Camp Wisahickon

Chapter Thirty One

You could cut the tension at the dinner table with a knife. It hung thick in the air and perhaps the worst part was that my father was the only one who didn't realize. My mom pretended not to know Carter and he similarly didn't give the impression that he knew her before.

I decided that this moment, sitting at the table with Carter, my mom, and my father as we silently ate, was the most awkward moment ever. It didn't get any better when my dad started asking Carter about his aspirations in life.

"Tell me Carter," My dad starts as he leans back to assess Carter. "Where do you plan on going to college?"

I bite my tongue from scolding my father for asking such a loaded question. I, myself, was tired of being asked that question so frequently. He didn't even bother to glance at me but instead kept his curious gaze trained on Carter, who sat across from me.

Carter straightened in his seat a bit. "I applied to some schools in New York. I'm still waiting to hear back from most of them."

My father pursed his lips, displeased by the vague answer. "Which universities?"

"NYU is my number one," Carter surprises me by saying, and his gaze darts to me fleetingly before he looks back at my father.

He looks impressed by his answer. "I had some friends go to NYU. They loved being in the city." My dad finally looks over at me and smiles tightly. "Amelia here is going to Juilliard in the Fall."

I shift uncomfortably in my seat and murmur, "I still haven't gotten a letter, dad."

My gaze slides up to stare at Carter and, as if he senses me watching, he looks over to me. I was surprised that he was waiting to hear back from NYU. I mean, NYU was a really good school. One of the ones that I applied to without telling my parents. And it was my number one, too.

"You will," My father boasts and then turns his gaze back to Carter. "Are you musically inclined, Carter? Perhaps a wind instrument? Or a horn?"

My mom finally chimes in as she raises her eyebrows. "Or do you play a sport?"

I wanted to snort in laughter at the idea of Carter playing a clarinet but narrowly stop myself when he smiles tightly at my father. "I play the guitar."

"Hmm," I recognized the judgmental hinting in his voice as my father nods noncommittally. "Amelia plays the piano quite beautifully. She's a shoe in for the Juilliard music program."

I looked at my dad in wonder. It was funny, really, the way that he bragged about me to other people, because he never once congratulated me on any of my achievements otherwise. He simply told me to try harder and practice longer while he turned around and presented me as an award rather than a daughter.

I just stayed silent and continued to eat the dinner my mom had made. My mom, by the way, who was eerily silent as they surveyed the conversation, probably still shaken that Carter was here. Unfortunately, my father welcomed the silence as an invitation to continue, so he did.

"Or so that's what they tell me. I still think she needs to try harder," My dad adds with a strict look thrown in my direction.

Before I can think better of it, I mutter, "I try harder than is necessary."

Unfortunately, the response didn't go unnoticed by him, and he sat up straighter in his chair. "What was that, Amelia?" He boomed and I took a deep breath in attempt to calm myself down. "I don't appreciate you talking back to me."

It was both embarrassing and extremely unnecessary to be yelled at in front of Carter. But I knew my father would never let the indiscretion go unpunished, and he had to prove that to me.