DAMIEN'S POV
"Dad, please, I don't want to go there," I pleaded, my voice shaking a little. I'd been dreading this argument all week, ever since he brought up CriddleFord Boys High School again. But Dad wasn't listening—he never did once he'd decided something.
"Honey, can't we make an exception for Damien?" Mom said, her tone gentle but firm, like she was trying to soften the blow.
"No! It's settled. He's going." Dad's words came out clipped, leaving no room for debate.
"But he's too young-our last kid," Mom said, shooting me a worried glance.
"So what?" Dad replied. He took a sip of his black coffee, staring at her over the mug's edge. "All the kids starting there are his age, Janet."
I couldn't take it anymore. "Dad, the school's freaking full of faggots!" The words exploded out of me, desperate and unfiltered. I wasn't even sure what I meant-maybe the stuck-up rich kids, maybe the rumors I'd overheard. I just wanted him to hear me.
He stopped, the newspaper rustling as he set it down and fixed me with a hard stare. His jaw tightened, clearly ticked off—not just at what I'd said, but the way I'd said it. "That's nonsense, Damien," he said, his voice low and controlled. "CriddleFord's a top school—academics, character, leadership. Your brothers went there and turned out just fine."
"Dad", I tried again, quieter this time, hoping he'd ease up.
"Damien." His look shut me down cold, the conversation over in his mind. I shoved back from the table and stormed out of the dining room, anger buzzing through me as I headed for my room.
Once I was out of sight, Mom waited until my footsteps faded before turning to Dad. She kept her voice calm, measured.
"Hugh," she said.
"Yeah?" He didn't look up from his paper, but his grip on it tightened.
"You know Damien's not as tough as the others. He won't handle it there." She leaned forward a bit, trying to reach him.
"That's exactly why he needs to go," Hugh said, flipping a page with a sharp flick. "To toughen up. To grow up."
She let out a quiet breath, knowing she'd hit a brick wall. There was no changing his mind when he got like this. She dropped it, and the room went still again.
Dinner that night was torture-everyone seated, nobody talking. The only sound was forks scraping plates as me, Mom, Dad and my other brothers—Darren, Daemon and Desmond ate in silence. Then Darren spoke up.
"Dad," he said, and we all turned to him, waiting. "I want Damien to come with me to California."
Dad's fork hovered midair. "Why? There's no reason for that."
"I think it'd be good for him," Darren said, glancing my way with a quick nod. "A fresh start, new people. Maybe he'd come out of his shell a bit."
"Yeah, Hugh, I think California could work for him," Mom added, jumping on the chance.
Dad set his fork down, his face hardening. "I see what you're doing-ganging up to keep him from going to CriddleFord. It's not happening."
"But—" Darren started.
"Enough," Dad snapped, cutting him off. "Yes, Dad," Darren mumbled, and we all went back to eating, the silence thicker than ever.
Darren tried a few more times over the next couple of days, but Dad wouldn't budge. Every "no" felt like a lock clicking shut. I didn't want CriddleFord—not just because of the rumors, but because it sounded like a pressure cooker.my brothers had come back from there sharper, tougher, like the place had filed down anything soft in them. I wasn't like that. I didn't want to be reshaped into some perfect son dad could show off.
Time dragged on—seconds to minutes, minutes to hours, hours to days, days to weeks- as the entrance exam crept closer. I didn't crack a book. My plan was to tank it and force dad to back off. The night before, I barely slept, staring at the ceiling imagining the smug faces of CriddleFord kids in their crisp blazers. When morning came, Dad was already at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and rattling off last-minute advice I tuned out. "Just do your best, Damien," he said, like he hadn't noticed I'd been avoiding this for weeks.
The drive to CriddleFord was brutal. Dad insisted on taking me himself, the car radio off, the only sound his occasional muttering about the city traffic as we left the suburbs behind. Ten minutes out, the buildings thinned, giving way to rolling fields and patches of trees—CriddleFord sat in the countryside, just far enough to feel cut off. I slouched in the passenger seat, hoodie up, watching the road twist past barns and fences until the school came into view. CriddleFord Boys High School sprawled across the green like a postcard-red-brick buildings, a clock tower piercing the sky, all surrounded by wide lawns that screamed old money. Kids in polo shirts and backpacks streamed toward the main hall, their parents trailing with proud smiles. I felt sick.
Dad parked and clapped me on the shoulder. "You'll see—this place is good for you," he said, nodding toward the exam building. I trudged inside alone, handed my registration slip to a stern woman with a clipboard, and got shuffled into a room that smelled like polished wood and stress. Rows of desks stretched out, each one holding a kid who looked way too prepared—pencils sharpened, water bottles lined up like they were gearing up for war. I slid into a seat near the back, my stomach twisting.
The proctor—a guy with a buzz cut and a tie too tight—passed out the test booklets with a clipped "No talking, no calculators, begin in five minutes." I flipped mine open when the clock started, expecting a cakewalk I could bomb without trying. But the questions hit me like a brick wall. Math problems with letters I didn't recognize, reading passages about stuff I'd never heard of, and essay prompts that sounded like college applications. My pencil hovered over the first bubble, but my brain blanked. I'd planned to fail, but this was harder than I'd even imagined—almost like the school was daring me to keep up.
I glanced around. Heads were down, hands scribbling furiously. A boy two rows over was already on page three, his pen flying. The room was packed—way more kids than I'd expected for a place this pricey and exclusive, stuck out here in the middle of nowhere. CriddleFord was a big deal, I got that, but seeing all these people fighting for a spot made my chest tighten. They wanted in. I didn't. halfway through, I gave up pretending—shaded random bubbles, doodled in the margins, and stared at the clock until the proctor barked, "Pencils down." I handed in my mess of a test with a smirk, figuring I sealed my escape.
Walking out, I saw Dad waiting by the car, arms crossed. "How'd it go?" he asked, like he actually thought I'd tried.
"Fine," I lied, climbing in. fine was failing. Fine was freedom. Or so I hoped.