trip insurance, email Norahbrecker.southview.edu.

A trip to New York actually does sound fun, but I don't think I can go if Z isn't. If I did, Adam and Kevin would tease me the whole time. Speak of the devil, another email pops up in my inbox. Oh shit. Oh fuck. Do you ever feel like God (or whatever is out there), is laughing in the sky as he moves your life around, making it as horrific as possible? Well that's how I feel upon reading this email from my Math teacher, Ms. Hoven. 

Dear Thomas

I have a student, Adam Cohen, who is struggling a little bit with math this year. You are one of my top students, so I told him you would probably be happy to tutor him sometime! Do Wednesdays and Fridays after school work for you?

Sincerely, Ms. Hoven.

Nonononononono. I cannot tutor Adam. But I also can't say no to Ms. Hoven or she'll think I'm a bad student. And maybe if I tutor Adam and rekindle our friendship, I can get an answer to why he outed me. I inhale and hit reply to the email.

Dear Ms. Hoven,

Of course, I would be happy to help. Wednesdays and Fridays work for me too!

Send.

This is why Z says I'm a pushover. This is why I don't like words. I don't know how to say no.