Read Grows That Way for Free Online Page B

out. More like his normal mood. Normally my dad is a fairly happy guy who jokes around a lot. He can get uptight about money, but he makes his living as a financial planner and advisor, so I guess that makes sense. Kind of like how Mom is a mental health professional and always terrified I’m showing the signs of some mental illness, while Dad is looking for signs of poor financial management which would lead us to financial ruin and living in a cardboard box in a ditch. I guess when you’re sufficiently afraid of something, there are signs of it all over the place.
    We hit every red light on the way into town and I can feel Dad’s mood deteriorating with each delay. We reach Fifth Street, and ahead of us someone is trying to parallel park a van outside Graham’s Jewelry. There’s steady traffic coming the other direction and no way around.
    Dad checks his watch and drums the steering wheel with his thumbs. The rear wheel of the van hits the curb and then it draws ahead into the traffic lane again.
    â€œSecond time lucky,” I say, trying to lighten the atmosphere. The van backs towards the space again, but ends up about six feet away from the curb. The driver pulls ahead into the lane.
    â€œJesus Christ,” says Dad.
    I look behind us. There are at least five cars waiting now.
    â€œMoron!” shouts Dad as the van ends up in the curb again. “Some people don’t deserve to drive.”
    I turn on the car radio, thinking the distraction might help, but Dad switches it off. He throws the transmission into park and flings open his door. I shrink down in my seat. What’s he going to do?
    Dad walks up to the driver door of the van and opens it. I see him gesture for the driver to get out. She’s a girl I recognize from school—a member of Taylor’s vast fan club. Dad points to the sidewalk and she goes and stands there. He climbs in behind the wheel of the van, drives ahead until it’s straight, then backs into the parking spot, perfectly, first time. He gets out of the van, slams the door, and stomps back to our SUV. I’m so embarrassed I could die. I try to sink lower in my seat. I hope the girl on the sidewalk doesn’t see me and spread the news around school about what a total Neanderthal my dad is. If Amber hears this story, I’m dead.
    Dad opens his car door. That’s when I hear the applause. I raise my head enough to see out my window. There are people on the sidewalk clapping and whistling. Dad’s face transforms from glowering storm clouds to happy entertainer. He pauses and bows to the crowd, then climbs back into his driver’s seat. He guns the engine and the wheels squeal on the pavement, almost as though he’s showing off, like a sixteen-year-old. I can’t believe it.
    Fortunately there’s a parking space for us right in front of the bike shop. Dad hauls the twisted wreckage of my bike out of the back of the SUV. He has to carry it into the shop because none of the wheels are working.
    The guy in the bike store tries not to laugh when my dad asks him how much it would cost to straighten the frame; he covers his face with the inside of his elbow and pretends to cough, but I can tell he’s faking even before he winks at me. Dad doesn’t notice—he’s too busy trying to get the warp out of the front wheel with his bare hands.
    â€œI’m afraid this is one for the recycle bin,” says the bike guy. “I can give you a good deal on another bike though. We have a couple of smaller-framed models on sale right now.”
    â€œOn sale?” says Dad. He’s heard the magic words.
    â€œTwenty-percent off,” says the bike guy.
    â€œWith full warranty?” says Dad.
    â€œThe warranty wouldn’t cover everything. Just manufacturer’s defects. Not traffic accidents.” He winks at me again, but Dad doesn’t see.
    â€œWhatever,” says Dad.
    The guy pulls a pink and white