Going Bovine Read Online Free PDF Page B

naked. But then I think that maybe my dad has done the same thing or even seen her naked and I’m wishing I had a big doobie to take that thought right out of my head.
    Dad offers me a seat. “Well, this sure is a surprise.”
    “So you said.” I plop down into the no-frills chair on the other side of the desk, the place where his students sit. This is how they see him: Tall, fit guy in a starched white button-down and khaki pants. Big desk. Big chair. Big diplomas on the wall behind his graying-around-the-temples head, making him look like one of those religious icon paintings. A black box with an angel snow globe Jenna and I gave him for Christmas one year. The base broke off a while back, and now the angel leans against the glass with both hands like she’s trying to get out. One of those metal pin sculptures that molds to your hand and holds the shape. Two neat stacks of papers—graded and yet-to-be-graded. Lamp on one side, phone on the other. Order. Symmetry. Authority.
    “Raina is a really smart woman. Great physicist. Those freshmen don’t know what they’re up against. She could have gone to MIT if she wanted to.”
    “Cool. Hey, can I borrow the car?”
    Dad’s smile sags and now he looks familiar—like a birthday balloon four days after the party.
    “Is that the only reason you stopped by?”
    I press my face against the metal pin sculpture. When I pull it away, my expression is caught in a scream. “Well, it’s not like you’re using it right now.”
    “When your grades improve, we can talk about the car.” Dad shakes the sculpture out, erasing me. “Hey, you’ll probably like these.”
    From a desk drawer, he removes a stack of photos and shoves them into my hands. They’re vacation pics—a couple of guys in Gold Coast University T-shirts backpacking in the mountains. A trio of girls at some mega bowling alley. A crew of rowdy college kids on the beach during spring break. I don’t know any of these people. “Some of my students have this project. They stole a yard gnome from somebody’s lawn and have taken him on vacation all over the world. They pass him off to whoever’s going on a trip next.”
    Now I can see the little guy peeking out in each picture, all fat red cheeks, white beard, and twinkling eyes. Well, if he could twinkle. He looks like he wants to. He also looks like he could cheerfully beat the crap out of his smug kidnappers. Or maybe he likes to travel. Maybe he sends postcards to the other yard gnomes: Having a great time. No sprinklers here.
    “Funny,” I say, throwing them back on his desk, where they fan out in a photographic arch.
    “You didn’t even look at them.”
    “Yeah, I did.”
    Dad sighs. “You know, Cameron, you might at least pretend to be interested in my life.”
    “Dad, I looked at them.”
    He tidies them up and puts a rubber band around them so they’re contained, like him. That’s my dad. Never yell when you can simmer. Never scream when you can cut somebody with a look. Never go ahead and have that fight when you can feel righteous about walking away and giving them your back. I’ve seen a lot of my dad’s back.
    “About the car. I was thinking I could just use it to run a few errands and then I could come back for you, you know, whenever you’re done.” I throw him a father-son-bonding bone at the last minute. “Maybe we could get some pizza.”
    “What errands?”
    “You know,” I say, shrugging.
    “No, I don’t know. That’s why I asked.”
    “Just some errands. For school.”
    “What do you need for school?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Cameron. That doesn’t make sense.”
    “I just need to borrow the car. To get some stuff. No big deal.”
    “Stuff,” Dad says, playing with his pen. “Books? Clothes? Sports equipment?”
    Dad would cream himself if I said sports equipment. “I was kind of thinking of going out for lacrosse this year. Might look good on the college apps.”
    “A solid GPA would look better,” Dad shoots