Some Strings Attached (Summerville University #3)
1. Dylan
1
DYLAN
“ D ylan, you about ready?” A familiar deep voice called out, cutting through the sounds of wheels scraping along cement.
I crouched low, not wanting to lose my momentum yet. Brad would still be there when I finished sliding along the railing. Skating could be like flying, at least if you did it right. With a lot of skill and years of practice, but still. As my board soared off the railing, I braced myself for landing. It was quick and harsh, and I felt a jolt through my body before straightening up, sliding along the concrete toward my best friend.
Brad watched me with a soft expression, the faintest trace of amusement in his kind brown eyes. Most people initially saw Brad as this hulking, intimidating football player. Sure, he was an imposing figure, with his broad shoulders and muscles that popped out of his tight t-shirts, but he always had a smile on his classically handsome face and a sparkle in his eye. Everything made Brad laugh, even shit that wasn’t funny. Which was good, because his smile lit up the entire room.
“Yeah, I’m here.” I grinned.
“If I didn’t come get you, would you ditch us?” Brad asked, turning toward the exit of the skate park.
It was one of the core places for our friend group to hang out. Half of us skated, the other have just dawdled around on the benches, but I probably spent the most time at the park. It wasn’t anything special, just a bunch of sun-bleached concrete, some half and quarter pipes, a big clover-shaped bowl, some rails, and plenty of stairs. Graffiti decorated every surface, overlapping in the bowl, but almost no area was without a garish drag of spray paint flung across it. Some people did their street tags even if they had no street cred, some people did little doodles, some people just added words. A couple of years back, I’d painted some lyrics that were all covered up now.
“Ditch? No. Forget about it, maybe.”
“What’s the difference?” He laughed, that deep rumbling sound carrying on the wind. The end of the school year always carried the threat of summer in California, a warm breeze meeting us as we walked.
“Ditching would be on purpose. Forgetting is forgetting.” Part of me wished we weren’t headed to the diner, that it was just Brad and me for the night. I loved the rest of our friends, but things were easier with Brad sometimes.
“Ah, right. Something weighing on your mind? Is it your dad again?” Brad paused as we reached the edge of the skate park gate, still decorated with faded spray paint.
I leaned against the fence, the crossed metal pressing against my back. The threat of summer meant returning home, and Brad heard all about my silent house and the strange emptiness that fell over it. “Maybe. It’s another year gone, you know? Time just sort of…moves so quickly.” I swallowed. It was hard to get the words out, to even think of what the words could be.
Brad nodded, leaning against the fence with me, staring a hole in the side of my face. “Most people get pretty excited about summer, you know.” His voice held an edge of teasing.
I snorted. “I know, but when have I ever been like most people?” I glanced up at him from under the shaggy dark hair that fell over my blue eyes.
“That’s what I like about you, weirdo.” That smile was back, amused and blindingly white.
My hair fell even further into my face as I shook my head. “Yeah, yeah. You must be happy, though.”
He shrugged. “Sure, can’t beat Mom’s food.”
Spoiled is what he was. Brad lived in the Lambda frat house where they were privileged enough to have a chef and came from the most well-adjusted American family who only wanted the best for him. He was so spoiled and he didn’t even realize it. “You have to start training, though, won’t you?”
“Ah, yeah, but I think I’m pretty used to it. I mean…hey, if I’m gonna be in the big time, it’s part of the territory.” He shrugged.
What was it like to be that carefree? To be so self assured that life was going to just work out so well? I’d never felt so confident about anything in my life, yet Brad could casually stand around talking about how he was going to be a professional football player. If anyone could, Brad could.
“Come on, we should get going. Otherwise, Shane is going to whine that his cheese fries got cold, and we forced him to order an extra basket.”
I laughed. “Like he wasn’t going to order a second or third, anyway.”
Brad laughed too and slung his muscular arm around my shoulders, and off we went to the diner across the street. The shiver that ran through me couldn’t have been related to the warm wind.