Jake didn't go home right away after school. He took the long road, the one that wound behind the park and stretched past the lake, adding twenty minutes to his walk but buying him a little bit of peace.
The sun was low, spilling light across the water. Kids laughed nearby, tossing pebbles into the lake. Parents gathered at picnic tables, chattering about life without fear of someone breaking the moment.
He watched them for a few seconds, feeling something tight twist inside his chest.
That kind of life wasn't offered to everyone.
Eventually, he forced himself onward, kicking a stone down the pavement until it disappeared into a drain. When he reached his house—the house people at school called a "mansion"—he slowed, staring up at its tall windows that reflected the sky like mirrors.
Beautiful.
But beauty could lie.
His mother's luxury car was in the driveway. She was home early. That was supposed to be a good thing. He wasn't sure it was.
He stepped through the front door to silence so heavy it almost rang in his ears.
No welcome home.
No how was your day.
Just cold air and overly polished floors.
He dropped his backpack by the stairs—too loudly. A voice snapped from the living room:
"Jameson?"
He closed his eyes. His full name always sounded like an accusation from her lips.
"Yes, Mom," he called back.
She appeared in the doorway, wearing a perfectly pressed blazer, her hair smooth and not a single strand out of place. Her eyes scanned him carefully, like she was checking for flaws—something to fix.
"You missed your tutoring session."
"I stayed after school," he said, shrugging. "Extra work."
Her eyebrows lifted in disbelief. "Since when do you care about school?"
He didn't respond.
She sighed and waved a dismissive hand. "Your father called. He wants you ready by Friday night. Some business dinner. Try not to look like trouble."
Jake bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. That word again.
Trouble.
As if that was all he'd ever be capable of.
"I have a friend now," he muttered before he could stop himself.
His mother's eyes sharpened. "A friend?"
He nodded once, pulse quickening.
"Who?" she demanded. "Please don't tell me it's that girl I've heard rumors about. The one who carries around a Bible like it's a trophy."
Jake's jaw tensed. "Her name is Hannah."
His mother scoffed, the sound slicing through the air like a blade. "Don't get attached. You know how these things end. People leave. They always leave."
"She's not like that," he snapped—quicker and louder than intended.
A dangerous silence settled between them.
His mother stepped closer, lowering her voice to a whisper coated in ice.
"You will not embarrass this family with some emotional... phase."
Jake looked away, fists clenching at his sides. "Right. Because emotions are illegal here."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Go to your room."
He didn't argue. Arguing never changed anything here.