Then there was Dylan. Thoughts of sneaking around with him over the last two weeks filled my overcharged brain as I sat and listened to Mrs. Meyer’s last review for the math final next week. The simple truth was that when I thought about Dylan, when I was with him, I was happy. So happy in fact that I couldn’t help the goofy grin from spreading across my face – one that, when I looked up, I realized Sammy, the overly clingy girl from Nick’s party a few weeks ago, mistook as one meant for her. She was a row over and a seat in front of me. Turning in her seat, she faced me, pressing her tits together, forcing them even further out of her already-too-skimpy tank top.
Wiggling her fingers from under her chin, she waved at me, obviously flirting. I rolled my eyes, attempting to dismiss her, but she misread it, thinking I was encouraging her because when the bell rang a minute later, she nearly sprinted over to my desk as I gathered my books.
“Hey, Shane.” She dragged her finger down my arm; her voice sounded like it was fucking my name as it passed by her lips.
“Hi, Sam.” I stared down in agitation as she looped her arm through mine. Like some kind of leech, she remained stuck to my side even as I moved toward the door. “So there’s a party tonight. Wanna take me?” she asked me with so much enthusiasm, almost expecting me to kneel before her at simply having been blessed with the chance to take her anywhere.
She leaned both of us up against the wall outside the classroom. Her body was pressed up against mine as she stretched up on her toes to whisper in my ear. “I’ll make it worth your while. I wanted to make it worth your while at Nick’s, but you left before I could.” I watched in stunned disbelief as Sammy hooked her thumb into the belt loop on my cargo shorts. I’d like to think it was an accident that her fingertips lightly brushed against my groin, but I wasn’t an idiot.
Neither was Dylan who moved into view behind Sammy and she stretched up one more time to plant a soft kiss to my cheek. Before I could do anything, before I could even move, Dylan was stalking away from us. What killed me even more than having Sammy pressed up against me – hell,anygirl pressed up against me – was that I couldn’t chase after Dylan.
Because then everyone would know it was him who I wanted.
“Open the door, Dylan!” My knuckles were red, nearly bleeding after knocking at his front door for nearly five minutes. I knew he was home, and he was totally ignoring me. When it became clear that he wasn’t going to let me in, I turned away, an empty feeling gnawing at my insides.
As I got in my car and pulled out of Dylan’s driveway, I couldn’t figure out why I felt like crying. It wasn’t like there hadn’t been a hundred times I’d shown up to Dylan’s house just to see he wasn’t there over the years. But this time was different. Hewasthere and he was shutting me out. He had to know what happened between Sammy and me didn’t mean anything – couldn’t mean anything.
I turned the corner heading toward my house as a rising panic took up residence in my gut. It was a panic born out of the idea of Dylan being pissed off; it was a burgeoning nervousness that I’d lose him somehow.
Since I’d never told him exactly how I felt, always backing away when things got too complicated, claiming I was still confused, him blocking me out completely was a very real and scary reality – one that forced me to back out of my driveway.
Two minutes later, I slammed on the brakes in front of Dylan’s house, causing the car to lurch back and forth as I parked it. I jogged up to the front door, but knew he wouldn’t open it. There was a spare key hidden in the garage. I laughed to myself as I scooped the keys out of his dad’s toolbox. The realization that Dylan was much more to me than a confusion, that he was more than my best friend, came barreling through me as I gripped the cool metal of his house key.
I let myself in and took the stairs two at a time up to his room. There was music playing, but not loud enough that he didn’t hear me earlier. I knocked, not wanting to scare the shit out of him, or disrespect him, by just barging in.
“Dyl, open up. It’s me.” I leaned my shoulder up against the wall and crossed my arms over my chest, waiting for him to let me in.
Rather than opening the door, he spoke through it. “Why should I?”
“Because I’m an asshole and I need to tell you some things.” Relief washed over me as the door opened.
I’d been in Dylan’s room countless times over the years. We’d played video games for hours on end right there on his bed – hell, I’d slept on his floor more times than I could remember. Yet somehow, being in his room at that moment, with the words I needed to say, with the words I knew he needed to hear on the tip of my tongue, his room felt strangely new and exciting.
He sat on the edge of his bed, and I flopped into his desk chair, noticing that his journal was wide open on his desk. He must have been writing while he was busy ignoring me. His stare pinned me to the spot; a glacial air filled the room and I couldn’t fathom why he was so pissed off over what seemed to me like nothing important at all.
“Why didn’t you let me in before?” I asked when the tension reached a breaking point.
He chuckled a snide puff of laughter. He leveled me with his gaze, crossing his arms across his chest. “The better question is why haven’tyoulet me in?”
In that instant, I choked on my words. “I– I mean… I have… I thought… I didn’t mean…” I scrubbed a hand over my face, trying desperately to grasp onto something that I could say to save this.
To save us.
I took a deep breath. “No. You’re right. I haven’t let you in.” Dylan continued to stare at me, obviously needing more than a one-sentence explanation as to why I’ve been reluctant to name this thing between us.
“Not gonna get off the hook that easily, huh?” He shook his head, and even though he tried to hide it, I saw him crack the tiniest of smiles. “Okay, then. Here goes.” I stood from the chair and paced the room, hoping the words would somehow magically appear if I moved.
Raking my hands through my hair, I pulled on the ends, more than frustrated at my own feelings. “I know you’re pissed about what you saw with Sammy before.” He laughed and I walked toward him. “Just listen, please.” He looked up with me with his big blue eyes and my chest hurt at seeing the anger there. I sank to the floor in front of him, pulling his hands into mine.
“This last month hasn’t been easy for me. You’ve forced me to face things that I’ve kept hidden about myself for a long fucking time, forever, it feels like. It scares the fucking shit out of me, but when I’m with you…” My words trailed off and I sank back on my calves, angling away from him a little.
“You’re what?” His words were barely above a whisper and his hands flew in the air, tossing mine to the side.
“When I’m with you, I’m not… I’m not scared. I’m not worried.” Even though they were shaking, I grabbed for his hands again, lacing our fingers together as they rested on his thighs. “The truth is that when I’m with you,” I sat up again, wiggling my way in-between his legs and laced my arms around his waist. Pressing my cheek up against his warm, solid chest, I whispered, “When I’m with you, I’m happy.”
“You’re happy sneaking around?” He arched an eyebrow.
I shook my head, trying to shake away a world of troubles. It didn’t work. “No. I’m not happy sneaking around and I know I’ve kept you at arm’s length, but it’s just too much.”
