Free Taking Chances by John Goode

looking around as subtly I could without looking like I was looking. “They were the first things I saw.”
    “Oh, and look!” she chirped brightly. “ Starship Troopers . Didn’t this win an Oscar or something?”
    “You’re loving this, aren’t you?” I groaned, seeing the glee in her face as she bagged the movies.
    “Oh, in so many ways!” She smiled back. “But you talked to him! That is a huge event for you. I’m proud.” I searched her face for signs of a dig, but I saw the sincerity in her eyes. “I mean it, three points for just showing up.”
    I cocked my head. “Three? Are we playing basketball now?”
    She pushed the bag of movies at me. “Shut up. I know those games have points and balls, past that I couldn’t care.”
    I slid them back to her. “Keep them, give them to Kyle or Toys for Tots or something. We both know I’m not going to watch them.”
    She put them behind her counter. “So, what are you going to do now?”
    I pulled my keys out of my pocket and grinned at her. “Find a way to break my computer that seems legit.”
    “Also,” she added as I walked away, “you might want to clear your browsing history.”
    I wanted to say something snarky back at her, but I didn’t because she was right—again—and I hadn’t thought of that.

Matt
     
     
    T HE next morning, I got up early hoping to catch a moment to myself before the insanity began. I made my way downstairs and went straight for the smell of coffee. My father sat at the kitchen table, coffee mug in one hand, folded paper in the other. I thought about sneaking back upstairs, because the only thing worse than dealing with my family en masse was dealing with my father by himself.
    “Coffee’s hot,” he said, not looking up. “Better get it before it’s gone.”
    “Busted,” I muttered under my breath, sounding more like a seven-year-old than anything. A row of mugs sat on the counter next to the coffee brewer. I picked up the old green-and-blue plaid one with my name on it and poured myself a cup of coffee. My father didn’t move, but I knew he’d already told me to sit down without saying a word. I sat across from him and slid the business section out from the stack, hoping we could skip the lecture for once and just sit there in silence.
    “We’re not stupid, you know,” he said from behind his paper.
    No luck.
    “I never said you were, Dad.” I sighed as I put the paper down.
    He folded his paper up and looked across at me. I had always shrunk from his stare even as a little boy. It was as if I knew from an early age I was going to be the one who broke the mold. Two perfect little jock boys for Dad, and then there was me. We had never talked about it openly, but as an adult, I still couldn’t imagine I was anything but a failed son or, worse, a twisted daughter to him. That thought killed me a little more every time I had it.
    “You act like we are,” he said as if he was Chuck Heston speaking from the top of Mount Sinai holding two stone tablets that both said “Thou shall not be gay” on them. “You’re short with us, and the sighing and the eye rolling makes you look like you’re still nine. I don’t know if you even realize you’re doing it, but it’s offensive.”
    I was shocked because I had thought I had a better poker face than that. “I didn’t, I mean, I never meant to….”
    He waved his hand indicating he wasn’t done. “You aren’t as smart as you think, Matt. Oh, you’re smart enough to fool yourself, and that’s always been your problem.”
    This wasn’t the annual Christmas scolding I normally got; worse, this wasn’t about me snapping at my mom. This was something altogether different. At a loss and floundering, I asked, “Meaning what?”
    “Meaning this,” he said, putting his coffee down and staring me straight in the eye. “Are you happy?”
    “Yes,” I answered too quickly.
    “No, don’t just answer. Think on it and then answer. Are you happy, Matt? I mean,