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My father was pacing the office as he talked, wearing a facial expression of impeding trouble typically reserved for dealing with the employees of the so-called

“construction company” he managed. It was clear he was making every conceivable and inconceivable effort not to give me the magical ‘boot’. I just stared at him from under lowered brows. My right eye was bruised because a couple of days ago, I had got into a fight with my best friend Eric over who could jump furthest off a rope swung into the Mississippi. At the time, it seemed an incredibly cool activity.

“So, my useless son. We’ve decided that it will do you good… to live separately.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I wondered if I would be able catch it if it accidentally jumped out of my chest. Finally! I've achieved my goal! Just a little more, and I’ll be free! I held my breath and stared at my fuming father.

“You’re already sixteen, old enough to be responsible for your actions,” he thundered, and judging by the sound of his voice, there was a storm brewing ahead.

“We’ve decided to send you to Jacksonville,” my father said briskly, staring at me expectantly. And me… I felt sick. I don’t have anything against Florida, and I could easily adapt there, knowing that someone from the order would always be nearby. But the fact that I would have to part with my friends and with Grandpa, who, strangely enough, had always supported me, was a nasty reality check.

“Anything but Florida,” I whispered, looking pleadingly at my father, who raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“If possible, I would like to stay in New Orleans, or at least in its suburbs,” my father still looked suspiciously at me.

“I want to live here,” Florida definitely wasn’t fitting into my plans, and I stood my ground.

“I’m not going to cater to your whims,” my father snapped.

“And Mom?” I exclaimed in anger.

“What? What’s this about? What are you talking about?” My father looked at me in bewilderment.

“You built her that greenhouse! Or whatever you built for her to ‘develop her gardening talent ’… as you put it,” I looked at my father, and my right eye, which was starting to swell, twitched painfully. I knew my father didn’t approve of Mom’s “gardening hobby”, as he called it. And I often had to witness them argue over this.