Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

“When did you get in?” I ask as his arm goes around my waist, holding
me steady.
For most trips, he flies, but Miami is close enough to drive.
“Just a couple of hours ago,” he tells me, taking another drag. “Is your
mom up?”
“I don’t think so.”
He watches me as I take his lighter off his desk. “Early start today?”
It’s actually not as early as I usually leave. I think he just doesn’t know
my schedule anymore. Or what time school starts, or that we have service on
Tuesday mornings before first period, or really anything else about me.
That’s okay, though.
I light the cigarette before leaning back into his shoulder. “Tuesday
morning Mass,” I tell him, rolling my eyes.
He chuckles. “It wasn’t my idea to send you to a Catholic school.”
“Noted.”
I take another puff, inhale, and then blow out smoke.
My dad shakes his head. “I’m a terrible father.”
I laugh, holding up my cigarette. “Years down the road, I’ll cringe when I
think of the debutante ball, and I probably won’t even remember my friends’
names,” I tell him, “but I’ll smile when I remember sneaking cigarettes with
my dad.”
His mouth tilts up in a half-smile, and the both of us take another drag at
the same time, enjoying the morning silence for another moment.
“How are your classes?” he asks.
“Easy peasy.”
“And your classmates? Is everything…happy?”
I turn away, watching the end of the cigarette burn orange. What’s he
going to do if I say no?
Parents ask these questions, because they want to appear to care, but they
don’t want a problem. Not really.
“I should get going,” I tell him instead, hopping off the chair and snuffing
out the cigarette in the crystal ashtray.
I slip around his desk and hear the wheels of his chair move.
“You already got into Wake Forest,” he calls after me. “Slack off a little.
Enjoy your senior year.”
But I can’t. The biggest events of high school are just ahead of me. The
fun is just starting.