Private (Private 1)

bowtie and a tweed wool jacket with a recently plucked wildflower

“You do?” He seemed hopeful.

sticking out of the buttonhole in the lapel. His white mustache

“Yeah. I normally take it out on a pillow, but . . .”

twitched when he spoke. “Everything all right here, Mr. Pearson?”

Thomas looked at me. “What do you have to be angry about?”

“Fine. Fine, Mr. Cross,” Thomas replied.

His expression had softened.

“Shouldn’t you be in lunch now, Mr. Pearson?” he asked.

I tensed up all over. I had never told a soul about my mother. Not

“My friend here was feeling a little nauseous so I brought her

one person. Not one word. But the way he was looking at me, so outside to get some air,” Thomas said. So composed you never

sweet and concerned, almost made me want to.

would have known he’d thrown a hissy two seconds earlier. “This is

“You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine,” I said, stalling.

Reed Brennan, Mr. Cross. She’s a sophomore.”

Thomas smiled slightly. Sadly. “Okay. If you really want to

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Brennan,” the man said, tipping

know.” He looked across at the cafeteria wall. “Where to begin . . . ?

his head toward me. “Don’t stay out here too long.”

Dad’s a tremendous drunk and Mom is an insanely tremendous

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115

drunk. He gets loud and obnoxious, she gets quiet and snippy, and

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Thomas said automatically.

together they fuck up everything,” he said, warming quickly to his

“No. It is,” I said, trying to make it sound like it was no big deal.

subject, like he was relishing getting it off his chest. “We’re talking