Chapter 3: The Art of Acceptance
Lester watched Michael angrily pace back and forth, mentally beating himself up while mumbling under his breath. He griped at him, "Would you stop that you're going to wear a hole in my carpet."
Michael quit pacing and stood still. He couldn't believe his hunch was right, he didn't want it to be. A mixture of emotions swirled around inside of him, fighting their way to the surface. The one that dominated was anger, his adrenaline pumping, his heart racing, and blood boiling. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in inhaling through his nose exhaling through his mouth.
"That's good," said Lester. "Just breathe, calm down."
Michael opened his eyes, meeting Lester's gaze bitterly asking him, "What's his address?" When Lester didn't respond, he asked a second time demandingly. "What is it? I want to know!"
Lester knew exactly what his friend's intentions were if he divulged that information to him. "The website doesn't say."
Michael stepped intimidatingly closer towards him, narrowing his eyes. "So work your computer magic and figure it the fuck out!"
The tactic proved ineffective as Lester stood his ground. "No, I know if I tell you, you'll just go to this guy's house and probably end up killing him." He waited to experience Michael's wrath at his refusal to do his bidding, but when it didn't happen, he was relieved.
The next emotion that worked its way to Michael's surface was guilt as he shamefully hung his head. "How could I let this happen?" He asked more rhetorically than literally.
Lester wasn't a parent himself, but he could tell Michael needed to hear some choice words or emotional pep talk to reassure him that his current predicament wasn't his fault. Sadly, he had none to offer, so Lester did the only thing that he could, rolling himself back over to the computer, typing in a search. It wasn't without some reservation against his better judgment that he looked up the professor's address. He jotted it down on a piece of paper, tearing it off to give to Michael.
"Here, just promise me that if you do kill him and somehow get caught, that it isn't traced back to me, you acted alone, you didn't have an accomplice."
Michael looked up, flashing him a small smile, gladly taking it. One hand on the door, he was ready to leave, but not before thanking Lester over his shoulder. "Thanks, this means a lot." He said, holding up the address.
He punched in the coordinates of the professor's house into his GPS then took off. From Lester's place, he drove across town. But once he ended up in Del Perro, Michael felt like he'd been tricked.
"No way this guy lives anywhere near here." He ended up at Banner Hotel Spa on the corner of Boulevard Del Perro and Cougar Avenue. "This can't be right."
Michael pulled into the hotel parking lot, deciding to give Lester a call. When he didn't pick up, he left him an angry voicemail. "You lying son-of-a-bitch! The address you gave me was fake!" He shifts gears to back up so he could turn around. "You don't have to worry about me killing him anymore 'cause now I'm coming for you..."
Lester immediately picked up. "No, I swear that's the right address," he pleaded.
Michael laughed sarcastically. "Really? Unless this guy lives at the hotel, this isn't the right place."
Lester could sense his irritated tone. "I'll give you directions myself."
Michael looked both ways before pulling out into traffic. "I'm listening. What direction do I go?" He drove along as Lester guided him.
"If you followed my precise directions, you should be on Liberty Street."
Michael felt like Lester was yanking his chain. "What's the big idea? All you had me do was drive around the block to the backside of the hotel."
"Look across the street. You should see a tan-colored two-story house with a clay-tile-cross-gable roof and carport."
Michael's eyes scanned the block for the description of the home as he gave it to him. Sure enough, he found a house matching what he told him. Lester tried to respond, "You're welcome," but Michael hung up before he had the chance. Michael put the car in park, cut the engine, and slouched down in his seat, debating his next course of action. He knew the guy was home, a car was parked in the drive, and the lights were on. His adrenaline rush was wearing off, and the next emotion that surfaced in him was self-doubt.
He weighed the pros and cons in his mind.
Do I really want to risk killing this guy to teach him a lesson? If I do, the repercussions from my actions could be major. And with my luck, they'd come back to bite me in the ass. Killing him would make me feel better, but Tracey would never forgive me; neither would Amanda for that matter. Not to mention if I do, it will blow the low profile I've strived so hard to keep. Especially, since hitting the Union Depository. If I get caught, I know they'll put me away, and I don't like the idea of spending the rest of my life behind bars.
Michael let out a sigh. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, he noticed the time read 7:32 PM. "Crap, I missed dinner," he said, not realizing he'd been gone as long as he had.
Meanwhile, inside the house, Professor Jefferies was on the phone with the police. He spotted and reported Michael's car as a suspicious-looking vehicle parked outside of his residence.
"It's a black Tailgator that's been out there for thirty minutes." The professor was still on the line with an operator who asked if he wanted them to dispatch a unit to his location to check it out. "Wait," he said, peering through the blinds to watch. "No, that won't be necessary. Whoever it was is gone now." He hung up, breathing a sigh of relief.
Friday, October 24, 2014
Over the next few days, Michael struggled more than he thought he would with his secret knowledge of knowing the identity of Tracey's baby daddy. He needed a distraction, so he threw himself into his work, taking on longer and later hours. His wife sensed his conflicting feelings noticing a change in his behavior, but she didn't bother asking what was wrong. Amanda just figured any stress her husband might be under could attribute to the pressure of work getting to him.
Before any of them knew it, a week had flown by, and it was time for Tracey's second OBGYN visit. Michael opted not to go upsetting his daughter in the process, but he explained to her that he felt it was more of a "mother-daughter thing." After giving it some thought, Tracey figured her father was right. She gave him a reassuring hug letting him know she wasn't mad at him for not coming along before leaving with her mother.
Michael went into the kitchen to pour himself a much-needed drink. "Bottoms up," he said, tipping the glass, swallowing the amber liquid that burned his throat on the way down. He let out a cough.
"You okay, pop," Came Jimmy's voice from behind. His son didn't mean to, but he startled him.
Michael was under the impression he was home alone. "Since when do you care?" His father asked, recapping the bottle of liquor.
"I don't," replied Jimmy, "but mom's been wondering. She's just been too afraid to ask."
The question was beginning to nag in the back of Amanda's mind. Who is the father? Although she had trusted her daughter to tell her in her own time, she couldn't help herself from asking. "It's been a week. Are you going to tell me?"
Tracey stopped staring out of the passenger window. "Tell you what?"
Her mother tried to act buddy-buddy while sucking up to her daughter, thinking that would get her to talk. "Just between us, who's the baby's father?"
Tracey understood her mother's curiosity, but she wasn't ready to say. Amanda's eagerness to know and her daughter's refusal to tell her caused tension between them for the remainder of the ride. She gave her mother the silent treatment while at the doctor's office. When the nurse called her back, Tracey didn't even allow Amanda to come back with her.
"Hello again Miss Tracey," Doctor Barnes greeted in a cheerful tone. "How are we feeling today?"
Tracey looked like she was on the verge of tears. "Is something wrong with me or my baby?"
The doctor studied the young woman's face, which was riddled with fear. "Why? What gave you that impression?"
"I've like never been pregnant before, so I don't know how this works. Maybe I'm worrying for nothing, but I read on the internet that generally the doctor schedules your next appointment four weeks after the first one, and you scheduled mine a week later is... is there something wrong with me or my baby?"
The doctor felt that the best thing to do in this situation was being honest. "Tracey, I went back over the samples of your blood work. One of the tests came up positive."
Tracey was beginning to regret not allowing her mother to come back with her because she sure could use her right now.
Doctor Barnes continued her explanation. "Your blood tested positive for anemia." She could tell from Tracey's expression that she didn't know what that was. "It's a condition marked by a deficiency of red blood cells or hemoglobin in the blood resulting in pallor or weariness."
That made sense to Tracey. Although her complexion didn't appear pale, she had been more tired than usual lately. The doctor tried to provide her with good news.
"Before you ask, it wasn't anything that you did; having anemia while pregnant is more common than you think. Many women lack the sufficient amount of iron needed for the second and third trimesters. When too little iron is produced, the body can become fatigued, and have a lowered resistance to infection. In your case, it's mild and easily treatable because we caught it early on."
Tracey calmed down after the doctor explained that her condition was nothing to worry about. Doctor Barnes answered any other questions she had as well as set up a treatment plan. "I'll see you back here in four weeks."
Amanda could tell immediately that there was something wrong with her daughter the moment she returned to the waiting room. "Honey, what's wrong?" Tracey still didn't want to talk to her. Amanda paid, then they left, and as they drove back, she commented. "I wish you would tell me what's wrong."
Tracey decided since it was a health-related issue that she should quit the silent treatment. "Fine, I'll tell you."
She reluctantly informed her mother of her condition then the minute they were home, Tracey bailed before giving Amanda a chance to react.
She called after her. "TRACEY, WAIT!"
Her daughter ran upstairs to her bedroom slamming and locking the door. Instead of discussing how she felt with either of her parents, Tracey decided to write about it in her diary.
Michael and Jimmy were in the living room watching television when Amanda came inside. She stood in front of them with her arms crossed. Her husband turned off the TV advising their son to go upstairs so he and his mother could speak.
Jimmy protested. "I'm not a kid. You can't just send me to my room."
His father glared in his direction. "Go. Now."
Jimmy trudged up the stairs.
Tracey just finished her latest entry when someone knocked on her bedroom door. "LEAVE ME ALONE!" They knocked again. This time she opened the door. "I said I don't want to talk..." she was surprised to see it was her brother.
"Hey, do you want to get out of here?" asked Jimmy. His sister looked at him, puzzled. "Franklin's swinging by to pick me up. We're gonna go see a concert at the Maze Bank Arena." Her brother was offering because he knew how much stress she had been under lately and figured she could use a break.
She thought it over. "Who's performing?"
Jimmy smiled. "Beyonce, I know how much you love her. I'm just going 'cause Jay-Z will be there. He spits the dopest rhymes."
His sister was ecstatic, squealing with glee hugging him. "AAAAHHH! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! For real?"
"Yeah, you can come," Jimmy replied, "but not looking like that."
Tracey went over to her mirror, noting her disheveled appearance. "Gimme some time to change."
Meanwhile, downstairs their parents discussed their daughter. "Dare I ask how the doctor visit went," said Michael.
Amanda informed him of her condition. "Tracey... Tracey has anemia."
Her husband furrowed his brows in confusion. "Wait, what, I thought she was bulimic?"
His wife let out a sigh of frustration. "Not Bulimic. Anemic. She has an iron deficiency."
Michael grew concerned. "Does this affect the baby?"
Amanda wasn't sure herself. "I... I don't think so."
He reiterated. "You don't think so?"
His wife threw up her hands. "I don't know! I don't know Michael. She wouldn't let me go back with her!" Michael sat on the couch watching, as Amanda grew hysterical while rambling. "On the drive there, I swear you rubbed off on me as I found myself pressing the issue of who the father was. I didn't have to ask Tracey, but I did, and she didn't have to tell me. If I hadn't insisted, she wouldn't have been angry with me, and she would have allowed me back with her, and then we'd both know. But I don't know. I don't know Michael. I don't know if this just affects Tracey or Tracey and her baby."
Her husband did the only thing he felt he could do to get his wife to calm down. He got up off the couch, slowly approached her, and wrapped his arms around her in a loving embrace. "Shhh. It's okay, Mandy. I'm sorry I asked."
She cried as he held her. "I am too."
Suddenly the doorbell rang, they exchange puzzled looks. To their knowledge, they weren't expecting any company.
Michael was genuinely surprised to see who it was when answering the door. "Franklin? Don't take this the wrong way, but what are you doing here?"
Franklin feels awkward. "Man, I'm here for Jimmy. We supposed to be hanging out. Didn't he tell you?"
Amanda joined her husband in the foyer. "Honey, who's at the door?"
Michael stood in the doorway, blocking her view, so she peeked her head around him to see who it was.
"No, my son forgot to mention that," Michael calls upstairs. "JIMMY, FRANKLIN'S HERE!"
Jimmy came downstairs with his sister following right behind him. He greets Franklin. "What up F-dog?"
"Where are you kids off to?" asked Amanda.
"Franklin's taking us to see a concert at the Maze Bank Arena," replied Tracey.
"He is?" asked Michael.
Everyone directed their attention to Franklin. "Yeah, so we should probably get going."
Michael quit blocking the doorway, allowing his kids through, and watched as they piled into Franklin's Buffalo S.
Their mother called after them. "Have fun, kids!"
Michael pulled Franklin aside to talk with him. "Hey, watch out for Tracey she's..." he paused, knowing he already made the mistake of telling Trevor, so he thought it was best not to tell him. "Don't let anything happen to her."
"Don't sweat it," assured Franklin.
Jimmy and Tracey watched as their friend spoke with their father. "OMG," said Tracey, "you don't think he's telling him, do you?"
"Beats me," her brother replied. Franklin got in, asking if they were ready to go. He glanced back in the rearview at Tracey in the backseat. "I know I am," replied Jimmy enthusiastically. He starts rapping one of Jay-Z's songs: "If-you're-having-girl-problems-I-feel-bad-for-ya-son-I-got-ninety-nine-problems-but-a-bitch-ain't-one."
Franklin laughed. "What the fuck was that?"
Jimmy felt embarrassed. "That was my impression of Jay-Z."
Franklin popped in his CD. "Yeah, well, let him rap it." They drove to the end of the block before Tracey asked him if they could make a quick stop. "Sure, where?"
She gave him directions of where she wanted to go. "This is good. Just drop me off here," said Tracey getting out of the car.
Franklin rolled down the passenger window calling after her. "Does this mean you ain't coming with us to the concert?"
Tracey walked back over to the car. "No," she looked to her brother. "Cover for me if mom or dad contact you."
Franklin took off. He turned to look at Jimmy. "Why she got me dropping her off at some dude's house instead of coming with us?" Jimmy told him he'd find out soon enough. "Shit, man, what's that suppose to mean?"
At home, Michael and Amanda curled up on the couch while watching a movie. "Isn't this nice?" he asked his wife. "We've got the whole house to ourselves." As the movie played, Amanda found it difficult to enjoy finding herself more distracted than usual unable to stop thinking about who the baby's father was.
"I can't take it!" Amanda blurted, getting up from the couch.
Her outburst startled Michael causing him to spill popcorn everywhere. "Good idea," he commented, "you should probably clean this up." When Amanda was gone longer than anticipated, he went looking for her. He headed into the kitchen, thinking she went in there to retrieve the dustpan they kept under the sink.
"Amanda?"
Where is she? He wondered. Michael extended his search for her upstairs. He wanted to know where they kept the handheld cordless vacuum and found Amanda in Tracey's bedroom. He watched as his wife rifled through their daughter's things in search of something.
"What are you doing?"
Amanda spoke to herself aloud while frantically searching. "Where is it? It has to be around here somewhere!" She turned to look at her husband. "Y'know you could help me instead of standing there in the doorway looking at me like I'm crazy."
Michael smirked. He stepped into the room. "Well, you kinda are. What are you looking for?"
"Our daughters..." Amanda spotted it. "Diary, bingo, found it!"
He pleaded with her not to read it, but his wife insisted that not knowing was killing her.
"Fine!" Michael said, leaving the room. "It's bad enough Tracey doesn't trust me as it is. Don't come crying to me when she finds out you invaded her privacy."
Amanda stared at her daughter's diary holding it in her hands. She couldn't believe she had resorted to this, but that feeling didn't stop her from reading it.
Between the doctor telling me I'm anemic and my parents constantly badgering me about who my baby's father is, I'd be lying if I didn't say I was totally freaked out right now. I'm more concerned than scared. I have an iron deficiency, whatever that means, the doctor explained it to me, but I was too freaked out to listen. I love my baby, and I don't want to lose it. I still haven't told the father, but I want to. Speaking of he actually called the other day, I was shocked. My mom spoke to him over the phone, not that she knew that's who he was. He wanted to know if I would return next semester or not. IDK.
If I return to campus while pregnant, I know people will talk, I don't usually care what other people think, but when it comes to this, I do. I'm seriously considering dropping out. The father of my baby is one of my professors Patrick Jefferies who teaches Creative Writing. I remember the first time I met him. I came in late to his class, so he made me sit in the front row. I stared at him throughout the entire lesson. Instead of taking in what he said, I took in his appearance instead. He stood tall at 6'2'' with dark brown hair and big brown eyes. His skin is sun-kissed, but whose isn't living in Los Santos.
Compared to my other professors, he has such a debonair demeanor a lighthearted and almost comedic approach to teaching. I could tell he truly loves what he does for a living. I didn't listen to a single word that he said, so when he called on me to answer him all I could say was, "You have a great smile." I can't believe I said that out loud. I felt so embarrassed. All the girls laughed, but I caught him blushing before calling on someone else.
I felt good about my work in his class, so I was a little surprised when he called me into his office for a meeting. I sat across from him at his desk, wondering if my parents were going to join us. He informed me that our meeting pertained more to my recent behavior in class than my academic assessment. I told him, to my knowledge; I wasn't acting out in any way or treating any of the other students poorly. He said the issue he has was with my behavior towards him. Of course, I knew exactly what he was talking about; lately, I'd engaged in what I thought was harmless flirtation towards him, but I guess I was wrong.
I tried to apologize. He said he understood because I certainly wasn't the first student to have a crush on him. Although he was flattered, he reminded me that first and, foremost he is my teacher, and I am his student; his job is to teach, and mine is to learn. I told him I thought he was too young to be teaching. He told me that he's only thirty-two. It's not like I meant for anything to happen between us, but it did. I proposed we be friends. He said he didn't associate with his students on campus. I found a way around this. I began casually running into him in the parking lot, talking with him after class. I spent a week working him over until he finally invited me out for coffee at the Bean Machine.
I like meeting with him one on one outside of school in a different setting. It gave me the chance to see another side of him. He was more relaxed, less guarded, and eventually, he let me start calling him by his first name. At first, it was just a slip of the tongue, but he said it was all right. We started seeing each other more and more often, and before I knew it, he invited me over to his place.
Amanda let out a gasp as she quit reading, tossing the diary onto Tracey's bed in disbelief. She felt like she learned enough about her daughter for one day.
Michael was in the master bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed, taking off his shoes when his wife entered. He could tell from the look of shock on her face that she knew. "I'll ask you what you asked me, satisfied?"
Amanda broke out of her daze. "No... I thought I was okay with this, but I'm not." She scram at her husband, ranting out in anger like that would get her point across. "Michael, our daughter is pregnant with her professor's baby!"
He waited for his chance to interject. "I know."
Amanda couldn't believe it. "You... you knew? You knew, and you didn't tell me!"
Michael explained to her. "I figured it out after he called the house asking if Tracey would return next semester. I had a hunch, so I told you I was going for a drive, but I really went to see Lester, who told me who the guy was and where he lived."
His wife began tossing things off the nightstand at him that he easily deflected.
"Hey, watch it!" Then Amanda remembered that's where Michael kept his pistol, and he watched as she took it out of the drawer. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
She felt it to see if it was loaded. "I'm gonna kill him," Amanda said walking downstairs.
Michael followed after her. "You can't do that. You don't even know where he lives!"
Her husband had a valid point. "Fine," she said, tossing her car keys at him. "Tell me. Better yet you drive."
Michael looked down at his feet. "Can I at least put on some shoes?"
They got in her Sentinel proceeding to drive to the professor's house. Amanda was shocked to learn that he lived less than a mile away from their residence.
"Are you sure you wanna do this?" asked Michael.
His wife stared at the front door crying, asking, "What's it like?"
Michael shut off the engine. "What's what like?"
Amanda turned to look at him. After a moment's pause, she managed to say. "To kill someone. What's it like?"
Of all of the questions she'd ever asked him throughout their marriage, he never thought she would ask him that. He swallowed hard before replying. "You don't want to know." Michael honestly hoped his reply would get her to change her mind about killing the professor. When she turned to kiss him, she dropped her guard, so he attempted to take the gun from her, but before he could, she got out of the vehicle.
"Amanda! Amanda, don't do this!"
He raced after her down the walkway to the front door. She peeked inside to see if anybody was home, noting the front door was open, so she helped herself inside. Michael tried pleading with his wife once more.
"If you kill him, there's no coming back from that." Amanda proceeded to enter the home, so he followed after her. He tried reasoning with her one last time to get her to give him the gun. "If either of us is going to kill him, it should be me."
Amanda tried to remain calm, observing her surroundings while making her way through the house. "Shhh! Be quiet!"
All of the sudden, the whistle blew on the teakettle in the kitchen, startling them both causing her to fire the weapon. Professor Jefferies and Tracey were upstairs when they heard the gun go off.
"What was that?" The professor asked.
"I don't know," replied Tracey.
He got up to investigate. "You stay here. I'll go see what it was." Patrick cautiously made his way downstairs. He couldn't see anything deciding as long as he was down there; he may as well make himself useful and bring a cup of tea to Tracey.
"Turn around slowly!" Amanda demanded, aiming at him.
Patrick's heart raced in his chest as he did as she instructed. "You must be Amanda." He recognized her voice from their conversation on the phone. Once he faced her, he saw she was wielding a gun and reminded himself to remain calm. "Judging by that weapon, I'd say you're here to kill me."
Michael discouraged him from goading his wife. "For a college professor, you ain't the brightest. If I were you, I wouldn't provoke someone who's holding a gun."
Tracey wondered why Patrick hadn't returned, so she took it upon herself to check on him. She stood at the top of the staircase in shock at the sound of her parent's voices.
Patrick redirected the conversation at Michael, referring to his wife. "She's here to kill me; you're here to stop me, but which one of you is here for your daughter?"
Neither Amanda nor Michael expected the professor to say something so forthright. With both of them at a loss for words, Patrick continued.
"Tracey came here tonight to confide in me. She told me something I wasn't aware of that she's pregnant. She also told me about the two of you; how poorly you've treated her, given the condition that she's in, the poor thing. I'm sure you're both wondering how this happened, and I'll gladly tell you. Despite what you may think, I didn't take advantage of her I merely appealed to what she so desperately craved, attention. It's obvious that neither of you pays her any mind."
Amanda and Michael grew defensive. "That's not true!"
"Oh, isn't it?" commented Patrick. "You're both currently proving my point by showing a deliberate and obstinate desire to behave in a way that is unreasonable despite the consequences." Amanda and Michael exchange looks of confusion. Patrick grew frustrated. "Honestly, have you no clue what I'm trying to say? I'd like you to yield your weapon; put down the gun!"
Tracey ran downstairs, racing right up to Patrick standing in the line of fire. "Please, don't kill him. I love him!"
Her parents were shocked. Michael took this opportunity to retrieve the gun from his wife's possession. "She couldn't have shot you anyhow," he explained, disassembling the weapon. "There was only one bullet in the chamber, to begin with."
Amanda slaps her husband on the shoulder. "That's why you kept a pistol in the nightstand so you could kill yourself?" Her husband looked at her and shrugged.
Patrick encouraged Tracey to go upstairs to lie down. "All of this commotion has you upset. Take your tea, and I'll be with you shortly."
The sight of watching their daughter kiss her professor made Michael's stomach churn. Amanda felt differently, thinking it was sweet but creepy. Patrick showed them to the door, but Amanda didn't want to go.
"No, Michael, we can't leave Tracey here."
Michael extended a hand. "C'mon, Amanda, we've gotta respect our daughter's right to make her own decisions."
Patrick was pleasantly surprised at Tracey's father's rationality in the situation. He pats him on the shoulder, offering him a small smile. Only then did he regret his action retracting his hand from Michael's shoulder, who didn't look all that thrilled from the contact.
Michael stepped closer toward Patrick, speaking in a low growl. "Make no mistake; this doesn't make me like you. Wait until the university hears what I have to say about this." He smiles smugly at the professor, patting him on the cheek, then walked off. He reclaimed his spot in the driver's seat turns the car over, then around, and takes off.
"What about Tracey?" Amanda asks.
Her husband looks back in the rearview coldly, replying. "She made her decision like you said, "I've got to learn to accept this."
Patrick heads back inside, locking the door behind him. He heads upstairs to check on Tracey whose lying atop the covers on his bed.
"I'm sorry," she says, sitting up.
"Don't apologize. I thought you were asleep," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Tracey looks away from his painful gaze feeling guilty and ashamed of her parent's actions. "Not after that. Maybe now you understand what I was talking about. I'm just sorry you had to witness it first hand." In previous conversations they had, she told him how outrageous her parent's arguments were as well as the escalating actions that tend to follow.
Patrick sighs. "I could only imagine how difficult it must have been growing up in that sort of environment."
Tracey starts crying. "Do you blame me for not wanting to go with them and choosing to stay here with you?"
Patrick didn't mean to upset her." No, not at all. I understand your desire to want to stay somewhere safe and stress-free especially now." His gaze falls to her lower abdomen.
Across town, at the Maze Bank Arena, the Beyonce concert is letting out. As Franklin drives him back home Jimmy decides to fill his friend in on the details of his latest family problem. Franklin brings the car to a stop to let Jimmy out.
"Are you sure you don't wanna come inside?" asks Jimmy.
Franklin scoffs. "Fuck, thanks, but no thanks. It's been real illuminating," he says speeding off.
"Nice hanging with you too," says Jimmy, heading inside. Little did he know his parents were waiting in the kitchen to ambush him.
