Chapter 8
eight
Dylan
“It’s official,” Cat announces at lunch about a week and a half after the commencement of Project Befriend Ash. “Dylan’s savior complex is out of control.”
I blink away daydreams of Ash’s rare smile. “Huh? What are you talking about?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Go on, tell me Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Broody isn’t who’s had you staring off into the distance with that dreamy look on your face for the last twenty minutes.”
Fighting a furious blush, I pick at the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I’d brought from home. “What’s so bad about wanting to make a new friend?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Alexis says, giving me a supportive smile. Her long skirt swishes as she swings her legs from the edge of the table she’s perched on in Mr. Simon’s room. “I for one think it’s noble how dedicated you are to making the newest member of our class feel welcome.”
“More like obsessive,” Cat mutters. I shoot her a glare, and she raises her hands. “Look, all I’m saying is you can’t fix everyone, Dylan. Especially those who don’t want to be fixed.”
I stare down at the scratches left in my table’s surface from years of students carving their boredom into it. “Ash isn’t like that,” I say, tracing a squiggly line with my fingertip.
“The guy’s a total douche-canoe.”
“Language!” Alexis gasps.
Cat eyes her. “Really? That’s where you draw the line?”
“It’s gross.”
“It’s apt. Besides, is this really the hill you want to die on?”
I leave them to their bickering and take another bite of my sandwich. Unfortunately, Patrick had already devoured the last of the grape jelly, so it’s mostly just peanut butter and bread. I catch Robbie watching me and raise an eyebrow at him in question as I chew.
He doesn’t answer. I start to turn away when he suddenly says, “He likes you, too.”
I give a sort of hacking cough as the excess peanut butter sticks to the roof of my mouth. It takes me a good minute and a long sip of my soda to recover. Robbie’s comment veers perilously close to the other reason I’m so determined to befriend Ash—the one I’ve been steadfastly ignoring.
I open my mouth to deny Robbie’s claim, but what comes out is, “How do you know?”
Robbie shrugs. “He looks at you like you look at him.”
That’s…huh. I stare at Robbie, at an utter loss for words. A few beats of awkward silence pass before I realize the others have fallen quiet, too.
Alexis glances between us, then clears her throat and turns back to Cat. “So,” she says with forced nonchalance, “isn’t that show you’ve been looking forward to all summer finally happening this weekend?”
Grateful for the save, I watch as Cat presses her hand to her chest with a dramatic flourish and a mock gasp. “Majestic Carnage isn’t just a show, Lex—it’s a transcendental musical experience! I can always try to find you a scalped ticket if you’ve reconsidered joining Robbie and me.”
“No, that’s okay,” Alexis replies quickly.
“Are you sure? Defiled Spawn and Festerplague will both be there.”
Alexis appears stricken. “Wow. That, um…that certainly sounds like a real treat. But unfortunately, I’ve already got plans. I’m spearheading my church’s charity car wash.”
“Your loss,” Cat says with a shrug.
I let out a breath, gradually relaxing as the conversation veers into safer waters.
By the time the bell signaling the end of lunch rings, however, I still haven’t gotten Robbie’s comment out of my head.
Over the past week, I’d been pretty sure Ash was warming to me as a friend, more and more cracks appearing in his previously impenetrable armor ever since our fateful encounter at the vet.
But is there a chance there could be more?
I’m still mulling over that question after school when a shadow looms over me. I startle, my buzzing nerves intensifying when I find Ash standing there. Though he’s wearing his characteristic scowl, he’s also shifting from foot to foot, almost like he’s anxious.
I mask my surprise with a grin. “To what do I owe the honor?”
His eyes look anywhere but at me. “You busy?”
This is the first time he’s ever sought me out on purpose. The thought sends warmth spreading through my chest. “Why?” I tease. “Finally decided to be my friend?”
His jaw tightens as his bright green eyes narrow. “Look, are you free or not?”
From his tight grip on his backpack straps and the way he keeps sneaking glances toward the street, I can tell he’s having second thoughts, so I resist the urge to keep teasing him. I’m pretty sure he’s one inopportune joke away from bolting.
“Yeah, I’ve got a little over an hour before my shift with Dr. Jenkins starts.”
The intensity in his gaze raises goosebumps on my arms. Abruptly, he turns and starts walking away. For a moment, I think I’ve said something wrong. Then, he pauses and glances back at me. “You coming?”
I hesitate only a moment before dashing to catch up to his purposeful strides. We walk side by side in silence for a span before I muster the courage to ask, “Where are we going?”
“My aunt’s.”
I almost stumble over my feet. What the hell?
I mean, I knew I’d been making progress on him this past week, but the best I’d gotten before this was a hint of a smile or a few fleeting words of conversation before he shut it down.
I want to ask him what’s changed, but I’m worried if I press him, he’ll change his mind.
He seems teetering on the brink of changing it already, like one wrong word might set him off.
Eventually, though, my curiosity gets the better of me. “Any, um, any particular reason?”
He stops to face me, and I fight my initial urge to shrink back. “Look, do you want to see the stupid cat or not?”
The cat! So that’s what this is about. Excitement drowns out my remaining nervousness. “Hell yeah, I do!” I beckon ahead of us in an exaggerated sweeping motion. “Lead on!”
He scowls at me a handful of heartbeats longer.
Then, muttering under his breath, he turns and stalks forward, speeding up so he’s a few paces ahead of me again.
Watching him, I’m struck by a sudden insight.
He’s not angry at me at all—he’s angry at himself.
For being such a downer on our walk together…
or for having invited me on the walk in the first place?
I ponder the question all the way to his aunt’s house. The home is small but cozy, crammed full of the sorts of cute but useless trinkets that my own family could never justify buying.
“Where’s your aunt?” I ask after I’ve done a quick circuit of the downstairs. There’s a staircase I assume leads up to bedrooms on the second floor, but Ash doesn’t offer to show me up there, and I don’t ask.
Ash shrugs. “A house call probably. She’s gone most afternoons during the week.”
House call? Before I can ask for more info, a tiny streak of black careens out of the kitchen toward us, mewing up a storm. I laugh as I bend over to scratch the top of the kitten’s head. “She seems to be doing well,” I remark.
I glance up at Ash to find him watching us with an odd, almost vulnerable expression. He quickly shutters it. “Yeah. Those pills seem to have done the trick, and she’s not favoring her injured paw as much. The vet thinks we can probably take the bandage off in the next couple days.”
“That’s great!” I furrow my brow. “Hold on, when did you go see Dr. Jenkins? I didn’t notice you stop by, and I’ve been there practically every day after school the last couple weeks.”
Ash shifts on the balls of his feet as his eyes flicker over the various knickknacks on the walls as if searching for guidance. “My aunt and I took her to a vet over in Wilmington on Saturday. Figured it couldn’t hurt to get a second opinion or whatever.”
My eyes narrow at his obvious discomfort. He’d been avoiding me! I’m not sure whether to feel insulted or weirdly flattered to know I’ve been that much on his mind. After all, he’s certainly been on mine.
And he did invite you over here today, I remind myself. A decision, judging by his increasing tension, he seems to be regretting more and more with each passing second.
I turn my attention back to the kitten. Her black fur is still a bit raggedy, a few patches missing that haven’t fully grown in, and her left ear lies folded back on her head—an old injury, according to Dr. Jenkins.
But none of that detracts from her adorableness.
Her eyes are a startling shade of baby blue, rare for a kitten this old.
She fixes me with a plaintive stare, seeming almost desperate for attention.
I glance up accusingly at Ash. “You haven’t been ignoring her, have you?”
He snorts, leaning against a wall perilously close to a mounted shelf full of crystals. “Don’t let her fool you—between me and Aunt Claudette, she gets more than enough attention.”
“Apparently not,” I coo, stroking the cat’s fur.
She does a little back flop to expose her belly, and I gently scritch the fine hairs there.
“What name did you go with?” When Ash doesn’t answer, I look up to find him wearing a guilty expression.
I sigh, sitting back onto the carpet. The cat immediately clambers into my lap, curling into a tight ball and beginning to purr.
“Still? You must have at least thought about it by now.”
“Not really.” He slinks over to a plush armchair and slides into it, eyes fixed on the cat in my lap. “I’m open to suggestions.”
“How about…” My eyes rove the room, landing on that shelf of crystals Ash had been standing beside. “Onyx.”
“Onyx?” he asks doubtfully. “Is that the best you’ve got?”
“Hey, it’s better than no name at all! Besides, it seems to fit.” I sweep my hand out to indicate the room. “What’s with all this stuff anyway? Is your aunt some kind of collector?”
Ash scowls, glaring at a lacquered box sitting on the coffee table in front of him. “She works as a psychic. Reading fortunes, communing with dead loved ones—that kind of shit.”
I give the room another appraising look. “You mean she actually uses all this stuff?”
“I suppose. She does some of her readings here, but I’ve never sat in on any.”
“Why not?” I ask, continuing to stroke the cat’s—Onyx’s—fur. “If my mom was into something like that, I’d be all over it. It sounds super interesting.”
Abruptly, he’s on his feet, pacing away from me. My hand stills on Onyx’s back, and she cracks an eyelid to give me an annoyed look.
“Because it’s a load of bullshit!” Ash halts before a patterned tapestry on the wall—one of those mind-bendy ones that form an optical illusion.
“Just like this image here. Your brain tricks you into believing there’s something there when really, it’s nothing but a clever application of geometry. A lie.”
His hands clench into fists at his sides and his back trembles.
The violence of his reaction leaves me stunned.
I mean, I’ve met plenty of skeptics before, and it’s not like I exactly believe in spirits or mind-reading either.
But this is more than mere disbelief. It’s like the very notion of magic appalls, even frightens him.
“You don’t believe in magic?” I ask him cautiously.
He stills, not responding for a beat. Then, he slowly turns, his face unusually solemn. Something in his expression causes my pulse to quicken while goosebumps prickle my flesh.
“Trust me,” he says softly, “if magic exists, then it’s better off left alone.”