14. Dylan
fourteen
Dylan
So, confiding in Ash went about as terribly as I’d feared it would.
Watching him walk away from me was the smallest and most pathetic I’ve felt since my dad did the same. I’d spilled my guts to Ash, confessing not only my sexuality but also my feelings for him, and he’d barely managed to muster a handful of words in response.
I don’t. Sorry.
After the initial gut punch of rejection wears off, I try to console myself. Maybe he just needs time to work through his own emotions. Ash isn’t exactly the patron saint of sharing. I figure I’ll see him at school and get a chance to apologize or clear the air.
But the next day, Ash slips through the halls of Banton High like a ghost, arriving at our shared classes right before the bell and bolting the instant class ends. He skips all our usual hangouts, muttering some half-assed excuse when I try to catch him.
Give him some space, I tell myself. He’ll come to you when he’s ready. Three days later, however, my patience is wearing thin. I have to talk Cat down from confronting him in the middle of the Calc class they share, and even Alexis has some choice words for that ‘heartless scoundrel.’
By Friday, I’ve had enough of Ash avoiding me. I finally manage to corner him after school by convincing Ms. Rolan to let me out a few minutes early. I’m there waiting for him in the parking lot when he bolts out the doors before the final bell has even stopped ringing.
“Hey!” I shout after him, jogging to catch up to his long strides. “Wait up!”
His shoulders tense, and I can tell he’s considering making a run for it. The realization sends a jolt of anger through me even as he slows.
“If you’re going to ditch me, you could at least tell me why,” I snap when I reach him.
His green eyes remain fixed on the broken asphalt. “I told you before, I’m not interested in making any friends.”
“Bullshit!” I glare at the back of his head and the styled black hair there. “You can’t pretend that the last couple weeks never happened. Like it or not, we are friends, and you owe me an explanation for what the hell’s going on with you.”
“I don’t owe you anything.” The words come out dull and listless, more resigned than angry.
Still keeping his eyes averted, he resumes walking. I stare after him, my own anger fading to something closer to desperation. “Please, just tell me why. Is it…” I swallow, forcing the words out past the sudden lump in my throat. “Is it because I’m gay?”
He jerks as if struck, his steps faltering. For the first time since that disastrous confession outside my house, he meets my gaze, his bright eyes wide. “Of course not!”
“Then, why?”
Indecision furrows his brow. For a moment, I think he’s going to turn around and keep walking. Instead, he releases a weary sigh. “Just leave me alone, Dylan. It’s better for both of us this way. Trust me.”
I blink, confusion gripping me. “What the hell are you talking about?” As if of their own accord, my feet shuffle toward him, narrowing the gap between us. “Is this more of that crap about you thinking you’re a bad person? Because you’re not.”
His knuckles whiten around his backpack straps from how tightly he’s gripping them. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”
“So? I want to learn.” I take another step closer. “Besides, it’s my life. I can be friends with whoever I want.”
“But I can’t!” The words rip from Ash’s chest in a half-scream that brings me up short. He shudders, his face contorting with grief. “I don’t want you to get hurt. Not like Harvey. Not like my m—”
He cuts off abruptly, pressing his lips together despite his heavy breaths. His eyes grip me, shining like twin shards of broken glass. Then, something in him seems to settle. His face stills into a calm mask, and my stomach sinks, some part of me already anticipating what he’s about to say.
“I can’t be around you anymore. Sorry. Goodbye, Dylan.”
Numbness creeps over me as I watch him vanish down the sidewalk. I’d tried my best to become Ash Ellington’s friend. But in the end, I guess I’d failed.
As usual, Saturday night at the Krantz household is a clusterfuck.
Mom’s got a late shift at the Red Rocket and Tommy’s firmly planted on the couch with a beer, watching a major league soccer match with Patrick while I prep dinner.
I’ve gotten so good at tuning out the background noise that I almost don’t notice my phone ringing. Thank God I left it on vibrate.
I give the chili one more quick stir, check the timer on the rice to make sure it’s not about to burn, and take out my phone.
Maybe it’s Ash.
The thought forms a knot of anxious excitement in my gut. But when I check the screen, I see it’s Greta of all people calling me. I frown, swiping to accept the call.
“Hello?”
A wave of laughter and what sounds like muffled singing drowns out Greta’s response.
Pressing a hand over my other ear, I move to the far end of the kitchen from where Tommy has the television blaring. “What’s that? Sorry, Greta, I couldn’t make that out.”
“Hold…sec…going…” I hear rustling from Greta’s end. I sneak a glance at the chili, my impatience growing. Finally, the racket through the receiver dims to a more manageable background hum.
“There, is that better?” Greta asks.
“Yeah, I can actually hear you now.”
“Good.” She huffs out a breath. “Sorry, it’s pretty crazy here.”
That piques my curiosity. “Where are you?”
“Oh, I’m at Emily’s. Emily Frenford? Her parents are out of town so she’s hosting a house party.” Her voice gains a judgmental edge. “Normally, I wouldn’t come, but my good friend Leo insisted on going, and I wanted to keep an eye on him. He can get a bit wild if left unsupervised.”
“Okay…” I say slowly, muffling a slight pang at the reminder of all the usual teen experiences I’m missing out on.
Not that a party’s really my thing, but still—in another life where Dad hadn’t left us high and dry, I might be hanging out with Cat, Robbie, and Alexis right now.
“That’s, um, great, Greta. But what does that have to do with me? ”
“Right.” There’s a long pause. I’m beginning to wonder if the call dropped or something when she finally continues. “Well, it turns out my friend Leo’s not the only one who needs some supervision tonight. Ash is here, and he’s not doing too great.”
My flash of instinctive concern is quickly smothered beneath a wave of hurt. My grip around the phone tightens. “Ash and I kinda had a falling out.”
“Aw, that’s too bad! You two looked like you were really getting along well at school.
I don’t know what happened between you, but I bet he regrets it.
Maybe that’s why he downed half his weight in liquor.
As soon as I realized how trashed he was, I cut him off, but I think the damage is already done. ”
“Then, I guess it’s a good thing he has you there to watch out for him,” I say tightly.
Another pause. “He’s in pretty rough shape, Dylan. I don’t think he’s in any condition to get home, and he doesn’t seem willing to talk to anyone, me included.”
“Yeah, well, we’re not really talking right now either. What makes you think I can help?”
“Because,” Greta replies, her voice growing hesitant. “He sorta mentioned you. A lot.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” Several beats of silence pass before Greta releases a long sigh. “Look, Dylan, I’m really sorry to drop this on you out of the blue, but I wasn’t sure who else to call.”
I think of my last conversation with Ash a few days earlier in the school parking lot, the pain and resignation plain on his face.
Then, I flash back still further to all the quiet and not-so-quiet moments we’d spent together the past few weeks.
To how hard he’d fought against becoming my friend…
and how much happier he’d seemed once we were.
It’s not your job to save me.
“Text me the address. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thanks, Dylan. You’re a life saver!”
Silencing my flurry of doubts, I hang up.
My phone dings a few moments later. I check the address Greta sent me and consider my next steps.
Emily lives halfway across town, and Mom’s got the car.
Unless I want to guide a stumbling Ash back to his aunt’s on foot, that only leaves Tommy’s truck. Shit.
I run through different conversation tactics in my head while I finish up dinner.
Bracing myself for Tommy’s fury, I carry two bowls of chili into the living room.
Tommy’s sprawled atop the sagging couch while Patrick sits on the floor in front of him.
By the looks of it, they’d switched from the soccer game to some car show Tommy likes.
“Dinner’s ready,” I announce. “I made rice and chili.”
“Food!” Patrick cries leaping up and rushing over to take one of the bowls. “Thanks, Dill—I’m starving! Coach has us running these extra drills every day now during PE.”
“Of course, kiddo,” I say, ruffling his hair. “Can’t have you wasting away on us before you go pro.”
Tommy’s only response is a grunt. He shifts to sit up, holding out a hand without taking his eyes off the screen.
I approach the couch while Patrick returns to his previous spot. “So…” I say hesitantly after Tommy grabs the second bowl and starts shoveling its contents down. “Is it okay if I borrow your car?”
His gaze snaps to me. “What for?”
“I need to run an errand real quick. It won’t take long.”
My pulse pounds as his eyes narrow. He studies me for a long, fraught moment before shrugging and turning back to the TV. “Whatever. Keys are on the rack. If I find so much as a scrape on my truck when you’re done, I’ll kick your ass.”
I try not to sag with relief. “Thanks, Tommy.” I glance at Patrick. “Be right back, Pat.”
The keys are hanging on the wall right where Tommy said they were. Hardly able to believe my luck, I thank whatever fluke of the universe left Tommy in such a good mood, snag the keys, and head out to the garage.