Hemingway Tradition Read Online Free Page A

The life he’d lived with Mom and me was a huge lie — loving husband, devoted father —
all a lie!
He’d said so himself.
    I thought of the note he left on the dresser. It was the shortest thing he’d ever written. But it was also the most powerful. Just three sentences. C
losets are horrible places — small, dark, and crowded with secrets and lies. After a while you just can’t seem to keep the door shut. I’m sorry
.
    Then he took a gun and blew his life to pieces. Mine too. With one little bullet, he managed to shatter his skull and turn me into a walking box of mismatched puzzle pieces. Nothing fit anymore.
    Rage and frustration began to swirl inside me like a hurricane whipping itself into a frenzy. Faster and faster it whirled, slashing at my guts and slamming my heart into my ribs. I wanted to yell it out of me, but there were no words for what I was feeling. And besides, the person I needed to yell at wasn’t there to hear me.
    Why, Dad? Why did you dump this on me and then leave? I believed in you, but you lied to me. So now what am I supposed to think? What am I supposed to believe? You were gay, and you killed yourself. Should I hate you for that? Or am I supposed to feel sorry for you? You should have told me.
    I picked up my pen and started to write.

Chapter Six
    League volleyball started the next day.
    The junior girls played first. After them it was the junior boys, then the varsity girls and finally us. With each match, the bleachers filled up a little more. By the time we took the court, the gym was packed.
    The noise was incredible. We were playing Glenlawn — our longstanding rival according to Jai — so their fans were trying toout-scream ours. And just in case that wasn’t enough to clean out a person’s earwax, there were horns and kazoos and warm-up music bouncing off the walls too.
    I was pumped, but because I was playing a new position, I was also a little nervous. In the past, I’d always been a weak side hitter, but Mr. Hudson said my long arms were great for blocking, so he’d switched me to middle.
    His theory was put to the test on the very first rally. Glenlawn served a floater to the back line.
Bump, set, smash —
we returned it. But Glenlawn dug it up and their setter made a perfect pass over to power. The hitter took his approach and I slid toward Paul, who was playing weak side. As Glenlawn’s hitter went up, so did Paul and I.
Slam!
The ball ricocheted off our arms, back onto the hitter and out of play. Point, Dakota.
    The next three points went to Glenlawn. We took the two after that. And on it went — seesawing back and forth the whole match. No sooner would one team go on a run than the momentum would shift, and the otherteam would take the lead.
    We won the first game. Glenlawn took the second. The third and deciding one went down to the wire, ending 23-21 in our favor.
    Victory was sweet. Glenlawn left our gym vowing revenge.
    Tess jumped down from the bleachers and ambushed me. She shoved a felt marker under my nose as if it were a microphone.
    â€œGreat game, Shaw,” she said. Her expression was serious and her voice was deep and reporterish. “Sixteen big stops in today’s match. Could you tell our listeners how it feels to be the Dakota Lancers’ new blocking machine?”
    I made a face and pushed the felt marker away.
    â€œYou are too funny.”
    She giggled and gave me a hug. “I know. It
was
an awesome game though,” she said. “And you did have some pretty amazing blocks. Why don’t we grab a burger, and I can interview you for the paper. My treat,” she sweetened the pot.
    â€œYou’re buying?” I waggled my eyebrows at her. “Hey, guys!” I hollered. “Tess is gonna treat us to — ” That’s as far as I got before she stomped on my foot.
    â€œNot the whole team!” she shushed me. “What do you take me for — the