The meeting did not go well for Zach.
Teddy doesn’t like Zach because he’s wealthy, entitled, and smug.
But is he really all of those things?
‘For Your Own Good,’ by Samantha Downing.Penguin
Decide for yourself in this exclusive excerpt.For Your Own Goodhits shelves Tuesday.
A text from his father interrupts him.
He didn’t even hear his dad drive up, much less enter the house.
Zach types a message to his friend Lucas.
I’m being summoned downstairs.
Lucas replies with an exploding-bomb emoji.
Whatever his parents have done is already over.
No need to argue about it now.
“In here,” Dad says, waving him into the living room.
He’s still in his work clothes, minus the suit jacket.
Mom looks exactly the same as when she left this morning, minus the shoes.
Physically, Zach is a combination of both his parents.
His thick hair, jawline, and dimples come from his dad.
The eyes are his mom’s, includ- ing the long lashes.
The best of Mom and Dad.
A genetic jackpot, and Zach knows it.
“Have a seat,” Dad says.
Zach sits on the couch, while Mom and Dad sit in the chairs on either side of him.
This makes him feel a little trapped.
“I met with your English teacher this evening,” Dad says.
“Your mother was stuck at work.”
“Although I caught up with him afterward,” she says, giving Dad a pointed look.
“So we both talked to him.”
“Mr. Crutcher is an interesting man,” Dad says.
He’s not taking that bait.
“We had a very good talk about your paper.
He showed me his rubric assessment, and I brought up some points he may have missed.
He agreed with most of what I said.”
Dad pauses, letting Mom pick up the story.
“I think he understands that even teachers can be fallible.”
Crutcher admitted he was wrong?
But Zach has no doubt his parents believe it.
Extra credit, basically.
In other words, Crutcher said no.
Not surprising to Zach, given how much his English teacher hates him.
It’s so weird, because teachers always like him.
He’s never had a problem until Crutcher.
He’s also never had a Bplus or otherwise.
“We think this is the best possible outcome,” Mom says.
“Your GPA will remain intact, all with nothing out of place happening.”
Zach nods, trying not to smile at how she phrases it.
They would’ve loved nothing more than to convince Crutcher to change the grade.
They couldn’tand won’t admit it.
Like Dad says:Failure can be an illusion.
That’s just one of his many sayings, which he calls Ward-isms.
Zach’s been hearing them all his life.
Both his parents are looking at him, and Zach realizes they’re waiting for him to speak.
“Thank you,” he says.
“You’re welcome,” Mom says.
“You know we’re always willing to help.”
Of course they are.
Anything to keep him on track to the Ivy League.
This time, however, he didn’t want their help.
He didn’t want them talking to Crutcher, didn’t want them asking to change his grade.
The B-plus wasn’tthatbig of a dealnot on a single paper.
It wasn’t his semester grade or anything.
No, they’d said.We can fix this.
But their idea of fixing had resulted in more work for him, not them.
And Crutcher probably hates him more than he did before.
“Did Mr. Crutcher say what the extra assignment is?”
“He did not,” Dad says.
“He’s going to mull it over, and I assume he’ll let you know directly.”
“If he doesn’t, let us know,” Mom says.
“And let’s review that assignment together before you turn it in,” Dad says.
That’ll never happen.
Dad’s phone buzzes.
He takes it out of his pocket and nods to Mom, then walks out of the living room.
“Have you eaten?”
It’s eight o’clock at nightof course Zach has eaten.
Alone, as he does most nights.
“Yes,” he says.
She smiles, patting Zach on the knee.
“I guess that’s it for now.
Keep us updated about Mr. “I will.”
Zach walks out of the living room, passing by his father in the hall.
Dad is yelling at somebody about something Zach doesn’t care about.
He doesn’t bother eavesdropping anymore.
Dad’s conversations got boring a while ago.
Back upstairs, he checks online for Lucas.
It’s hard to concentrate, though.
Even though it’s early, fatigue sets in quickly.
He picks up his phone and texts his friend Courtney.
The reply comes a minute later: Not exactly breaking news.
I wish they’d stayed out of it, Zach says.
Your teenage angst does not make you a unique snowflake.
Courtney is watching old episodes ofDawson’s Creekagain.
She likes to do that when she’s high.
Zach doesn’t bother answering her.
Every time he walks into his room, it’s like stepping into a gloomy cloud.
Less than two years.
Doesn’t even matter where at this point.
Shut up and smile.
Not one of his dad’s sayings.
It’s a Belmont saying, one all the kids know.
It’s how they survive.
Copyright 2021 by Samantha Downing.
