I rummaged through my closet, trying to decide which shirt looked the least dorky and gave me the best shot at getting Rebecca out on the dance floor. I wasn't kidding myself. It was the first dance for freshmen, and since the private academy only had twenty-five ninth graders, there were only a few partner choices. And Rebecca was going to be at the top of every guy's dance list.

I pulled out a dark blue shirt and tried to press the wrinkles out with my hand. My bedroom door opened, and Dad walked into the room. He'd spent the entire evening after his long work day on the phone with clients, leaving me to eat dinner alone. Loretta, the housekeeper, had shook her head in dismay as she carried his dinner tray into the office. I always felt small and stupid eating at the twenty foot polished dining table alone, so I picked up my plate and went into the kitchen to eat while Loretta finished up with the dishes. Loretta was the twelfth housekeeper in my life, and aside from, Janine, who had big blue eyes and a heavy accent and who was the focus of my first crush, Loretta was my favorite. Mostly because I could skirt some of my dad's strict rules, like no phones at the table and no picking out the vegetables because I knew Loretta would never tell. She always shook her head and told me I needed to be a boy before I could be a man and that I needed to have more fun. And the school dance was going to be exactly that.

Dad's sideburns were graying heavily, which made him look a lot older, like someone's grandpa. I figured it was because he never rested, and he only slept five hours a night. Anyone would look old if they never slept. "What are you up to, Nash? You forgot to leave me your schoolwork. I need to see the grades you earned today. Pronto."

I put the shirt on the bed and walked over to my school bag. "There was only one test. It was in Language Arts." Language Arts was by far my least favorite subject, but I'd managed to get an A minus. I knew that minus was going to make him mad, but tonight, I didn't care. By this time tomorrow I'd be swinging Rebecca, with her long legs and curly eyelashes, around the dance floor.

Flecks of gray were sprouting up in Dad's bushy brows too. They bunched together like two angry, fuzzy caterpillars. He shoved the paper back at me. "Next time no minus."

I nodded and shoved the disgraced paper back into my school bag. I waited patiently for him to leave. He had seen the grade. It was rare for him to make small talk or ask how the rest of my day went. In fact rare wasn't accurate. He never asked how my day went.

He glanced at the blue shirt I'd pulled out of the closet. "What are you getting dressed for?"

"I'm not. I'm just trying to figure out what to wear to the dance."

Dad looked back at me with his stony expression. "What dance?"

"Tomorrow night is the first freshman dance at the academy."

I observed the slightest nod of his head, and I released my breath. For a quick second, I was sure he was going to forbid me to go.

He headed to the door. "I'm having a business dinner here tomorrow night. I told Loretta you can eat in your room. Then you won't get in the way."

"That's fine. I have a ride to the dance, so Loretta doesn't need to drive me."

"You're not going to the dance. It's a waste of time, and it will only pull your focus away from your studies."

"But, sir, it's the first dance of the year, and my friends will be there."

"No dance." He walked out and snapped the door shut behind him. I stared at the closed door, wanting to erase his last words and assure myself I hadn't heard them. But I had. He'd made it clear in his usual, succinct command style. It was his way of saying don't bother to ask again. No dance. No friends. No Rebecca.

I gritted my teeth together hard enough to hear them grind in my jaw. I curled my fists tight and walked three steps toward the wall. My knuckles seemed to jam into my hand as I threw my fist into the wall. I yelled out but then sucked back the noise to keep from alerting my dad. I'd put a tennis ball sized dent in the wall, but most of the damage had been to my hand. The throbbing pain pulsed all the way up to my shoulder. I held my hand against me and hopped around, holding my breath and fighting back the puke rising in my throat.

The bedroom door opened, not quickly or suddenly, but slowly, as if he was just looking inside to check that I was doing my homework. Dad stood in the doorway with that emotionless, granite face. His harsh scowl landed on my right hand with knuckles that had already swollen to twice their normal size. I could barely move my fingers. They seemed to be permanently frozen into a fist.

He stepped into the room and looked at the dent in the wall. It was hardly noticeable but my dad never missed a detail. He rubbed his finger over the concave plaster and without looking at me, motioned me toward the wall with his finger.

Suddenly the pain in my hand was nothing compared to the terrified pulse pounding in my ears.

Dad stepped back. "Hit it again," he said calmly as if asking me to turn on the lights.

I stared at him in confusion.

"Hit the wall again in that same spot. Now," he added darkly.

I balled up my left hand.

Dad shook his head. "The right hand."

Nausea raced through me as I thought about slamming the unforgiving plaster wall with my tender, aching knuckles. Dad stood there like a statue. The only sign that he was actually a living human was the slight movement of his nostrils as he breathed in and out.

I pulled my arm back and gritted my teeth as I threw my throbbing hand into the wall. The plaster dented a little deeper, and my knuckles jammed farther into my hand. Blinded by the pain, I stumbled into my bathroom and puked into the toilet. I used my left hand to throw cold water on my face. I avoided looking at my right hand, certain that it was starting to look like a ball of red clay instead of a hand.

The room was silent, and I hoped to hell that Dad had gone, satisfied that he'd caused me enough pain and anguish for one night. I stepped out of the bathroom. He was still there, like a tall, dark shadow of cruelty.

"Again," he said calmly. Calm was the tone I hated the most. I preferred anger and rage to deadly calm. Calm meant that he was in full monster mode.

"What?" I asked weakly, hoping I'd misheard him.

"Get back over here and hit it again."

"But, sir, I think—"

"Again."

The bile rose in my throat again. The room seemed to spin around me as I walked back to the wall. The plaster was cracking around the dent, but I had no doubt it would still hurt just as bad. And then the pain turned to rage. Anger heated my skin and made blood boil in my veins. I would show him. I would fucking show him.

Without hesitation, I threw my fist into the wall. Plaster chipped off, and the pain in my hand began to be muted by numbness. I could feel the vibrations of the impact through my arm and across my shoulders and back. This time I didn't wait for his order.

I hit the wall again. Plaster jammed into my fingers, slicing two of them open. Red smears of blood colored the crumbling pieces of wall. I pulled back and hit it again, wanting and hoping that I'd feel every bit of it. I yelled out as I hit it again. My hand went clear through, leaving a fist sized hole in the wall. A spray of blood covered the white wall. My hand felt as if it was no longer attached to my arm. I couldn't feel anything except pulses of pain running through my entire body.

"You can spend tomorrow night patching that wall." Dad walked to the door. "I'll hire you a private tutor tomorrow. You're done with that ridiculous academy." The door shut behind him.

I grabbed a clean sock from my drawer as I stumbled to my bed. I wrapped the sock around my hand and collapsed down on the mattress, wishing that the damn bed would just swallow me up so I could disappear for good.