The Scarlets Read Online Free PDF

floor, with portraits of previous deans and presidents leading up to the row of office doors. Roger’s was third, with a neat little nameplate and everything. Some of the other doors were decorated with college stickers or news clippings, but Roger’s was fittingly austere.
    Cal knocked, feeling his gut twist up into preemptive knots.
    “Come in.”
    Deep breath. You can do this. You went to tutoring, you went to help Professor Reyes. You’re playing along. You’re playing along.



R oger sat perched on the edge of his broad mahogany desk, his foot dangling weirdly, showing a sliver of red business socks. Gray pin-striped suit. Pocket square. He must have had fancy meetings scheduled. For a while he just studied Cal, pinching his lips up and then relaxing them again.
    “Are you depressed?”
    Cal blinked. “What? I don’t know. Probably. Isn’t everyone?”
    Clearly that wasn’t the answer Roger was looking for. He reached back on his desk and picked up a piece of paper. His office was just as devoid of personality as his door—his walls were blank except for a few college posters, touches of humanity probably added by staffers and not Roger himself.
    “I have an email here from Professor Reyes,” Roger announced, waving the paper around. Cal groaned inwardly. “She said you showed up on time last night—good, good—and then you ‘grew agitated and insisted on leaving early.’ Care to explain?”
    “Did you seriously go to the trouble of printing that out?” Cal asked.
    “I’m not rising to this today. I simply refuse to.” He put down the email and clasped his hands loosely in his lap. “What do you want, Cal?”
    That wasn’t a loaded question or anything.
    “What do you want?” Roger repeated, squinting. “I know it’s not to make me happy, that’s obvious. I don’t know if you’re still acting out because of the divorce, or because of your identity crisis, or simply because you lack ambition and focus, but I will know what you want. Think long and hard about that. What do you want?”
    Cal shifted, staring down at his Top-Siders. He would rather be yelled at, or even hit again. He didn’t know how to deal with this side of his father. “I . . . I don’t know what I want, all right?”
    “The sad thing is that whatever it is,” Roger said, his voice dropping a little, “you could have it. We have the means. I have the means.”
    Roger stood, taking the email from Professor Reyes and a chunky fountain pen from his desk. He walked these things to Cal, holding them patiently. “Write it down, Cal. Write down what you want.”
    “What, now?”
    “Yes. Now.”
    God, this was embarrassing. Cal took the paper and pen, flipping over the email, but not before glimpsing a stray sentence.
    If you need your son to wake up, you know what to do.
    Did everyone think he was beyond help? From where he was standing, his life really didn’t seem that bad, but maybe he just couldn’t tell. Whatever, he could humor Roger, who was clearly off his nut if he thought he could just—poof!—conjure what Cal wanted out of thin air. It was a stupid exercise, but probably harmless. Hopefully harmless. Swallowing around a lump, he flattened his palm and tried to write as if he believed that, surprised by how quickly the words came out.
    I want my friends back. I want Devon Kurtwilder to notice me. I don’t want to be a screwup anymore.
    He shuddered. Maybe this was a bad idea. Did he really want Roger to know anything about him? Roger took the pen and paper, reading it over and making a quiet grunting sound. He glanced up at Cal, and for once he wasn’t scowling. “This gives me hope, Cal.”
    “That makes one of us.”
    His father laughed, drily, and folded the paper, tucking it into one of his interior suit pockets. “What do you think of Fallon Brandt so far?”
    “Huh?” That was a leap. “My tutor?”
    “Yes, Fallon. What do you think of her?” Roger took up his perch on the desk again,