Page 49 of The Serpent King

“Okay,” Travis said. “Moment of truth. Say your prayers.” He sat in the car and turned the key. The engine spun immediately to life. It didn’t sound healthy, but it never did. At least it ran and would get Dill’s mom from point A to point B for a little while longer.

Dill whooped and high-fived Travis. “Dude, you’re awesome. You did it.”

Travis slapped Dill on the arm. “We did it. Now let’s go get your fourteen-dollar core charge.”

“I owe you one,” Dill said, as they got into Travis’s pickup.

“Pay me back by making up with Lydia. It sucks for me when you guys are mad at each other.”

Dill didn’t mind walking the couple of miles to Lydia’s house. It had just rained, and the streets were covered with wet leaves; their earthy tobacco scent hung in the air, mixing with the spice of wood smoke. A wispy veil of clouds covered the sky and the bright waxing gibbous moon. Dill pulled the denim jacket (that Lydia had picked out) tighter around himself and buttoned it. While he walked, he rehearsed what he’d say. I’m sorry. I was wrong. I only want what will make you happy. Even his church sign had been semihelpful (this once): GOD DOES NOT FORGET THE SINNER, HE FORGETS THE SIN.

I could use some forgetfulness. He knocked on Lydia’s door, his heart racing. Her dad answered.

“Hello, Dill. How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks. Is Lydia home?”

“Yes. Come in, come in. Lydia?” he called upstairs. “You have company, sweetie.”

Lydia appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing yoga pants and a hoodie, her hair in a messy ponytail. When she saw Dill, she folded her arms and glared at him for a moment. Dill gave her a kicked-puppy-dog look. She waved him upstairs and stalked back to her room. Dill started to head up.

“Hey, Dill, before you go, remind me to show you this new Strat of mine, okay?” Dr. Blankenship said.

“Will do.” He went upstairs.

Lydia sat at her desk, composing a document on her new laptop. It appeared to be a college admission essay. She didn’t turn around when Dill walked in.

Dill took in the ordered chaos of Lydia’s room. The sheer amount of visual information always overwhelmed him. Records. Books. Magazines. Posters. Photos. Stuffed animals. Weird antiques, including a terrifying dental phantom from the 1930s that her dad had given her. Clothes and shoes, everywhere—all representing her ever-shifting obsessions. What was different this time were the piles of marked-up college admission essay drafts. Half-filled-out college and scholarship applications. The incidents of a life moving forward with great velocity and determination.

Her room always made him feel wistful and envious for the abundance in which she dwelled—a stark contrast with his even starker room. The piles of college materials didn’t help. Her bed creaked as he sat on it behind her.

Lydia still didn’t turn around. She highlighted a line and deleted it. She appeared determined to make this hurt. “So. Talk.”

Dill faltered. His carefully planned apology speech—formulated on the walk over—evaporated. “I’m—I’m sorry. For the stuff I said.”

Lydia continued typing.

“And I’ve missed you.”

Typing.

“And I want us to stay friends.”

Typing.

“And I’m starting to feel stupid now, so I’ll leave.” Dill rose from the bed with another creak.

Lydia turned her chair around and sat cross-legged on it.

“All right. I accept your apology. But seriously. I can’t deal with the continued drama. I have too much to think about. So it has to stop, Dill. I mean it.”

Dill sat back down on the bed. “I can’t promise that I’ll be all smiles every time something reminds me that you’re leaving. That’s a promise I can’t keep.”

Lydia got up and walked over to her candle shelf (yes, a whole shelf) and lit two of her autumn candles. “I’m doing a mélange of autumn leaves, combining top notes of cider and cinnamon with a firewood-scented candle, bringing in bottom notes of cedar, birch, and vanilla. I should become a candle sommelier. Is that a job?”

“Did you listen to me?”

“Yes, I did. And I don’t expect you to be happy. I expect you to not allow your unhappiness with the situation to manifest in the form of unhappiness with me personally.”