When I can’t stand the silence any longer, I say, “So… will you stay?”
He swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “I don’t know what to do anymore. Nev said it was just her anger speaking, that she didn’t mean it, that Ishouldgo.”
“You might not want my advice, but if you’re going to be miserable here, it probably won’t help her.”
He raises his eyes off the flagstones and sets them on the brick building in the distance.
“Anyway, I’ll see you in class,” I say.
When he frowns, I nod toward my bike.
“You biked here?” he asks.
“It was quicker.”
“You’re one strange girl, Angela Conrad.”
“No, I’m a practical one.” I undo the U-lock, then walk my bike back up the path toward him since it’s easier to cycle on stone than mud. I don’t climb on right away. “Are you free on Saturday?” Before he assumes I’m asking him out, I add, “Because I told Nev we’d take her clothes shopping.”
His face goes through a myriad of emotions before settling on cautious amusement. “Clothes shopping?”
His nonanswer makes the whole situation all the more awkward, so I start down the path, rolling my bike along. Ten’s footfalls are quiet but steady next to mine.
“Am I going along to pay or do I get a say in what she buys?”
“I told her she was only allowed to buy what we both okayed.” I glance over at him. “So you’re not allowed to vetoeverything.”
A crooked smile lights up his whole, darn gorgeous face. The air suddenly feels a hundred degrees warmer, and yet the sun is playing hide-and-seek behind the clouds.
I train my eyes on my handlebar in an attempt to cool off.
“A shopping trip with two headstrong girls… what’s there not to look forward to?”
My heart feels like it’s made of a trillion guitar strings. Each smile and glance from Ten plucks at them. I think of my double date… pray it will quiet my body’s reaction to this boy, because nothing else seems to work.
“By the way—” he starts.
I can feel his eyes call to mine but don’t meet his gaze.
“Thanks for having her back.”
“I think I made it worse. I suck at confrontations.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
I peek at him. “About having made it worse?”
“No. About the last part. You’re incredibly good at making a person feel like crap.”
“Are you kidding? I was totally pathetic back there.”
“I wasn’t talking aboutback there. I was talking about earlier.” He juts his chin toward our building, which is looming larger even though we still have a ways to walk.
“Oh. Well, you were a jerk yesterday.”
He fixes his gaze on the sinuous path. He’s no longer smiling. He’s contemplative and serious. So serious. “Sometimes I forget she’s growing up, because she’s still so small.” The weight of his confession presses down on the usual taut line of his shoulders, making him stoop.
This shows me yet another facet of Tennessee Dylan, and like most of the others that constitute him, it’s shiny and beautiful.
