Free The Promise of Amazing by Robin Constantine Page A

her.
    “Mom, I’m gonna head out,” I said, placing the plate on the edge of the table.
    “Aw, don’t go,” she said, standing up with her plate in hand. “I baked a pumpkin pie just for you.”
    Laird butted in. “Grayson, stay. We’ve hardly seen you.”
    I met his stare and bit back the words As if you care .
    “I have this killer party to go to, lots of people home from school,” I said, giving a general wave to everyone, then leaving the room before anything else was said.
    I grabbed my coat. The rack wobbled and landed on the hardwood floor with a crack . Grier shrieked. I barreledthrough the front door, punching one fist then the other through my jacket.
    “Grayson, wait!” my mother called.
    Even in the dark, the Chrysler stood out like a rusty spring on the sedate street of Escalades and Beemers. I kept moving forward, pretending I didn’t hear my mother’s footsteps. My fingers just about grazed the door handle when I felt her clutch my shoulder.
    “Honey, c’mon. Stay. You’ll have time to make your party.”
    “There’s no party,” I said, spinning toward my mother.
    “What?”
    “Do you know what a douche I felt like when Cooper asked me about lacrosse?”
    My mother bristled momentarily at the word douche and wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She sighed, then peered up at the starry sky.
    “Grayson, I’m sorry. We haven’t seen Coop in a long time. He doesn’t . . . didn’t know about your circumstances,” she said, leaning against my car. “He’s such a competitive ass. Always bragging about his kids’ IQs or some exotic place they’ve all been. You were always our trump card. Smart, athletic, and handsome. His kids have zero physical ability.”
    Trump card? I chuckled. Hardly the way to describe me now.
    We stood in silence, staring back up at her house. It hadone of those glass storm doors that gave a perfect view of the foyer. Someone had picked up the coatrack. Ryder and Grier tore across the hallway from one side to the other. Silhouettes of people enjoying the holiday moved behind the illuminated curtains. My awkward departure was forgotten. I felt a momentary pang of loneliness; did anyone even care that I was gone?
    “I don’t belong here,” I said.
    “Grayson, yes, you do. We’re family.”
    “No . . . those people in there? That’s your family,” I said, taking out my keys.
    “At least consider meeting up with us in the city tomorrow. You can—”
    “You know that’s not going to happen,” I said, shutting down the idea.
    Her eyes welled with tears. I knew I should apologize, but I didn’t.
    “Fine. I wish you’d reconsider.”
    “I’ve got to go,” I said, opening the car door.
    She stopped me, giving me a gentle kiss on the cheek.
    “Safe home,” she whispered.
    I revved the engine while my mother shut the door. She backed away and stood in front of her house, watching, as I pulled out of the spot and tore down the street, leaving a wake of dead leaves swirling behind me.
    I drove until I saw an open diner. Slinking out of Mom’s was such a wimp-ass thing to do, and now regret was seeping in. Should I go back? I thought of her face, her tears, as I’d left. I’d made her cry. That was on my shoulders. No one had asked me to leave. Then Laird and his “that kind of thing can open doors” statement popped into my mind, and any guilt I felt for leaving disappeared. Did he think I didn’t know that?
    The diner was dotted with people in booths here and there; a few busboys crowded around an overhead TV and watched the Jets/Patriots game. I took a seat on a spinning stool at the end of the empty white counter, my fingers numb from the cold. Coffee. I needed coffee.
    I couldn’t go back to my mother’s . . . to the inevitable looks of pity. No matter how much I kept telling myself that starting over was just what I needed, the fact remained—I pitied myself too. In my lowest moments, I still missed St. Gabe’s. I missed the