"So, how are things going with you son?"
Link looked up at the sound of his father's voice. The rarity of them having a meal together alone was enough to have him feeling slightly uncomfortable. He took a small drink from his water glass and wondered if his father was going to grill him or if this was really just the casual question it appeared to be.
"Great, Pop, things are going great."
"Tell me what you think of this new girl they have on your show," Edward Larkin asked and Link paused with his glass halfway to his mouth. He set the glass down and looked at his father again.
"I think she's great… why?" He immediately wished he hadn't given his father that opening. He didn't want to hear a bunch of negative talk about this subject and his father was always good with the negative opinions.
"Nothing, she looks like a sweet heart, she's just not the type usually picked for those kids of things and I wondered what you thought about it."
Link felt relief and smiled slightly. "I think she's a good dancer and I'm glad Corny gave her a shot," he said simply and his father nodded.
The room once again fell into an uncomfortable silence. The two men sat at either end of the rectangular table, each lost in their own thoughts, millions of unsaid words piled in the space between them. Link didn't hear his father's voice again until Mrs. Crandall appeared with their main course.
"I talked to Bob Bagley today. You know him, he coaches track and field?" His dad announced over the plate of food the housekeeper had just placed in front of him. Link looked down at his own plate and tried to pretend he hadn't heard that meaningful tone in his father's voice. The tone that said, I have plans for you kid and this is me trying to steer you in that direction.
"He seems to think you'd do well in the sport…"
"Pop, this is the end of junior year, it's a bit late for me to start up with sports now."
"I don't think so," Mr. Larkin said with his usual sense of authority, his fork ready in hand to stab a bite of meatloaf. "Besides, you can't expect to get into Stanford if your only extracurricular activity is playing around on some local dance show."
Link set his fork down. Stanford, his father's beloved al ma mater. A moment ago he'd been famished, now he felt like pushing his plate as far away as possible. "It's not playing around, and maybe I don't want to go to Stanford."
"And what exactly do you intend to do with your life then?"
"We already talked about this…"
"You cannot make a living out of dancing and singing on some television show." His father's smooth baritone had gone up a notch in volume and Link could already see the tell tale throbbing of that vein in his forehead.
"You don't know that… we had a deal. If I get signed by the end of senior year then I'm off the hook, if not then I'll go to college…"
"But how do you expect to get into a good college if…"
"I'm doing what I need to do to get where I want to go. It's not about you, Pop."
"Hey, don't take that tone with me," Edward said leaning onto the table and pointing his fork in his son's direction.
"Alright, how about I take no tone," Link said with forced calm, pushing his untouched plate away and standing up from the table. "I've got a lot of homework to do." He made his way upstairs in a steady, normal gait. He hadn't stormed off to his room since he'd been thirteen and no matter how frustrated his old man made him he wasn't gonna fall back into the habit now.
If he acted cool, then it was cool. This wasn't anything he couldn't handle. He had his plan firmly in place. If he stuck with it just a little bit longer then he could have what he wanted.
He never let himself dwell on the fact that he had never been exactly certain what that was.