The Enemy Hypothesis: A Brazos High Novella

because all I see is one jerk here, and it’s him. He storms out of my room, muttering under his breath, and I continue getting ready for school. I brush my teeth and spritz on some cologne and fix my hair in the bathroom mirror. Last year I had this shaggy kind of lazy hairstyle going, but this year I cut it shorter. I figured it was a new school year and all, so I might as well go in with a new look. I run my fingers through my black hair, getting it into place, then I head downstairs.
My parents are in the kitchen arguing. As usual. They don’t fight hardcore or anything—it’s not like how it was when Bryson Jacobs’ parents went crazy and got divorced last year. My parents have been married twenty five years and they’re not splitting up any time soon. They just like to argue and complain and it’s pointless because it’s not like one of them is right and the other is wrong. Both of my parents are in the wrong here. Their arguments are always about the same thing. Money.
Caputo’s Italian Grill is a pretty successful local restaurant. My grandfather built it and then my dad took it over right after I was born. We sell delicious Italian food that everyone loves, and we’ve even been featured on two Best of Texas TV shows. The thing is, my parents spend every dollar they earn before they earn it. We live in a nice house and we have nice things and Dad once told me that if we looked poor then people would assume our food isn’t good and then customers would stop coming to the restaurant.
I didn’t believe it back then, and I don’t believe it now. My parents just want to be rich. Like those creepy spoiled people on reality TV shows my mom loves so much, my parents are obsessed with their image. They never step out into public looking like they rolled out of bed. Nope. My dad wears tailored suits everywhere and Mom always looks like she’s about to go to a fancy party. When I was a kid, I thought it was so cool that we were rich.
Now that I’m old enough to know better, I just can’t wait to move out, go to college, and live on my own. I’m going to be an accountant for two reasons. One, accountants make a ton of money. And two, if I make a ton of money I’ll never have to be like my parents. I’ll be secure and happy.
I don’t bother saying hello to my parents because they’re still arguing loudly over their morning coffee. Mom stands near the sink, one hand on her hip and the other gripping her coffee cup. Dad is sitting at the kitchen island eating a bowl of cereal. Mom’s pale skin and strawberry blonde hair is a stark contrast to Dad, Julian, and me. We both inherited Dad’s strong Italian genes, and none of Mom’s Irish looks.
“I just don’t know how we’re going to afford this,” she says, shaking her head before taking another sip of coffee. Ten thousand dollars for a stupid roof? Ugh.”
“What roof?” I say, curiosity getting the better of me.
Both of my parents look at me as if they only just now realized I’m in the room. Dad sighs. “The roof needs replacing. That hailstorm a few months back totally ruined it. Even with our insurance, it’s going to be a ten grand deductible.”
“Why don’t we sell my car?” I offer. “I can take the bus or get a ride from a friend.”
Mom snorts. “Your car is a lease. We can’t sell it.”
“Well… can you take it back? Save on the monthly payment?”
“It’s not that easy,” Dad says. “Don’t you worry about it, Mark. Just get to school.”
I grab a croissant from the basket on the counter and take a bite. Dad’s right. Their financial issues aren’t my problem. But still, I didn’t ask to drive a brand new silver Lexus GS. They insisted on it. They like the reputation we all have when we drive around looking wealthy.
I think my luxurious car is a stupid financial decision, but I’m not complaining. My car kicks ass. No one else at Brazos High has a car as cool as mine. Girls love it. My friends are jealous. It’s a total status symbol. I was fairly popular at school before I got this car, but after I turned sixteen last year, everything changed. I’m right up there with Jake Morgan when it comes to the list of high school elite.
I know Jake gets all the bragging rights of being voted as the hottest guy in school, but I’m not too far behind, if I say so myself. I work hard at the gym every day after school, and I dress nice and smell nice. Before my grandpa died last year, he had told me that being popular wasn’t everything. I think he meant it as some kind of warning against becoming like my parents. And while I know he’s right about that, his advice doesn’t exactly apply right now. High school is a battlefield of the rich and popular and attractive.
Even though my wealth is a total exaggerated lie, I’m still popular. And girls are always telling me I’m attractive. One of these days I might actually choose a girl to settle down with. But for now, I’m happy just playing the field.

Three
ABBY
My best friend Jules curls her lip and stares at me in disgust. We’re getting our morning coffee from the coffee cart in school. It’s been our tradition ever since Brazos High got these coffee carts. The only downside is that if I drink a coffee on an empty stomach I get way too jittery in class.
“What?” I say as I stir my coffee with the little wooden stick.
“You just put like five hundred creamers in there. Ew.”
“It was