Top Dog

“Don’t talk to her like that. Nothing’s going on, I swear,” Grant said.

“What’s he talking about?” I asked. “What’s going on?”

“Laura, get her out of here,” my father said.

“Come on, honey. Let’s get Jane home,” my mother said.

“No. Wait a second. What’s going on? Why is Dad upset with Grant?” I asked.

“Did you touch her?” my father asked.

“No, Mr. Peterson. I swear. I would never touch her,” Grant said.

“You’d better be telling me the truth.”

“Daddy! Stop! What are you talking about?”

“Theresa, we should really leave,” Jane said.

My mother was tugging me, and Jane was pushing me out the door. I wanted to get to Grant, to defend him against my father. Why was he so angry and asking him if he’d touched me? I felt panic rising in my chest as my mother, and my best friend pushed me toward the car.

“Stop yelling at him!” I exclaimed. “Mom, what’s going on?”

“We need to get Jane home,” she said.

I wrenched away from them and stuck my finger in my mother’s face.

“Tell me right now why Daddy’s yelling at Grant,” I said.

My mother sighed as the front door opened. I whipped around and heard my father’s boisterous voice as Grant stormed out of the house. My father was pointing and yelling, his face red with anger. Grant’s eyes raised to mine, filled with confusion and questions. I reached out toward him, but he stumbled away from me, trying to get far away quickly.

Tears welled in my eyes as I watched him walk off, and I heard something land in the yard. My father, with anger in his eyes and a hissing sound in his voice, was tossing Grant’s things onto the front lawn.

“Daddy! What are you doing?” I asked.

“Come on, sweetheart. Jane needs to get home,” my mother said.

“Not until someone answers me!”

“Theresa, we don’t owe you any explanation. We’re your parents. Now get in the car,” my mother said.

“No.”

“Get in,” she said, her voice taking on a frustrated tone.

“Come on, Theresa. Get in,” Jane practically begged, obviously wanting to get far away from whatever the hell was happening.

“You will do as your mother asks,” my father commanded.

I whipped around and saw him standing behind me. I looked beyond him and saw Grant picking up his things from the lawn. He was shoving them into a trash bag before he slung it over his shoulder. His eyes rose to mine, and I could see the fear and uncertainty on his face. He stood tall and rolled his shoulders back, his eyes locking with mine one last time.

Then he turned on his heels and walked down the road carrying his only possessions with him.

“I hate you,” I said, seething.

“I don’t know what that boy did to you, but you will not speak to your mother, and I like this,” my father said.

“He didn’t do anything to me!” I exclaimed.