CHAPTER TWO
I was pissed. I was really pissed. Yes, part of me was thrilled to be accepted into Suncoast’s MFA in Creative Writing program, but most of me was really mad at my father for sending out my work without asking me, and just assuming that I would be happy in a program that he wanted me to be in. When had my father started pushing his will? He wanted me to be an outstanding novelist, and he wanted someone to watch out for Sam; the latter of these ideas I found to be totally ridiculous. I suddenly realized that my father didn’t care what Sam and I wanted; this was all about him, whether he realized it or not.
“I can’t believe you’re going,” Tom said, looking up from my lap.
“I know I said,” looking down at him, and running my hands through the top of his thick, dark hair.
To mo
