Sam Morrison stood next to his bed, examining the clothes he had set out. His travel bag, bought just for this trip and giving off a strong smell of new leather, was open on the floor and ready to be stuffed full.
"Then to the airport and after that Fort Lauderdale is going to catch hell," he said under his breath, mouth splitting into a feral grin.
The cellphone in his pocket buzzed, and he whipped it out, chuckling at the message from his friends. They were just as excited as he was to get this spring break off to a suitably wild and crazy start.
He paused to consider his reply when a loud voice from the other room made him wince.
"Samuel Morrison! Get your ass in here!"
Sam slipped the phone back into this pocket and hurried out the door. No one kept Thomas Morrison waiting if they valued their skin.
The door to his dad's study was open, Thomas Morrison Sr. seated at his wide oak desk with an unhappy expression plastered to his well-lined face.
"Hey, Dad. You called?"
"Step in here, Sam. Close the door."
Sam's felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and did as he was told.
The elder Morrison was wearing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, and he slipped them off, fixing his son with a stare reminiscent of an old buzzard contemplating a decaying carcass. Sam couldn't meet his father's gaze and instead began a very detailed examination of his shoelaces.
"Did you think I wouldn't find out, and you could just slip away unnoticed?"
"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Dad," lied Sam, knowing he was merely delaying the inevitable and likely making things even worse by pretending ignorance.
"Right. What do you say we cut the crap and put our cards on the table, Sam? I just got off the phone with the fine folks over at Hampton College. Care to hazard a guess at the topic of conversation?"
"My grades?" opined Sam quietly.
"Your grades. Didn't have to think about it for very long, did you? Yes, Sam. Your grades."
His dad slid back the chair he was sitting in and rose to his somewhat intimidating six-foot-four-inch-height towering over his son, who was four inches short of that mark.
"When were you going to mention you were failing Astronomy?"
"I was hoping to bring my grade up in the time before finals and put things over the top with a good score on the test," said Sam.
"Over the top? From what I'm told, you can barely see the bar."
"It will be okay. As soon as I get back from Fort Lauderdale, I'll knuckle down and get my grade up."
"I know as a business major; you don't put much stock in the sciences, Son, but everybody has to take one as a prerequisite. Why didn't you pick something simple? A general science class would have been fine."
"I thought Astronomy was going to be simple! You know. Look at stars through a telescope. Sit in the planetarium and gaze at a bunch of colorful slides while they talk about eclipses or something."
"Clearly, you had no idea what you were getting into."
"Yeah. I guess not. It was way more math oriented than I was anticipating. It was also a lot more boring," admitted Sam.
"Boring or not, you can't afford to fail if you want to transfer to Whitmore next year."
Whitmore...If Sam had to hear one more time about his Dad's prestigious alma mater, he would throw up. Sam's high school grades had been good, but not good enough to get him into the school his father valued most. Instead, he had applied and been accepted at Hampton. Sure, it was a big step down from Whitmore in the collegiate pecking order, and it had a reputation as a "party school," something his dad had frowned at, but he had met some cool people there and was enjoying the more relaxed atmosphere. The plan his dad had accepted was that Sam would go there for a year to get his basic courses out of the way and build up his transcript with positive grades, then try again at Whitmore the following year. Sam's grades were good, and he had been doing pretty well at Hampton until this little science debacle.
"As I said, Dad. I'll throw myself full tilt into Astronomy when I get back."
"Back? You only have eight weeks to turn things around, and given where you're starting from. You need to begin sooner rather than later."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying you can forget Fort Lauderdale. Your spring break is off, Son."
"Dad! You can't do this all my friends are going! We've been planning this for weeks!"
"If you had worked as hard at astronomy as you did planning a week of debauchery in Florida, you'd still be going I'll wager."
"Please, Dad! I promise I'll kick this thing in the ass when I get back, but don't take this from me!"
Thomas shook his head, "I'm sorry, Kid, but you'll thank me one day for keeping you focused on your education. This time in your life is more important than you realize. You can't afford to waste it."
"I can't fucking believe this!"
"Watch your tone with me, young man!" snapped his dad, cowing Sam instantly.
Thomas Morrison was not known for his patience, and the last thing you wanted to do was bring out his temper, which was even worse.
"Look," said his dad, softening his voice a little, "I know you're disappointed, but if you turn this thing around now, we could look at a trip for you this summer. Naples, maybe?"