Patrick's grown suspicious over the last couple of days and confronts one of his friends. Luckily for us, Kyle hardly ever does what she's told.
After I came home from school I almost had a heart attack. On the couch table, next to a stack of music mags and a few books lay my pregnancy test. I must have forgotten to throw it away because I was so relieved to find out that I still had my young life ahead of me, without an ankle weight in the form of a slobbering baby.
"Hey, sweetie," Dad passed me by on the way to the kitchen.
"Hey... Dad," I was still staring at the give-away slip of paper. "Is Mom home?" My life was officially over. She had backed off a great deal lately but now she had found out that I had been worried about being knocked up. I think I will leave my clothes and other personal junk to Dana. She was a good friend.
"No, honey," his eyes followed my gaze. "Oh."
I swallowed. Well, at least I could think of a good excuse until she got home.
"I hope you don't mind that I used your book mark," he pointed at the pregnancy test.
"My... Oh, right! Yes. No. That's fine, Dad."
He grinned and wanted to continue heading for the kitchen.
Oh, no. Not good.
"Wait," I held him back. "In fact that's not mine. It's... Wiggie's! And she's really possessive of her stuff. So I guess I better give it back to her when she comes home later."
I grabbed the thing off the table. This would end up in a trash can at school. With all the others from the female students. No evidence, no crime. And I could keep my awesome clothes.
"Kylene... Pete will be here in a bit. I would appreciate it greatly if you could give us some privacy, ok?"
I shrugged, "Sure."
"Just so that we're clear on this, I want you to stay upstairs until he's gone again, alright?" Dad seemed strangely serious.
I frowned but nodded. As if I cared about old men's business anway. I made my way upstairs into my room. I had a paper to copy off the internet.
After about half an hour I had to take a break. This was a joke. I had found five different websites that offered discussions of my topic ("The dangers of chewing gum in the years 2015 to 2017") but unfortunately they contradicted each other. I don't even know why I started to read that stuff and not just copy it. Then I wouldn't be in this kind of dilemma. That's what you get when you try to act 'responsible'. School sucks.
I opened my door to get a snack when I heard loud voices. I tiptoed downstairs and hid behind the door frame when I found their sources and watched.
The next thing I knew was that Dad started beating the crap out of Pete. First he gave him a push so that Pete crashed against our dinner table and landed on the floor. Then my father got on top of him and threw one punch after the other at his face. He was screaming incoherent stuff at his friend, and to me it sounded like, "How could you ever?... Touch her again and I'll kill you... I can't believe what a slime bag you are... And what would Heather say?"
"Man!" Pete tried his best to protect his face from my Dad's aggressive fists, holding his arms crossed in front of himself, "Calm the fuck down! What is the fucking matter with you?!"
"Don't play the innocent on me, dude! I know what's been going on with you and Sheena. Don't you dare denying it!"
From my position in the adjoining room I gasped. They heard me and with a fierce look in his eyes, I've never seen him like this before, Dad told me to go upstairs. I nodded.
No, don't worry, I didn't really go into my room. I sat down on top of the stairs and listened to the rest of their conversation. A) This concerned me. I mean, obviously Mom and Pete had something going on. Or at least Dad thought so. If it was true she surely knew how to hide her feelings for that 'girly self-proclaimed god' as she used to refer to him. B) This was cheap entertainment and certainly more educational than my stupid homework. Which leads me to: C) Maybe I could use this for my social studies class. Or biology, if we ever had to write something on male hierarchy fights among wild animals. That is, if by then I would have given up having an actual life and had the time to write about junk like that.
I heard more blows striking and Pete moaning, telling my father to knock it off. To knock it the fuck off, if you care for the precise wording.
"I won't stop until you confess and tell me everything that happened between the two of you!" Dad yelled furiously.
"Alright, you asked for it!" Pete shot back and two seconds later there was a thud and Dad whining, "Ooouuuchhhh, dude."
My guess was that Pete had managed to get my parent off himself. And probably he had given him a punch, too. I couldn't imagine the man taking that kind of violence from anyone without at least hitting back once.
"Now listen to me, Patrick," Pete said, his voice calming down. "I would never EVER think of touching Sheena, ok? You're my friend, man. Wasn't it bad enough when we were fighting over Andy's sister Joyce?"
"I didn't actually fight over her so much as you almost knocked me unconscious that day we played at that college," Dad pointed out.
"Like whate- Wait... Is this payback for what happened back then? Because if so, you must be out of your mind, dude!"
"NO! It's not!" my father replied, screaming. "I know Sheena's seeing someone else. She's been acting strange lately... Happy. And I know that I'm not the reason."
"Patrick... shouldn't that make you think?"
Then there was silence for about one minute. Wowza, this was serious, people. Did my mother actually have an affair? I knew she could be cold-hearted with me, and sometimes with her husband too, but this was a whole new side of her. I mean, first of all, kudos to her. At her age and all. Not bad. Then again, YUCK! At her age and all. And poor Dad. Poor, poor Dad.
"Yeah, I know I haven't been the best hushand as of late... It's just. Pete. I've been seeing this woman. Kylene's teacher."
"What? Patrick, are you insane?"
"I haven't done anything wrong though. I mean she obviously has a thing for me but I- ... Pete, can we talk about this on our way to the hospital? I think I broke my hand when I punched you in the face..."
I heard them coming closer and then saw how they shuffled over to the door, Pete's hand on my Dad's shoulder.
"I'm sorry I thought it was you, man," my father said sheepishly. "You're just such a chickmagent."
"S' alright, dude. You're upset, I understand."
"And I wanted to pick her up after work today but she wasn't there and instead some colleague of hers gave me a bouquet of flowers and mumbled something about her forgetting it here. And it said 'A Fall Out Boy says sorry'. I figured it was you, Pete."
"Where is she now?"
Before the door closed behind them I saw Dad shaking his head saying, "I have no idea. She won't answer her cell phone."
I didn't know what to make of this. But surely, the stupid paper could wait.