The Boyfriend Thief by Shana Norris Page B

interested in medicine. I could remember looking through an old medical book with her when I was little, learning the names of various bones and organs. It became one of the special things between us, and she would surprise me sometimes with a new medical book we could look through together. Mom had wanted to become a doctor once, when she was a kid. “Then I got married,” she would always say whenever I asked why she didn't go to medical school. “And had you and Ian.”
    That was the first time I'd felt like I'd done something wrong just by being born.
    After she left, I poured through the medical books she'd left behind, searching for an answer as to what had happened to the mother I'd known.
    I moved my fingers in a steady rhythm, feeling the pieces work. Smooth. Controlled. Parts of the body that could be seen and studied made sense. The other parts—the hormones—were unpredictable.
    The men of this house would be lost causes if it weren’t for me. I had to be the voice of reason for everyone around here and remind them about the effect hormones had on our ability to think clearly. We didn’t need anyone. I could be valedictorian, get into medical school, and pay for the trip to Costa Rica myself. I could hunt down the answers we needed so we could heal all the wounds and close up the past.
    Once things ended between Trisha and my dad, as I was certain they would before too much longer, I would be the one to swoop in, pick up the pieces, and take care of everything.
    Again.

Chapter 7
     
    “Morning, sunshine,” Dad said as I padded into the kitchen Saturday morning. Or at least, I thought it was my dad. I had to do a double take to make sure. He sat at the table, dressed in a T-shirt, athletic shorts, and running shoes with a white sweatband wrapped around his head and matching mini sweatbands around his wrists.
    I raised my eyebrows at him. “Did Halloween come early?”
    “Funny,” Dad said as he drank the last of his orange juice. “I’m meeting Trisha for a jog around the park.”
    I had pulled open the refrigerator to grab the milk from its spot on the third shelf, but now I froze, my hand hovering in the air. “Jogging? You? ” This statement had spun me for a loop so fast that I ignored the mention of his girlfriend.
    “I jog,” Dad insisted.
    “Since when?”
    “Okay, I haven’t done it since college, but it’ll be good for me,” Dad said. He thumped his chest with his fist. “Get some fresh air into these old lungs.”
    “I think you should be more concerned with not getting any air at all into your old lungs. No offense, Dad, but you’re not exactly athletic. It’s been over twenty years since you regularly exercised.”
    I poured myself a bowl of cereal and then sat down at the table across from him. Dad looked indignant that I was questioning his jogging abilities.
    “I used to run track in high school,” Dad said. “A little jogging won’t kill me.”
    “Jogging?” said Ian as he stumbled into the room, his eyes still half-closed. “ You’re going jogging?”
    Dad slapped the table. “Why do you kids think I can’t do something as simple as jogging? It’s not like I’m running a marathon.”
    I stuffed a spoonful of cereal into my mouth to avoid answering.
    Ian wasn’t so worried about sparing Dad’s feelings. “I’ve never seen you even walk fast,” he said as he grabbed his Cap’n Crunch off the top of the refrigerator. “Except for one time at the grocery store when they announced there were free samples of buffalo wings in the meat department.”
    Dad got up from the table and put his empty glass into the sink. “You two think you know everything,” he said, turning around to scowl at us. “I’ll see you later—after my nice jog.”
    With that, Dad stomped out of the room. The front door slammed a moment later.
    “He’ll be coming home in an ambulance, won’t he?” Ian asked as he sat down.
    “Very likely. He’s jogging with Trisha.”
    “So?”