But Dad i Love Him

Chapter 3: Family Rules

The silence in Principal Brooks’ office was a heavy, suffocating entity. It wasn't the natural silence of a quiet room, but the oppressive hush that precedes a detonation.

My father didn't sit down behind his massive mahogany desk. He stood by the window, hands clasped tightly behind his back, staring out at the courtyard where students were still trickling toward their next classes. I sat in one of the two leather visitor chairs, my hands tucked beneath my thighs to hide the tremors shaking my fingers.

The walk from the cafeteria to the administration wing had felt like a public execution. My father hadn't yelled in front of the students; he was far too conscious of his image for that. He had simply spoken two words—"My office"—and turned on his heel, leaving Julian and me sitting at that table with our hands still locked together.

"Explain," my father said, his voice deceptively quiet. He turned around slowly, his gaze landing on me like a physical weight. "Because from where I was standing, it appeared my daughter was holding hands with a delinquent I explicitly forbade her from approaching."

I swallowed, forcing my throat to work around the lump of fear stuck in it. Julian's words echoed in my mind: Don't look guilty. Take control of the narrative.

"He was helping me, Dad," I said, keeping my tone as steady as I could manage. "I dropped my binder when you walked in. He was picking up my papers."

My father let out a harsh, humorless laugh. "Do not treat me like an i***t, Maya. I have spent twenty years managing teenagers. I know the look of a lie, and I know the look of defiance. You were holding his hand."

"And what if I was?"

The words left my mouth before my brain could censor them. The air in the room instantly grew cold. My father’s eyebrows pulled together in disbelief, his chest expanding as he took a sharp breath.

"What did you just say to me?"

"I said, what if I was?" I repeated, leaning forward, drawing on every ounce of fake confidence I could summon. "Julian isn't a monster, Dad. He helped me last night when no one else would. You judge him based on his last name and his school record, but you don't even know him!"

"I know his record!" my father roared, slamming his palm onto the polished desk. The loud crack made me flinch, but I forced myself not to shrink back. "I know his older brother is currently on probation! I know his father has been in and out of county court for five years! I know that boy has three disciplinary referrals this semester alone! That family is poison, Maya, and I will not let you drag our name into the gutter because you're having a late-onset teenage crisis!"

"He is not his family!"

"He is a distraction!" my father countered, his face flushing dark red. He leaned over the desk, glaring down at me. "You have six months until graduation. You have early admissions applications sitting on your desk for Stanford, Columbia, and Yale. You are the student body vice president. You do not have the luxury of playing savior to a lost cause from 4th Street!"

"Maybe I don't want every single second of my life planned out by you!" I shouted back. The tears were burning hot behind my eyes, but they were tears of rage now, not fear. "Maybe I'm tired of being your perfect little trophy!"

"That 'trophy' life is paying for your future!" he snapped. "And as long as you live under my roof and attend this school, you will obey my rules. Effective immediately, your privileges are revoked entirely."

He reached into his suit jacket, pulled out a printed sheet of paper, and slapped it down in front of me. It was a revised daily schedule, typed out in his neat, clinical font.

"You will be dropped off at school by your mother at 7:30 AM," he declared, listing the rules like a judge handing down a sentence. "You will attend your classes. During study hall, you will sit in the guidance counselor's office, not the cafeteria. The moment track practice ends at 4:30 PM, you will report directly to my car. You will not go to the library. You will not go to your friends' houses. You will go straight home, where you will study until dinner."

I stared at the paper, the black ink blurring before my eyes. It was a prison sentence.

"You can't do this," I whispered.

"I can, and I am," he said coldly. "And to make sure there is no misunderstanding, I am placing Julian Vance on official administrative warning. If he so much as speaks to you on school grounds, I will sign his transfer papers to the county alternative school before the sun sets. Do you understand me? You will not just ruin your own standing; you will guarantee he never gets a high school diploma."

The breath caught in my chest. He was using Julian as leverage. He knew I wouldn't risk Julian's entire future just to throw a fit.

"You're cruel," I spat, my voice shaking with venom.

"I am your father," he corrected, his voice dropping back into that terrifying, calm authority. "And I am protecting you from yourself. Now get to your fifth-period class. If you are late, I will add Saturday detention to your schedule."

I stumbled out of the office, my vision swimming. I ducked into the empty girls' bathroom down the hall, locking myself in a stall just as the first sob broke from my throat. I pressed my back against the cold tile wall, pulling my knees to my chest as I let the panic wash over me.

He had trapped me. The strict schedule, the threat of transferring Julian, the constant surveillance—it was airtight. How was I supposed to fake date Julian, let alone tutor him, if I couldn't be within ten feet of him without risking his expulsion?

After ten minutes of crying, I washed my face with cold water at the sink, staring at my reflection in the spotty mirror. My eyes were rimmed with red, my skin pale. But under the panic, that newly awakened ember of stubbornness was still burning.

He wants to control everything, I thought, gripping the edges of the porcelain sink until my knuckles turned white. He wants me to be terrified. But he doesn't own me.

When the bell rang for the end of fifth period, I left the bathroom and marched down the hallway toward the vocational wing—the section of the school where the auto shop and woodshop classes were held. It was forbidden territory for college-prep students like me, which meant my dad rarely walked down these corridors.

I found Julian standing outside the double doors of the auto bay, wiping grease from his hands with a red shop rag. He had his dark sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the lean muscle of his forearms and a faded ink tattoo near his wrist.

He saw me coming and immediately pushed off the wall, stepping into the alcove near the emergency exit to pull me out of the main line of sight.

"You're playing with fire, Princess," Julian said softly, though his eyes scanned my face with sudden concern. "Your dad looked like he was ready to order a SWAT team when he dragged you out of the cafeteria. What happened?"

"He set up a prison schedule," I said, my voice fast and breathless. "I'm dropped off, monitored during study hall, and picked up the second track practice ends. And... he threatened to transfer you to the alternative school if he sees us together again."

Julian's jaw tightened, a dark flash of anger crossing his face. "Of course he did. Classic Arthur Brooks."

"We have to cancel the deal," I said, the words hurting more than I expected them to. "I can't let him ruin your life, Julian. If you get sent to the county school, you won't graduate. You won't be able to work at the shop."

Julian looked down at me, his dark eyes searching mine. For a moment, the arrogant smirk was completely gone, replaced by something deep, intense, and surprisingly gentle.

"Hey," he said, stepping a fraction closer. The faint scent of motor oil and cold rain clung to him. "Look at me."

I raised my eyes to meet his.

"Nobody is transferring me anywhere," Julian said, his voice low and fiercely quiet. "Your dad has been trying to kick me out of Oakridge since freshman year. He needs a legitimate legal reason, not just a hunch that I'm talking to his daughter. He's bluffing to scare you."

"He looked serious, Julian!"

"He's always serious. That's his problem," Julian replied, a small, reckless smile touching the corner of his lips. "So, he gave you a schedule. Track ends at 4:30 PM, right?"

"Yes, and he's waiting in the parking lot at 4:30 sharp."

"Then we have a thirty-minute window," Julian said simply. "Track finishes running laps around the stadium at 4:00 PM. You have thirty minutes while the rest of the team is in the locker room. You don't go to the public library. You meet me behind the bleachers at the far end of the football field. It's hidden, nobody goes down there after school, and we can get thirty minutes of tutoring in every single day."

I gaped at him. "Behind the bleachers? In the dirt?"

"It's private, it's safe, and it proves he doesn't control every breath you take," Julian said, leaning against the brick wall and crossing his arms. "Unless, of course, the principal's golden girl is too scared to sit in the dirt with a bad guy."

The challenge was glaring, impossible to ignore. A week ago, I would have run straight back to my safe, pristine cage. But standing here in the dim light of the vocational hallway, looking at the one person who wasn't afraid to stand up to the principal, I knew I couldn't go back.

"I'm not scared," I said, holding his gaze. "Bring your algebra book tomorrow at 4:00 PM sharp. If you're late, I'm leaving."

Julian's smirk returned in full force, bright and breathtakingly handsome in the dim hallway.

"I won't be late, Maya," he whispered. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."