Bad Rep
Page 81
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“It would have been nice to have a little warning that we were going to be meeting the young man you're dating,” my dad said coldly.
“I'm sorry, Dad,” was all I could say. My dad gave a curt nod and nothing more was said about the matter. We joined our group and headed out for the tour. The same tour I took as a prospective student. The same tour I took my first week as a freshman. The same damn tour I took every flipping year with my parents. It's not like the campus had changed that much.
I was suddenly very resentful of having to suffer through the mind numbing boredom of that god damn college tour. I'm sure it had everything to do with my mixed up feelings about the two people walking in front of me.
Why couldn't I ever be enough? Do enough? Growing up, my dad never seemed particularly interested in me. You'd think as a teacher, he'd understand how important parental involvement was. But he just never took the time to get to know me.
One of my earliest memories was at the age of five, asking my father to play a game of Candy Land. Do you know what he did? He told me he was disappointed that I wasn't playing with the chess set he had gotten me for my birthday. Who gives their five year old daughter chess for their freaking birthday? I wanted pink, sparkly unicorns and Barbie dolls. Not chess! But that's the sort of thing I came to expect from my dad. He never got me something because I liked it. It had to be educational and meant to make me a smarter, better and an all-around perfect person. Too bad his money was spent in vain.
Because as I got older it became pretty damn clear that the daughter he wanted just wasn't me. I tried so hard in school to get good grades and participate in the activities he wanted me too. I suffered through four excruciating years on the debate team in high school, all because my dad had been the state debate champion when he was a teenager.
I had hated it. Every single, obnoxious moment of it. I twisted myself inside out trying to please that man and it was never, ever enough. What really hurt was when I had gotten to high school and realized that the relationship I longed for with my father, he was having with every single one of his students.
He was the most popular teacher at the high school. Everyone wanted to have Mr. Ardin for Honors English Lit. The kids loved him. He was funny, encouraging, motivating. Just not with me. His child.
I remember going to my dad's classroom one day at lunch time. I had stopped just before going inside. I heard him talking to Sarah Keller, a girl in my grade. She was on the debate team with me and my biggest competition for becoming Valedictorian. She and my dad were talking about colleges that she had applied to and she mentioned USC, my dad's alma mater.
I had watched while my dad clapped his hand on her shoulder and gave her a supportive smile. Then he had told her how proud he was of her and how he knew she'd succeed. That crushed me. My heart literally fell to pieces right then and there. This girl was experiencing my dad's pride, something I had never had. He looked at her with all the warmth he never once showed me. And part of me died that day.
I wanted to give up on my need for my dad's approval. But it was so deeply ingrained that I couldn't shake it. And my mom, well, she did very little to curb my dad's militant need for perfectionism. She had her own critiques where I was concerned. Where my dad was obsessed with my academics, my mom was fixated on my popularity.
You would think, given that they were older when they had me, they wouldn't be as focused on that stuff. They should have just been thankful for the miracle that was me, considering they never thought they'd be able to have kids. But that wasn't my lot in life. Instead, I was born to parents who wished and hoped I'd be someone else. Anyone, but who I was.
Instead of going all rebel and becoming a crack addicted prostitute, I became the hyper vigilant, overachiever. So when I came to Rinard College, the ties that had bound me so tightly had loosened their grip and I had finally been able to breathe.
For the first time in my life I could become somebody I could be proud of. So I joined a sorority and now I was dating a bad ass drummer with an eyebrow and tongue ring and a sexy as hell tattoo covering most of his back. My parents were going to hate him. And that juvenile part of me that so desperately wanted her parent's pride and approval, cringed at the thought. Then the other more rebellious side of that same girl, looked forward to watching their faces when they saw Jordan for the first time.
And as predicted my mom's mouth fell open and my dad's eyes narrowed. We were sat in a booth at Bakersville Deli, having just ordered our drinks when I saw Jordan pull up on his Ducati. Oh shit, he'd ridden his bike. My dad watched out the window as Jordan dismounted and took his helmet off. My father's lip curled in disgust. “How can anyone willingly ride around on those death traps?” he asked in disgust.
I, on the other hand had to discreetly wipe the drool that started to collect at the corner of my mouth. Jordan was gorgeous. And he was mine. And I didn't give a fig what my dad had to say about that. I followed him with my eyes as he tucked his helmet under his arm and raised a hand to rub it across his dark, buzzed head. He did this when he was nervous or anxious and I found the gesture endearing.
He had dressed in a dark pair of jeans that hung deliciously on his narrow hips. I could see a button down shirt peeking out from underneath his leather jacket. He came into the deli, looked around and when he saw us, walked over.
My parents looked horrified when he stopped at our table. I glanced from my parents to Jordan. He gave them a dazzling smile and held out his hand to my father. “Hello, Mr. Ardin. I'm Jordan Levitt, Maysie's boyfriend.” Maysie's boyfriend. We had never exactly established what we were. I mean, I knew we were dating, but I had never dared ask him outright if we were a couple couple. Hearing him say he was my boyfriend caused my lips to stretch into the biggest grin I could muster.
“I'm sorry, Dad,” was all I could say. My dad gave a curt nod and nothing more was said about the matter. We joined our group and headed out for the tour. The same tour I took as a prospective student. The same tour I took my first week as a freshman. The same damn tour I took every flipping year with my parents. It's not like the campus had changed that much.
I was suddenly very resentful of having to suffer through the mind numbing boredom of that god damn college tour. I'm sure it had everything to do with my mixed up feelings about the two people walking in front of me.
Why couldn't I ever be enough? Do enough? Growing up, my dad never seemed particularly interested in me. You'd think as a teacher, he'd understand how important parental involvement was. But he just never took the time to get to know me.
One of my earliest memories was at the age of five, asking my father to play a game of Candy Land. Do you know what he did? He told me he was disappointed that I wasn't playing with the chess set he had gotten me for my birthday. Who gives their five year old daughter chess for their freaking birthday? I wanted pink, sparkly unicorns and Barbie dolls. Not chess! But that's the sort of thing I came to expect from my dad. He never got me something because I liked it. It had to be educational and meant to make me a smarter, better and an all-around perfect person. Too bad his money was spent in vain.
Because as I got older it became pretty damn clear that the daughter he wanted just wasn't me. I tried so hard in school to get good grades and participate in the activities he wanted me too. I suffered through four excruciating years on the debate team in high school, all because my dad had been the state debate champion when he was a teenager.
I had hated it. Every single, obnoxious moment of it. I twisted myself inside out trying to please that man and it was never, ever enough. What really hurt was when I had gotten to high school and realized that the relationship I longed for with my father, he was having with every single one of his students.
He was the most popular teacher at the high school. Everyone wanted to have Mr. Ardin for Honors English Lit. The kids loved him. He was funny, encouraging, motivating. Just not with me. His child.
I remember going to my dad's classroom one day at lunch time. I had stopped just before going inside. I heard him talking to Sarah Keller, a girl in my grade. She was on the debate team with me and my biggest competition for becoming Valedictorian. She and my dad were talking about colleges that she had applied to and she mentioned USC, my dad's alma mater.
I had watched while my dad clapped his hand on her shoulder and gave her a supportive smile. Then he had told her how proud he was of her and how he knew she'd succeed. That crushed me. My heart literally fell to pieces right then and there. This girl was experiencing my dad's pride, something I had never had. He looked at her with all the warmth he never once showed me. And part of me died that day.
I wanted to give up on my need for my dad's approval. But it was so deeply ingrained that I couldn't shake it. And my mom, well, she did very little to curb my dad's militant need for perfectionism. She had her own critiques where I was concerned. Where my dad was obsessed with my academics, my mom was fixated on my popularity.
You would think, given that they were older when they had me, they wouldn't be as focused on that stuff. They should have just been thankful for the miracle that was me, considering they never thought they'd be able to have kids. But that wasn't my lot in life. Instead, I was born to parents who wished and hoped I'd be someone else. Anyone, but who I was.
Instead of going all rebel and becoming a crack addicted prostitute, I became the hyper vigilant, overachiever. So when I came to Rinard College, the ties that had bound me so tightly had loosened their grip and I had finally been able to breathe.
For the first time in my life I could become somebody I could be proud of. So I joined a sorority and now I was dating a bad ass drummer with an eyebrow and tongue ring and a sexy as hell tattoo covering most of his back. My parents were going to hate him. And that juvenile part of me that so desperately wanted her parent's pride and approval, cringed at the thought. Then the other more rebellious side of that same girl, looked forward to watching their faces when they saw Jordan for the first time.
And as predicted my mom's mouth fell open and my dad's eyes narrowed. We were sat in a booth at Bakersville Deli, having just ordered our drinks when I saw Jordan pull up on his Ducati. Oh shit, he'd ridden his bike. My dad watched out the window as Jordan dismounted and took his helmet off. My father's lip curled in disgust. “How can anyone willingly ride around on those death traps?” he asked in disgust.
I, on the other hand had to discreetly wipe the drool that started to collect at the corner of my mouth. Jordan was gorgeous. And he was mine. And I didn't give a fig what my dad had to say about that. I followed him with my eyes as he tucked his helmet under his arm and raised a hand to rub it across his dark, buzzed head. He did this when he was nervous or anxious and I found the gesture endearing.
He had dressed in a dark pair of jeans that hung deliciously on his narrow hips. I could see a button down shirt peeking out from underneath his leather jacket. He came into the deli, looked around and when he saw us, walked over.
My parents looked horrified when he stopped at our table. I glanced from my parents to Jordan. He gave them a dazzling smile and held out his hand to my father. “Hello, Mr. Ardin. I'm Jordan Levitt, Maysie's boyfriend.” Maysie's boyfriend. We had never exactly established what we were. I mean, I knew we were dating, but I had never dared ask him outright if we were a couple couple. Hearing him say he was my boyfriend caused my lips to stretch into the biggest grin I could muster.
