How We Deal With Gravity Read Online Free PDF

give him one more chance, and when I turn around, he’s walking over, his
hands dripping from dishwater so much he has to pat them on his jeans. I can’t
help but watch them when he walks. I used to stare at those hands in high
school, when he’d sit up there on that stage and strum his guitar for hours at
a time. I had goddamned fantasies about those hands, but I learned to hate them
pretty quickly.
    “Go on,” I say, keeping up my tough stance, and finally
looking away from his hands to his face.
    “I’m sorry about what I said…you know…about Max? I didn’t
know he was your son. I never would have—” I butt in before he can get
the last offensive word out.
    “You never would have what, Mason? You never would have made
fun of him if you knew he was mine? But if he’s someone else’s child, someone
else’s son, then he’s fair game to call names?” I can tell I’ve backed him into
a corner, because the shameful look on his face is the same one I’ve imagined
putting there millions of times.
    “He’s five, Mason. He’s just a kid. But there you go,
swooping right on in and exploiting whatever makes him different,” I’m on a
roll now, and Mason is getting a lifetime of my pent-up resentment. “Gahhhh,
you are exactly the same person you
were when you left. No wonder you ended up back here. Some fucking music
career, Mason—why don’t you go back and tend to your dish soap?”
    I spin around so fast, and leave him standing there alone, I
don’t have time to take in what I know is a crippling look of shock. For once
in my life, I said the exact thing I would have pretended to say when I relived
the day in my shower. And it feels wonderful.

Chapter 3: Speaking Max

 
    Mason

 
    Getting slapped by Avery Abbot was enough to make me change my
entire opinion of her being weak. But getting put in my place, and being called
a failure? Ooooph —that one
stuck with me all night and well into this morning.
    I left the bar after she ripped me apart, just glad that we
were alone when she did so no one could give me shit for it. I gave myself
enough shit. Feeling guilty was strange for me. I’m starting to wonder why I
thought staying with Ray Abbot was such a good idea in the first
place—he’s done nothing but tell me what a disappointment I am, and his daughter
thinks I’m a complete jerk.
    I am a jerk—who am I kidding?
    I travel light. When I left home the first time, five years
ago, it was with my giant football bag stuffed with every piece of clothing I
owned. I still have the same damned bag, and the clothes inside haven’t changed
much either. I dragged that and my guitar into the house last night, and into
the small spare room with the blow-up mattress. I slept here a few times in
high school—when I wasn’t getting along with one of my mom’s boyfriends.
    Ray’s always been my escape plan. It’s funny; when I look
back on it now, I think Avery kind of liked it when I stayed at her house. She
used to sit in the hall when I sat on the spare bed and played a song. She’d
never come all the way into the room—too nervous. But she would sit
there, with her skinny legs folded up into her chest, hugging them to her body.
    We’re the same age, maybe a few months apart, but she’s
always seemed younger, like a child that I had to be careful around. She was
good at school—student council, honor society…shit like that. I scraped
by. Football, basketball, and girls—that’s how I spent my time. And damn,
when Ray started putting me on stage, the girls part got really easy.
    By the time I was a senior, Avery wasn’t interested in
listening to me play any more. I didn’t really care because she was never my
type. Somehow, though, she’s the only thing on my goddamned mind this morning.
    This house is so quiet. I think Ray’s awake; I swear I can
hear something happening in the kitchen downstairs. Everything in this house is
old, but the kitchen is from the fifties. The cabinets have