Free The Promise of Amazing by Robin Constantine

get a home-cooked meal now and then from Pop or Tiff, but it wasn’t like this. I was practically humming halfway through my plate. My guard down, I locked eyes with the blond dude sitting diagonally across from me.
    “So, Grayson, are you training for the season yet?” he asked, slicing up his turkey and putting a piece in his mouth.
    I blanked on his name. Porter? Cooper? Something with an -er at the end. Laird’s brother-in-law. What was he asking?
    “I’m sorry?” I said, leaning toward him.
    “Your mom told us what a great lacrosse player you are. When does the season pick up again?”
    The questions were like getting shot in the head. I froze.
    “I don’t play anymore.”
    His brows came together in momentary confusion as he turned to Mom, who straightened up in her chair.
    “Injury?” he asked.
    “No, the school I go to doesn’t have a team,” I said, shoving some more turkey in my mouth.
    “You’re at Saint Gabriel’s, no?”
    Mom reached for her glass of wine.
    “I’m at Bergen Point now,” I answered, making it sound like a school he should know.
    “I’m surprised you’re not here in Darien. Blue—”
    “Wave, I know,” I said, cutting him off. Darien High School’s nationally recognized lacrosse team. That was one of Mom’s selling points during her campaign for me to move in with them when I was a freshman. Screw Blue Wave. If it meant having to live with Mr. MFHW, I’d choose no lacrosse, every time.
    “Have you found any rec leagues?” Laird asked, from his seat at the head of the table.
    “No. I’m fine. Don’t miss it,” I answered, scraping the last of the mashed potatoes off my plate.
    “That sort of thing can open doors, Grayson,” he pressed on.
    Just. Shut. Up .
    “Laird, honey, we’re out of the Larkmead down here,” my mother said, lifting up the wine bottle. Laird wiped his mouth and excused himself. My mother launched into a report ontheir fall trip to Napa—it was a banner year for cabernets—ending the awkwardness.
    I stared at my plate, wishing I hadn’t inhaled the food so damn fast so I had something to do with my hands. What did I expect? That my mother and Laird would brag about me getting kicked out of school? Of course no one knew. I reached over for another dinner roll. Granny Easton grabbed my arm.
    “Greg, would you get me some more of that sweet-potato soufflé? If I get up, I’m not getting down again,” she said.
    “Sure.” I excused myself and wandered toward the kitchen, pausing in the hallway when I heard Laird’s voice. He was talking to his brother-in-law. About me.
    “Why no more Saint Gabriel’s? I thought Kate mentioned something about college scouts? A possible scholarship?”
    “How do I put this?” Laird said, his voice rough as though he were struggling. A soft pop of a wine cork followed. “They asked him to leave.”
    “Why?”
    I wanted to barge in, stop the conversation. I hated the idea of Laird talking about me, but at the same time I was curious to hear his take on it. Would he tell the truth? His voice was low. The glug, glug of wine being poured into a glass drowned out the whispers. A vein in my temple throbbed.
    “Wow,” the brother-in-law said.
    “Wow is right. He was damn good, Coop. Could have hada free ride. Smart too. We don’t know what he’s going to do now though.”
    “Gwayson!” Grier yelled, jumping in front of me with arms open.
    “Hey, Grier,” I said, startling slightly. My reaction didn’t please her; she pouted and stomped away.
    There was a controlled silence in the kitchen. I coughed deliberately and walked in, keeping focused on the task at hand. Laird brought out the wine to the dining room. Coop pressed his lips together and lifted his wineglass to me, then exited. I piled way too much sweet-potato soufflé onto the plate and brought it back into the dining room to find that Granny Easton had left the table. She sat in an easy chair by the fireplace, Grier twirling in front of