I froze.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw them: a man in a sharp suit standing next to a boy around fifteen. Good clothes. Nice backpack. Hair styled with more effort than I’d put into mine on my wedding day, back when I had one.
“You think skipping class is funny?” the man continued. “You think blowing off homework is no big deal? You want to end up like that? A failure covered in dirt, doing manual labor your whole life?”
There was a pause.
My jaw tightened. I kept my eyes fixed on the chicken, pretending I hadn’t heard a thing.
“Well? Is that what you want your future to look like?” the man pressed.
The boy answered quietly, “No.”
He looked uncomfortable.
The father leaned closer. “Then start acting like it.”
Something twisted inside my chest. Not because I hadn’t heard people talk like that before—I had. Plenty of times.
