Felix hesitated. Was the dump of unopened mail under Harry’s desk composed of college mailings? Trying to ignore the sensation that he was speeding down a helter-skelter ride, Felix stepped into Harry’s lair.
A color brochure from Princeton peeked up at him, and—Felix squinted—there was an envelope from Harvard. He stepped closer, picked it up, and flipped it over. An unopened envelope from Harvard admissions.
Now he understood the old adage about blood boiling, because really, cut him open and he would bleed bubbling lava. Of all the irresponsible, immature . . . Felix made a sweeping gesture with his hands. Brushed away the red-hot anger; slowed everything down. He would be calm; he would be rational. He would get this sorted.
Felix walked into the kitchen and grabbed a black bin liner. Then he returned to Harry’s room, scooped up the sliding pile of college information, and dragged his haul into the living room. He moved the coffee table to one side, dumped the contents of the bag on the floor, and, sinking to his knees, began making sense of chaos.
Out on the street, car doors slammed and a cloud of chatter raced up the walkway. Max and Harry were home. Felix stayed on his knees and continued his work.
One brochure, one breath; one brochure, one breath.
“Festering turd!” Max laughed as the front door crashed open. Dark and cold spilled inside. The weather had turned again: winter was back.
“King of the festering turds!” Harry yelled, then guffawed.
That was it. Felix jumped up. “Boys!”
“Sorry,” Max mouthed. He glanced at Harry. “I should go.”
“’Kay, dude. Later.”
Harry collapsed on the hall floor like a toy that had been unplugged. He tugged off one Converse without unlacing it.
“Movie was great.” He jumped up. Pulled a fistful of change from his pocket, dumped it on the shoe cabinet, and then levered off his left shoe with his right foot. “Whatcha doing, Dad?”
Felix folded his arms. “Creating order out of your college mailings.”
Harry glanced up, looking wary. “You took those from my room?”
“Harry, most of these are unopened.”
“What were you doing in my room?”
“Turning off all the lights that you had left on again.”
“’Kay. But please don’t mess with my stuff.” Harry went through his pockets and then slapped the wall. “Goddammit.”
“Harry! Language! If your grandmother heard you—”
“Lost my phone.” Harry grabbed the portable phone, dialed. “Maxi-Pad! You shouldn’t be answering the phone while you’re driving. Ha!” Harry snorted. “Let me know if you find my phone in your car. Yeah, lost it again. Imagine that.” Another snort of laughter. “Later, faggot.”
“Harry!”
“What?”
“Don’t call your best friend a faggot.”
“Why not? It was a joke.”
“Suppose Eudora heard you. Imagine how she would feel.”
“She’d laugh, Dad. She has a great sense of humor. Or haven’t you noticed?”
Felix counted backward from ten. “Your uncle was gay. I find that word deeply offensive.”
“Sorry, Dad.” Harry blushed scarlet. “I’m not homophobic, you know that. It’s just not a word that means much to my generation.”
“Talk to some of your friends who’ve been bullied for their sexual orientation, and I can assure you it will.”
Harry looked at the floor. “Sorry.”
“Now that you’re home, you can help me sort through these brochures. Do you have a college file?”
“Uh—nope?”
“Harry, this isn’t a joke. This”—Felix drew his arm through the air—“is your future. Tossed into something that resembles a rubbish dump in a third-world country.”
“I would have sorted them out eventually.”
“Sit down on the sofa, and we’ll go through them now. Together.”
Harry bounced toward the living room, then changed direction. “Love to, Dad, but I’ve got to work on my calc.”
“No, Harry.”
“Homework takes precedence.”
“College takes precedence.”