Chapter 11
eleven
Ash
After our impromptu Monday lunch, the rest of the week passes in a blur. Soon enough, it’s Friday afternoon and I’m propped against the school gate, waiting for Dylan to emerge.
It had been both relieving and terrifying to finally give into hanging out with him. When I’d approached him at lunch on Monday, I’d only planned to apologize for being a dick at my aunt’s. Sitting with him at lunch? Inviting him over on Friday? Those had both just sort of happened.
I’d spent a good chunk of Monday evening after school freaking out before resigning myself to the fact that the damage had already been done. Besides, keeping my distance doesn’t mean I need to avoid him entirely. Maybe the best way to get him out of my system is to allow a controlled fix.
And I’ve certainly been doing plenty of that over the past week. Our lunchtimes out under the tree have become a regular habit. Most of the time, he’ll work on homework while I doodle, but it’s nice to have someone else around. To feel like I’m not quite so alone.
He’d brought up the prospect of eating with his friends again only once.
“Hard pass,” I’d replied.
“If we keep hanging out, you’re going to have to meet them eventually,” Dylan had teased.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” I’d muttered back. Letting even one person past my guard the way I had Dylan is already riskier than I’ve been since Harvey—riskier than I have any right to be.
Other times, we talk. About school, mostly, but sometimes Dylan talks about his family. I know his mom works too much, and he’s got two brothers—one younger that he adores and an older one he doesn’t seem too keen on.
I know he dreams of being a vet and loves animals.
He’s also full to bursting of random animal facts.
That’s how I learn that a group of flamingos is called a flamboyance, kangaroos can hop faster than most dogs can run, and blue whale hearts are so big, humans could theoretically swim through their arteries.
Despite my best efforts to keep a closed lid on my own life, I’m certain I let some things slip.
Aunt Claudette and her burgeoning career as Madame Stellestra is a safe enough topic, but every now and then, I catch myself discussing my old school or the contradictory mix of strictness and apathy with which the Ellingtons had treated me before I stop myself and change the subject.
No matter how understanding or empathetic Dylan seems, there are some secrets I can never give away.
I’m jolted out of my reverie when I spy Dylan’s familiar face among the sea of students exiting the school. He bounces over, grinning from ear to ear.
“What’s got you so happy?” I grumble, readjusting my backpack higher on my shoulders and starting off down the street.
He falls into step beside me. “Isn’t spending more time with Onyx reason enough?”
Warmth floods my chest as he fixes me with a grin. It’s the cat he’s excited about, I remind myself. I’m just the weird, grumpy kid from school he’s decided to befriend. Not that I’m complaining…at least, not anymore.
Dylan launches into an animated tirade about an argument he had with Cat in one of his classes.
I listen with half an ear, nodding and mumbling along as he goes.
Mostly, though, I’m paying attention to him.
To the way his eyes spark with excitement.
How he gestures with his hands while he talks for emphasis.
Being around Dylan is like walking next to a warm hug.
Heat creeps up the back of my neck at the image that conjures, and I shove it down. Dylan is just a friend, nothing more. That’s all he’ll ever be.
“Are you even listening to me?”
I glance over to find Dylan glaring at me, though I’ve spent enough time around him by now to spy his amusement lurking beneath the surface.
“Not really,” I shrug.
“Hey!” He bumps my shoulders with his, rustling both our backpacks. “You can at least pretend to find me interesting.”
“I don’t need to pretend.” The words come out far too earnest, and I clear my throat, quickening my step to avoid having to look at his face. “Now, come on. You’ve only got an hour or so until you head to the vet, right?”
It takes me a couple seconds to realize Dylan is lagging behind. I pause, raising my eyebrow. “You okay?”
He grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, sorry.” He catches up to me, and I resume walking at a slower pace. “I forgot I hadn’t told you yet. I spoke to Dr. Jenkins about cutting back my hours, so I’m not going in tonight.”
“But I thought you loved it there.”
The way he hunches his shoulders makes me feel like I said something wrong, though I’m not sure what.
“I’ve got too much other stuff going on right now to make it a priority,” he says a touch defensively.
“My grades are starting to slip. Plus, I was thinking I might pick up a couple extra shifts at the diner my mom works at since it pays better.” He shrugs.
“Even if I don’t, Mom could use more help around the house. So…yeah.”
I don’t like his defeated slump or the way the perpetual light in his eyes has dimmed. It’s not my place to tell him how to spend his free time. Still…
“So long as you leave time for what you want.” Dylan looks up sharply at me, and I add, “Though, I suppose less time at the vet means we can hang out more. I’m sure Onyx would appreciate the company.”
Dylan smiles softly at me. When I catch myself smiling back, I clear my throat and look away.
I’ve never had a hard time keeping people at arm’s length before.
It’s sort of my specialty, and I’ve had years of practice.
But something about Dylan makes me want to let him in despite all my usual reservations.
Maybe being his friend is more dangerous than I thought.
We’re silent the rest of the short walk to my aunt’s. As soon as we’ve deposited our backpacks inside, Dylan is all over Onyx, plopping down on the floor next to her and assaulting her with snuggles. From the way she’s purring up a storm, she doesn’t mind.
I sit on the couch nearby and watch. It’s good to see Dylan back to his usual self.
My fingers itch for my sketchpad and a pencil, but I wouldn’t dare draw him where he might see.
When I’d shown him my sketch the other day, I’d been terrified he’d flip back through the book and see the embarrassing collection I’ve accumulated depicting him.
As if he can read my train of thought, Dylan glances up at me from where he’s lying on his back, Onyx curled on his chest. “So, finished any of those sketches you’ve been working on?”
“Nah,” I say, settling back in the cushions. “I don’t know if I will.”
He frowns. “Why wouldn’t you? I wasn’t kidding when I said that tree was awesome.”
I shift, mildly discomfited by the praise. I don’t draw so others can admire my work. I do it to soothe the storm constantly threatening to overwhelm my mind.
“I rarely finish a drawing. It’s hard to get the final touches just right, and I’d rather leave it in incomplete perfection than finish it only to have it come out flawed.”
Onyx gives a mew of displeasure as Dylan sits up, displacing her. “But how will you get better if you don’t try?”
Annoyance flares through me. “I try plenty—hence all my sketches. But not every drawing deserves to be finished. Some are too inherently flawed from the start to ever be whole.”
Like me.
I shove the uncomfortable thought aside. “Besides, it’s not like I never finish any of them. I’ve got a few of my favorites up in my room.”
Shit. I regret the words as soon as they leave my lips, but it’s too late to take them back.
Dylan’s on his feet in an instant, practically vibrating with excitement. “Can I see?” I hesitate, and he groans. “Come on, Ash! You can’t dangle something like that in front of me and then expect me to let it go. Now I’m dying to see what differentiates a finished sketch from an unfinished one.”
I’m not sure I could define that quality myself if I tried. It’s mostly a feeling I get while working on a piece—a sense of rightness, that I’ve captured what I’m drawing the best I ever could. Still, it’s impossible to say no when Dylan’s looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes.
“Fine,” I sigh. “Come on.”
Last time he’d been over, we’d stuck to the living room and kitchen. Trepidation slows my steps as I lead him up the narrow staircase to the upper level. Having Dylan in my bedroom seems unwise for a number of reasons.
I make sure to keep a couple feet of distance between us as I sweep open the door and step inside. “This is it.”
Dylan steps in after me, his eyes roving over the room like he’s trying to solve a complex mystery. I move over to my desk, fiddling with some textbooks as I try to envision the space through his eyes. What does he see when he looks around? I get my answer a few seconds later.
“It’s emptier than I expected,” he says, his brows scrunching together.
I cross my arms. “Excuse me? I’ve got plenty of stuff!” Maybe even too much after downsizing from my old bedroom. My boxes of belongings had finally arrived a few days ago, and I’m still in the process of unpacking them.
“You’ve got lots of stuff, yeah. But there’s not much personality, you know?” Dylan looks embarrassed. “Sorry. That probably sounds way harsher than I meant it.”
Glancing again around the space, I think I understand what he means. Other than a couple of drawings I’d pinned up, I hadn’t bothered decorating or adding any personal touches. Had my old room been any better? I honestly can’t remember.
The thought leaves me angry, and I scowl. “What’s the point of getting comfortable here? Another few months, and I’ll be gone.”
Dylan tries to hide his flinch, but I catch it all the same.
I gesture to my drawings on the wall, trying to salvage our earlier easy humor. “So, do the final products live up to your lofty expectations?”