Play the game to win… but actually win

A few days passed, and since I no longer had access to a computer, this made my plan a little tricky, but I kept hope alive. Another weekend had come, and back to my dad’s friend’s house I went, only this time I’d be here a few days since my dad figured it would be good to get out of the house; she had her nieces and nephews over often, it didn’t hurt that we all got along and I could always use my friendship with them as leverage with my dad to loosen the parent chains a bit.

With angst, I ran to the computer, hoping a new development had happened in my absence.

There it was, an accepted friend request from Seth. It was the first time I could feel the stimulation from my endorphins. A visceral reaction coupled with the butterflies in my stomach, but with the chaos about to ensue, it could’ve been a hive of killer wasps.

The little devil on my shoulder was gaining power and momentum.

Weeks had passed, and neither of us had messaged each other, and I began to worry. What good was this plan if there was radio silence; I knew I had to act fast.

Then my luck turned; due to high test scores – that our teachers gave us the answers to due to the pressure and threats they received from the principal, we got a grant that allowed us to have a gym remodel but also…. Laptops.

Once a kid in our class learned a hack to allow access to Facebook and Twitter, I now had an 8-hour school day to devise a plan and follow it through.

I knew I had to get Seth’s attention; guys are visual creatures. I didn’t want to pursue him, as we all should know; the one who has the power in romance is the one who’s sought after. Weighing my options, I figured the only way I could get his attention was to take and post pictures; it would be hard to ignore someone posting a cute picture daily.

For weeks, I made it my mission to stay picture ready since I took pictures daily and posted them to get Seth’s attention.

It then occurred to me that Vince was now taking notice of me, making sure he had a seat near or adjacent to me, and even being a little snarky like all guys are when they are developing a crush. But I no longer cared; though the objective was to get him to like me, I started to care more about the plan than the end goal. Seeing this plan through was now the end goal, and now it consumed me. Every day was a new and innovative idea, and I never realized I had already gotten the desired outcome. I was now getting the attention I wanted, but I couldn’t stop myself; I couldn’t stop the ball from rolling. What I thought I wanted no longer mattered.

Then it happened, Seth messaged me. Staring at the notification, the anxiety had taken over me. My mind wandered, though, in retrospect, it would’ve been easier to click on the message than to overthink; it didn’t stop me from overthinking what was said.

After my Rolodex of rabbit hole intrusive thoughts regarding what he might’ve said, I click the message. To my chagrin, it was nothing impressive, but it was something he said, “Hey J.” From that day on, Seth and I talked every day on Facebook but only during school hours. I knew to keep this plan going that; I would have to get a cell phone.

My dad was totally against it, and my grandmother, who binged Channel 6 news day and night, came across a segment that explained how “sexting” amongst teens was on the rise. She exclaimed to my dad often how sneaky I was and that I didn’t deserve a phone. The irony is that most of my time was spent reading, writing, drawing, and being monitored like a convicted felon in a max security prison; this is how she planned to keep me “innocent.”

After months of begging, my dad finally caved.

My dad was never a man of feelings and never wanted to hear the emotion in your tone while speaking to him. Emotion always triggered an aggressive side to him where he would showcase how low below the belt he could hit until you removed yourself from the conversation or backed down. This is how he got his power fix.

But I knew how to work my dad; the trick was creating a rational and well-thought-out plan he couldn’t poke a hole through. While presenting an idea, he made sure he would listen, keen in on any flimsy part of the conversation, and take an axe to it.

I arrived 10 minutes late on this particular day, returning from school. You would think since I was catching public transpiration, some time would be allotted for some unforeseen event, but in my dad’s mind, if I was going to be late, I needed to run home. Terrified to enter the house, I sighed and succumbed to my fate. I walked in through the first door, which led to our indoor porch; I took a breath. Slowly, I opened the second door to our living room. Peeking in, I didn’t see my dad or grandmother, just the dimly lit living room and our old flattened brown furniture that my grandmother had since she moved into this house after divorcing my grandfather in the 1960s.

Tiptoeing through the door and trying my best to shut the door slowly enough to avoid the rust shrieking, there was no need for an alarm system with such a violent door hinge sound.

My eyes focused on the door and hand gripping the door handle. I tried my best and prayed for divine intervention to close the door without the usual violent shriek. “SHES HERE!” my grandmother yelled from her bedroom.

My grandmother having agoraphobia, had spent the last 40 years at home and was always able to pick up on any change of wind in the house, so my tiptoeing proved futile. But even in her sickness, her daily mission was to prove to my dad that I wasn’t as innocent as he thought. My heart sank; my dad came up from the basement. The guy that counted down to the second how long it would take for me to arrive and return anywhere I went started his series of intimidating questions.

Staring at me with his big green eyes, I could tell by his face he wasn’t angry… yet. I knew if I kept my emotions at bay and stuck with the truth, I’d be okay, and now it was time for the interrogation.

” You’re late.”

I placed my bag on the couch and responded, “I know, the bus was late. It normally always comes at 2:30 pm, but today I don’t know what happened.”

I knew I had to keep it simple and avoid over-explaining; overexplaining made him suspicious.

My dad replied, “So you didn’t bother to use your friend’s phone to call and let me know.”

I paused, now burning in anxiety; I knew if my face turned red, it was game over; he would assume me to be a liar. I reminded myself to tell the truth, but I wasn’t expecting that question.

After a few moments of looking around and hoping he would continue and not look for an answer. But then body language shifted; he was now standing facing me and looking at me directly; he tilted his head to say, “Okay, what.”

I said, “I’m sorry, Dad, I didn’t think of that. But I swear the bus was just late; I wasn’t doing anything, I swear.”

His posture relaxed, and the steady eye contact, now broken, I knew he was done. I could hear the creaks from my grandmothers’ footsteps heading back to her room. She loved to lean over the railing and listen for a good tongue lashing from her efforts to prove to my dad that she was an “awful child.” This time she was defeated, and I had won this little battle.

Though I did think it was too soon after the common criminal interrogation my dad and I just had, I knew I had one shot at landing my idea. On my way to put my school bag in my room, I checked for my grandmother to ensure she was preoccupied so I could talk to my dad without her input. Noticing she was busy watching the news and playing solitaire as she did every day at the same time, I rushed back down the stairs to talk to my dad.

Using my big deer eyes, which I hadn’t yet grown into, I pitched the idea to my dad that if I had a phone, I could call him to let him know I was running late and how If I was allowed to get a phone I could call him, or he could call me to ensure that I am where I say I am. I saw the light go off in his head, and after a few minutes, he responded, “Okay, let me think.” He never wanted to answer immediately when I made a solid point and knew instantly I had won.

A day passed, and my dad had now devised his plan. He said, “You can have a phone, but you have to pay for it, so it’s time for you to get a job, buddy,” The smirk on his face told me he doubted me.

A week passed since that conversation with my dad, and talking to Seth during school hours was no longer optimal; I knew the relationship dynamic would soon change, and he would eventually ask me for my phone number. What was I supposed to say in the event that he did, “No, I don’t have a phone, and I can’t see you because I’m being held captive by my dad, who treats me like a common criminal.” I knew I had to change something, and then it came to me like an epiphany…. Getting a job would allow me more freedom, which meant more time to act. This was when the tables turned…