Page 23 of The Serpent King

Dill’s heart began to race. Over the past few years, when people had prefaced something they were about to say with “there’s something I want to talk to you about,” it proved to be nothing he wanted to talk about.

“There’s something I want to talk to you about. Your father is in trouble.”

“There’s something I want to talk to you about. We need you to testify.”

“There’s something I want to talk to you about. Your mother was in a very serious accident coming back from visiting your father in Nashville, and she might not pull through.”

“There’s something I want to talk to you about. With the house, the church, your father’s legal fees, and my bills from the accident, we’re about two hundred seventy thousand dollars in debt.”

“There’s something I want to talk to you about. I’m leaving you behind to go on to a bigger and better life, and I’ll never think about or speak with you ever again.” Probably.

“Okay,” Dill said.

“I want to do some school shopping with you. The kind where you actually shop for schools.”

Dill eyed her blankly, not quite processing what she was saying.

“Colleges. I want you to go to college.”

“Why?” Dill’s heart continued to race. What Lydia said wasn’t bad in the way he feared, but it still wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“Why?” Lydia appeared flustered, a rare condition for her. As though it hadn’t occurred to her that she’d have to explain why. “Because. First of all, college is good. You learn how to function in the very big world outside Forrestville and you set yourself up better for life. College grads make way more money. Millions more over their lifetime.”

“So I’ll stay in Forrestville and I’ll be fine. And I don’t need millions of dollars. Only enough to live.” Dill wouldn’t make eye contact.

“Dill, who are you kidding? You’re miserable here. All the whispers and stares. Come on. Plus, I would love it if you had some direction so that you weren’t getting mad at me every five minutes for having some.”

Dill folded his arms. “I wondered when we’d get to the part where this is about you.”

Lydia took a loud, deep breath through her nose. “Ergh. This is not about me. It’s about you improving your life and I happen to get something out of it—namely you not being so defensive about my refusal to spend my life stuck here. I’m trying to pull you up.”

A sunshiny church youth group a few grades below Dill and Lydia came in and ordered cupcakes and smoothies. That used to be me. Dill waited for them to pass their table before responding.

“You’re turning me into a project,” he said, his voice lowered. “It’s not enough to dress me anymore. Now you need to chart out my life for me.”

“Are you kidding me? You think I see you as a project?”

“That’s how you’re making me feel. Like a craft project. Like a photo series for your blog. Except not for your blog because obviously I’d never actually be on your blog.”

“Yeah. Okay. Fine. I’m making it a project to make your life better.” Her voice crescendoed. Lydia had no discernible Southern accent until she got mad. “I’m so sorry for caring and trying to help you make your life better.”

“Is it that or is it your fear of the stain of my sad life getting on you? So you have to polish me up and make me worthy.”

“No, dude. You’re way off here, and you’re being gross about it. You’re scared of the thought of leaving and you’re projecting that fear onto me. You’re the one trying to make this about me. You think if you can convince yourself that I have totally impure motives for wanting you to go, you won’t have to face the possibility that you’re just afraid.”

A couple of the youth group kids peeked over. Lydia gave them a firm mind-your-own-business stare. They pouted. One whispered something to the other, as if to prove Lydia’s earlier point about whispers and stares. Dill could make out “pastor” and “jail.” He gave serious consideration to the possibility that Lydia had hired them as plants. Wouldn’t surprise him.

“Look,” he said, almost whispering. “I would love to go to college too. But I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“My grades.”

“They’re fine. Not spectacular, but there are colleges who’ll take you just for having a pulse. But more importantly, you’re extremely smart. I wouldn’t hang out with you if you weren’t. Next.”

“I can’t afford it. Even if my grades are good enough to get in, I can’t get a scholarship.”

“Financial aid and get a part-time job. Next.”