Bishop: A True Lover's Story

“Hey. Don’t say that about—”

“Mike,” Bishop growled, not interested in a damn inspirational talk.

“Fine.” Mike scanned the page. “Well you did pretty good on the math, but you still have some pre-reqs to take before you—”

“What are pre-reqs?” Bishop frowned.

“It’s short for prerequisites. Remember I said you may have to do some prep class before you get to the actual GED prep classes.” Mike pointed out to him. “And they’ve listed the catalog numbers of the courses and the availability. Like I said, they have online classes, and…” Mike squinted at the paper. “But the only one you can take is part online, part classroom. It meets on Tuesdays.”

“What do you mean?” Bishop asked, his leg bouncing uncontrollably under the table.

“It looks like you can’t enroll in the math, social studies, or science until you take the adult reading and language arts rehabilitation study courses.” Mike cocked his head to the side.

“Oh, I remember those.” Bishop laughed sadly. “That’s another way to say remedial classes. For the really illiterate. How much do you wanna bet it’ll just be me and maybe two other people in there.”

Mike tried to hide his grimace, but Bishop saw it… saw the pity too. “Okay then. We’ll just get signed up for this one. Start slow and steady as we go.”

“‘We’,” Bishop scoffed.

“Yes, ‘We’,” Mike bit out. “Each course is for four weeks, B, and it’s just level one. I’m with you all way through this, lil homie. I told you I got you, man. It’s me and you.”

Bishop scrubbed his hand over the short hairs on his head. This was fucked up. He was so fortunate to have Mike at his side, and he knew he had Trent as well, but he couldn’t deny that going back to school was scary as fuck, and he’d been a gang member for most of his life. “All right, man.” Bishop sighed. “Sign me up.”

“You got it.” Mike beamed and started pecking the keys one at a time.

Bishop checked his watch. It was already a little after six and he’d been hoping to get in a couple of hours on Edison’s yard before dinner.

“Almost done. Just have to pay.” Mike clicked on the pad a couple of times then blinked rapidly at the screen. “Shit. It’s seventy-five bucks.”

“Shit,” Bishop mimicked, pulling out his wallet and handing Mike his debit card.

“No worries. You make enough money to pay it, Bishop. And even still. This big job you got at Edison’s should cover this course and the rest of them as well.” Mike wasn’t looking at him, which was why he couldn’t see Bishop’s guilty expression. “By the way, I meant to ask if Trent helped you with the contract. I hadn’t heard anything else.”

“No, um. Trent didn’t.”

His dad clapped once. “Okay. All set. Your classes start at the end of the month, man. I’ll read all the small print later about the virtual classroom and we’ll do some practicing on the computer next week. Some tutorials.”

“What?” Bishop barked. He knew he was being an irritable dick, but he hated when people used words he didn’t know.

“Some step-by-step instructions on computer basics.” Mike closed the laptop and handed Bishop his card. “Now, who’d you say did the contract?”

Bishop avoided his father’s eyes and went in the kitchen to refill his thermos with cold water. “I didn’t say anyone.” Bishop swallowed, ready for the storm to surge. “I don’t have a contract with Edison. I won’t take his money.”

“Bishop.” His dad slowly advanced on him, but Bishop didn’t back down. Mike narrowed his mocha-brown eyes the closer he got and his voice had gone eerily deeper than it’d been a moment ago. “Tell me you’re not doing that fucking design you showed me… for free. Tell me you’re not doing that, Bishop.”

Bishop held his ground and stared back at his dad. “I can’t because that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m doing Eddie’s yard for free.”

“Oh, he’s Eddie, now?” his dad mocked.

“He’s Eddie to me,” Bishop bit back.

“And how exactly did a man of his means—I’ve seen the damn suits he wears—convince you to do hundreds of hours’ worth of free labor, huh? Is his ass that goddamn good?” Mike snapped.

Bishop lurched forward and gripped the collar of Mike’s nice dress shirt. His dad clutched his wrist, his eyes blowing wide as Bishop pulled him close. “Watch it. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Get your damn hands off me, Bishop,” his dad fired back. “You’re wrinkling my fucking shirt.”

His dad shoved him in his chest when Bishop released him. “Annoying little twerp,” he grumbled, righting his clothes. It wasn’t the first time they’d butted heads, but it never got out of control. He didn’t want to hurt Mike and his dad would never hurt him. They were so evenly matched, it would have been stupid for them to really come to blows. He leaned on the counter, slowing his breathing while Mike fixed his collar in the mirror in the living room. “I hope this guy is worth it, Bishop. That’s all I’m saying. I don’t like the idea of anyone taking advantage of you.”