In eighth grade he lived just outside of Toronto, just him and his dad. He liked the nights his dad worked late, the quietness of the house. And his dad could be cool, bringing him out to eat at fancy places, helping him study for science tests and he needed that help. With science it was like he just couldn't get it. But there were other times, his dad quiet and stressed out, times when Craig could feel it coming. If not one day it would be the next, and any excuse would do for his dad to lose his cool.

He'd been seeing Angela and Joey every so often, not the regular weekend visits like when his mom was alive but often enough to let him see there was a different way to live. When Angela would spill something or break something or argue with Joey Craig would tense up, waiting for Joey to explode. And sometimes he did, sometimes Joey yelled at Angela, calling her "Angela Elizabeth" or he'd leave the room in disgust but it was never like, well, how it was at his house.

Then his dad would be there to pick him up, not coming into the house on general principle, not engaging in the small talk Joey attempted. He wouldn't even look at Angela.

"Ready, Craig?" he'd say, his words terse. And Craig would nod and sometimes look longingly at Joey, thinking so loud in his head, 'let me stay' that it seemed Joey should be able to hear him. But he never did.

That was the year he'd stopped inviting friends over to his house. It was just safer that way. Because sometimes his dad was cool but other times, he just didn't know and couldn't risk it. That was the year things started to get worse.

Science was going to be the death of him. Ecosystems, geology and biology, dissecting fetal pigs, their insides just a colorful mess that meant nothing to him, how could he possibly pass? And how could he be so bad at science when his father was a doctor? A surgeon, no less? Wasn't that science? It certainly was an aptitude that hadn't been passed down to him. He trudged home, his bag filled with science books and notebooks and he hoped for once that his dad would be home, to help him make sense of it all. He never knew when his dad would be home or not, he was on some weird rotating schedule that involved covering for other surgeons if they happened to be on vacation. He never knew what sort of mood his dad would be in, either. Didn't know if he'd smile and ask him about his day or if he'd strap him with that goddamn leather belt he wore, the belt coming out of the belt straps so fast, arcing through the air with that sound. Every day was a mystery.

"Shit," Craig said, the house silent, the air heavy and still. He wouldn't dare swear in front of his dad. He had once.

"Goddamn it!" Craig said, throwing his school bag onto the coffee table, kicking off his sneakers so they slammed against the wall. Without his father's help with this he'd fail the test for sure, and then what would happen? What if his dad found out about the stupid F on a day when he was stressed out? But it wasn't just his father's reaction to a failing grade that had Craig upset. He wanted to do well on it because he wanted to, for himself. And now he wouldn't be able to.

Maybe, he thought, his dad wouldn't be that late today. Sometimes he wasn't. Maybe he'd still have time to study with him.

"Goddamn it," Craig said, but softly, resigned. He got himself a glass of juice and drank half of it, set it down on the table. Maybe he'd be able to figure enough of it out to do halfway okay.

He had the T.V. on but muted it so he could puzzle over the science notes without the tinny distraction of the T.V. voices. It was a mess. Books, notebooks, reference books spread all over the couch and the coffee table, none of it making sense, his eyes blurring as he tried to read his own tortured scrawl he called handwriting.

Five o'clock, then six, the light dimming in the sky, no sign of his dad's fancy car pulling into the driveway. No luck. He made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and ate it standing in the kitchen, watching the last inch of light fade away.

"What in the hell is this?"

Craig bolted awake at the sound of his dad's voice, that steel pitch of anger making his heart start to beat too fast. He must have dozed off in the living room in the middle of studying, every light blazing.

"N-nothing, I just-"

"You just leave every light on and food in the kitchen!"

He blinked. The clock said 11 p.m.

"No, I just-"

"You, Jesus, Craig, I work all damn night and what do I get? What do I come home to? A fucking mess!"

Craig looked at him with round eyes, his breathing fast and shallow. He stood up, wanting to leave, wanting to go up to his room and be left alone, but his dad was blocking the way. He shoved him down and Craig stumbled back and fell. He tensed up, instinctively covered his head with his arms as his dad punched him again and again and again.