Read Online Good for You by Tammara Webber - Free Book Online

exclaims,
    “Jesus!” and a moment later, I remember to breathe.
    Monday is going to be a nightmare.

    ***
    Nick is coming over tonight. After he showed up at the Diego House yesterday—a breath of fresh air in his non-designer jeans and thrift store t-shirt—I couldn’t say no when he asked if we could hang out.
    I hear his voice downstairs, his courteous, “Good evening, Reverend Cantrel ,” though Dad has urged him countless times to cal him Doug.
    As I leave my room, I glance at the clock on my wal .
    He’s exactly on time, the minute hand clicking onto the twelve as my father intones, “Good evening, Nicholas.” Nick fails to hear the playful nature I immediately recognize behind Dad’s words. “It’s actual y just Nick, sir.” He spares a quick look in my direction as I reach the last step.
    “And it’s just Doug, Nick.” My father slaps his shoulder lightly.
    “Do you want to go out?” Nick asks after Dad disappears back into his study. “I think that movie starring your new associate is stil out… School Pride , right? I heard it was… cute.”
    Nick isn’t into cute, and general y speaking, neither am I.
    I’d not even considered seeing School Pride , but now that Nick’s mentioned it, I’m curious. I know Reid Alexander from his fame, but I know nothing of his so-cal ed talent. I’ve never seen a single one of his movies—like Nick, I don’t real y term them films . A film is something social y consequential or historical y evocative. A movie is hol ow entertainment.
    Oh my gosh. I’m a film snob .
    Despite my sudden compulsion to see Reid’s movie, there’s no way I’m sitting through it with Nick. “Let’s order Chinese and watch something here. Dad just got a new batch of DVDs.” Nick smiles his agreement. Pul ing the takeout menu from our menu drawer and grabbing the phone, I determine not to think of Reid again tonight. “I’m getting sesame chicken. Anything with chicken is pretty good. Their beef dishes, not so much.”
    When the food arrives, Dad materializes momentarily.
    “Would you like to watch the movie with us, Rever—uh, Doug?” Nick asks.
    Dad sighs and shakes his head. “This week’s sermon is being a butt . I’m determined to wrestle a few inspiring concepts down.” Grabbing a diet soda, his carton of fried rice and a pair of chopsticks, he adds, “I won’t be leaving the study until your mother comes home.” Then he winks at me, as though Nick and I plan to canoodle on the sofa (a Dad term more fitting for his parents’ generation than his own). Mom’s shift ends at midnight.
    I’m never sure if Dad just has absolute confidence that I’d never do anything wicked, or if he actual y thinks I should loosen up. I hope it’s not the latter, because if I’m the girl whose pastor father thinks she’s too uptight, that would be pretty darned depressing.
    Nick takes the center of the sofa while I nestle into the corner, legs pretzeled. His elbow rests lightly on my bent knee in between bites. Everyone in my family tends to comment throughout anything we watch, but Nick never talks during films. It’s a sure bet I’l end up biting my tongue figuratively or literal y at least half a dozen times. Final y, the credits rol .
    “That was less clever than the reviews promised,” he observes, clicking the remote. His hand rests lightly on my knee, a non-insistent pressure not easily read. The world has gone dark outside, the room dim in the solitary lamplight without the glow of the screen. “Your house is always so quiet. Mine is the exact opposite—thinly contained chaos.”
    Nick is an only child, but his parents take in special needs foster children and train service dogs, and his house is in an almost constant uproar. I’ve wondered but never had the nerve to ask if he ever yearned for the individual attention he would have been due as an only child, or if he felt neglected by his parents’ dedicated care of other peoples’ children.
    My eyes find