Page 5

Chapter Five

Anger boils inside me as I watch Dylan ride away on his motorcycle. What a jerk. He barely spoke all day. He did exactly what I told him, and no more. He disappeared during lunch, though I invited him to sit with me in the breakroom. I realize I’m an absolute nothing person to him. I’m not a pierced, leather-wearing bad girl. I’m not popular or smoking hot. There’s no reason for him to make an effort to get to know me, but he could have at least tried to be pleasant instead of acting like a sexy grumpy troll.

Wait. Did I just describe him as sexy? Mistake. Good looking at best. Which he only is when he smiles at Popeye. My heart melts a little when I remember their reunion during the afternoon cleaning. Popeye plowed his oversized square head into Dylan, almost knocking him over, and then sat on his foot so that he couldn’t move. It was adorable!

I suppose it could be worse; Dylan could act resentful about being here.

Huh. Maybe that’s exactly what he’s doing. Maybe he’s not having little temper tantrums or huffing and puffing in frustration, but now that I look back on the day, he might have been just doing time. Hoping to get through it and out of here with the least amount of drama.

Tires crunch and I swing my attention to the entrance to find Sam’s sunny yellow VW Beetle pulling into the shelter parking lot. The windows are rolled down and music blares. Bek’s arm waves from the passenger side.

“Why did you look so dreamy when we pulled up?” Sam asks.

I crawl into the back seat. “I most definitely did not look dreamy.”

Sam points at Bek. “I know the expression well.”

Bek smiles benignly.

“I might have looked introspective, or contemplative, but not dreamy.”

“Okay, fine, Miss Thesaurus. You win. Why the contemplative look, already?” Sam asks as she pulls onto the street.

“Dylan Scott is volunteering at the shelter.” Why did my pulse surge when I said that? Does he really make me that mad?

“Bad boy Dylan? He totally must be doing community service, right?” Sam laughs.

“You know I can’t answer that.”

Bek turns away from the window. “I don’t think it’s fair to call him a bad boy. It’s a label. A harsh one at that.”

Sam pats her friend’s leg. “I think Dylan’s okay with it.”

Bek shakes her head and returns her attention to the window again. “What if he’s a bad boy because of his reputation of being a bad boy. What if he feels it’s the only way he can be?”

I scoff. “He’s so full of himself. If he wanted to be Joe Jock or Ned Nerd, he would just do it, and nobody would second guess it.”

“I’ve never dated a bad boy.” Sam smiles as if imagining what it might be like .

“That’s not true,” Bek corrects her. “You dated Spare Tire Guy, remember?”

“Oh, yeah!” Sam’s grin turns into a leer. “I forgot about Spare Tire Guy. He was so yummy. He was a bit old for me then, but now…” She waggles her eyebrows and meets my gaze in the rearview mirror.

I laugh. “Well, I wouldn’t suggest Dylan. He’s really full of himself. But the strangest thing happened.” I tell the girls about Popeye taking to Dylan from the moment they met. “As a matter of fact, every dog liked him.” If I’m honest with myself, I feel rather betrayed by the shelter animals I’ve cared for regularly.

“I told you not to judge him on his reputation,” Bek says. “Dogs instinctively know who is good and who isn’t.”

I bite my lip. I hate to agree with that statement—because, Dylan!—but I’ve been working at the shelter long enough to know Bek’s right. Dogs have an instinct about character. Regardless, I shake my head in denial. “Maybe all they know is that he’s an outcast like them. They feel sorry for him.”

I picture his cocky grin when he teased me over the word potty. How he didn’t even apologize for leaving the gate open. And how he’d only spared a simple wave as he left. No “thank you.” Not even a goodbye. Just a half-hearted wave. He’s way too self-involved for my taste.

Bek glances over her shoulder. “He’s not an outcast.”

I cross my arms and stare out my window. She’s right on that too. I don’t even know why I said it. I’m more of an outcast than he is. He’s always walking with someone in the halls or sitting with a group of people at lunch, whereas Sam and Bek are my only friends.

“Ladies, want to go to Philly’s for dinner?” Sam skillfully changes the subject when she sees me pouting in the rearview mirror.

Honestly, I don’t want to. It was a long day and I’m tired. Plus, Sam is always paying for our meals. It feels so gross. I’d rather go back to her house and scrounge something together to cook for the three of us and fool myself into thinking I’m actually earning the meal, but Sam always wants to be out somewhere. With people. There’s no talking her into staying home. One day, I plan on paying Sam back. Either by handing her a big fat check or by being the one to pay whenever we go out. Honestly, I can’t even wrap my head around how I’ll pay Sam back, but I will.

“That’s not a fish place, is it?” Bek asks.

I chuckle under my breath while Sam growls in frustration. “When have we ever eaten at a seafood restaurant, Bek?”

“I just want to make sure,” Bek says.

“We eat at Philly’s practically once a week.” Sam shakes her head at our friend. “How can you not remember?”

“I’m allergic.” Bek plays with her medical bracelet that indicates she has a seafood allergy. “I have to be careful.”

I decide to speed the conversation along to avoid Sam having an aneurism. “This is the sandwich melt place you like so much, Bek.”

“Oh.” She brightens. “Why didn’t you say so? I’d love to go there. Thanks, Sam.”

Sam catches my gaze in the rearview mirror again and winks. I give her a thumbs-up. Honestly, I don’t understand why Sam can’t just speak Bek’s language instead of getting so frustrated with her.

Philly’s is owned by the parents of two of our classmates. The restaurant wasn’t originally a teen hangout, but they renovated a back room to include long tables and sound barriers to keep the noise from bothering patrons in the rest of the establishment. There are rumors that other parents helped with the renovations because they loved the idea of a safe hang-out spot for their kids. Then the owners added a special section on the menu called “Teen Specials” which included things like bottomless fries with two kinds of dips, a side malt to dip your fries into, a large, single slice of pepperoni pizza with a side of ranch dressing, chili fries, an oversized slice of pie, and limitless drink refills. Nothing over five dollars. It totally worked. Most evenings you’ll find at least some high schoolers in the room, but weekends are always packed. Because Sam pays with her parent-issued credit card, we usually order from the regular menu.

I’m happy to see that the place isn’t too busy yet. We snag three seats at the end of one of the long tables. Prime position to see everyone once the place fills up.

I’m almost done with my burger when I realize the room is full. Mostly guys sit nearby, because guys always flock to Sam. She’s coaxing funny stories out of them, and the laughter is making the decibel level climb.

A waitress sets a new raspberry iced tea in front of me.

“Thanks.” I grin up at the woman who hadn’t even asked if I wanted a refill. My attention is drawn to the new couple pausing at the entrance of the room to search for a place to sit. My heart temporarily pauses and then my pulse kickstarts at a million miles an hour. Heat flushes through me. “What’s he doing here?”

Bek leans forward to get a view of the newcomers. “Oh, your new friend is here. How odd. I’ve never seen him here before.”

I curl my lip in disgust. “Yeah, neither have I.”

Dylan is with a girl I don’t know well. She’s a year behind us in school and doesn’t have a reputation for being part of a particular crowd that I know of. Especially not the rough, stoner crew that Dylan hangs with. I can’t help but wonder why they’re together. I try to think of the last time I noticed Dylan at school and can’t come up with anything specific. Maybe they’ve been together for a while, and I just didn’t have any reason to notice. I take pleasure in the fact that Dylan doesn’t look happy to be here. He’s scowling around the room as if he’s considering punching the first person who dares to talk to him.

His gaze falls on me, and that snarky half-grin forms on his face. He leans over to the girl and whispers something in her ear. Her eyes get wide, but he walks away before she can respond. And he heads directly toward me. Panic fills me. Why on earth is he coming this way? He hasn’t taken his eyes off me since they originally landed on me, which is equal parts compelling and frustrating. I want to hiss a complaint to Bek. But not with him watching.

“Oh, here comes your friend,” Bek says.

“He’s not my friend, Bek.” I worry that Bek will say something like that in front of Dylan. With his huge ego, he’ll know I’ve been talking about him, and probably think I’ve said stuff about how cute he is. The last thing I want is for him to get the wrong idea.

In a ridiculously smooth move, Dylan sweeps an empty chair from another table, slides it between where I sit at the head of the table and Bek to my left, and straddles it backward.

“Well, if it isn’t my new co-worker.” He plucks a French fry from my plate. “It looks like they pay you more at the shelter than they pay me.”

“Rude!” I curl my lip at the few fries that are left as if they’re now contaminated. I push the plate closer to him. “You may as well finish them now.”

Bek dumps her fries onto my plate. “Here. You can have mine too.”

Dylan nods.

I gape at him. “Dude!”

Stuffing another fry in his mouth, he raises his eyebrows. “What?”

“Thank you?”

“For what? ”

I clench my fists under the table and look up to the ceiling.

“I think she’s saying you should have thanked us for the food.” Bek’s airy voice somehow cuts through the noise of the room.

“Well, you guys looked done.” Dylan shoves a couple more fries in his mouth.

“We were.” Bek’s smile is way too nice.

I want to scream at her to stop being so accommodating to this jerk of a human.

“Do you want me to get a refill?” Bek offers. “My sandwich came with bottomless fries.”

No matter how hard I glare at Bek, she remains clueless. She’s too busy looking for a waitress to flag down.

“No, that’s cool. Looks like your girl here doesn’t want me hanging.” Dylan shoves the rest of the fries in his mouth and stands. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ivy.”

My mouth drops open. He did not just call me by the wrong name.

“Bye!” Bek calls after him in a cheery tone I take as a personal afront. She turns back to me. “See, I told you. He’s nice.”

I bark out a laugh. “He just called me Ivy.”

“That’s a simple mistake. You guys only met today, right?”

“So? I already knew his name. And he ate our food without asking.”

Bek shakes her head. “I gave him my food.”

“He didn’t thank you!”

Sam places a hand on my arm. “Was that Dylan Scott?”

I emit a low, animalistic growl. “Unfortunately.”

“He’s really sweet,” Bek says.

“Not sweet. Not even close.” I slap my hands against my thighs. “How did you get sweet out of that exchange?”

“He came over to say hi to you. And he left when he saw that you weren’t receptive to him.” Bek looks at Sam. “Wouldn’t you call that sweet?”

Sam laughs. “Can’t argue with that logic, Ava.”

I fight it, but a laugh breaks through anyway. Usually, it’s Sam on the receiving end of Bek’s skewed logic. “You never can argue with Bek or her logic, can you?”

Bek tilts her chin in the air and graces us with her best smile, knowing she’s just won the argument.

I resist the urge to look around the room to find where Dylan landed. I tell myself I don’t care. That I’m only curious because this is definitely not his kind of crowd. But the last thing I want is for him to catch me looking for him and get the wrong idea. Instead, I train my gaze on the boy who is telling a funny story about a gopher on the football field during their game. But no matter how hard I try to pay attention, my mind strays. My senses are cast wide, hoping to pick up conversation about or with Dylan. Of course, he left the chair he pilfered from the other table next to me. Its emptiness loudly mocks my rude behavior and ignores his.

When someone plops down into the chair, I round on them, expecting it to be Dylan again. My mouth is open, ready to uninvite him, but I snap it shut when I discover Rex Diller sitting next to me.

“Oh, hi, Rex,” I breathe. Holy cow, I sound like Bek. Clearing my throat, I push the excess air from my lungs. “How’s it going?”

“Hey, Ava. Hey, Bek.” Now he clears his throat and says a bit louder. “Hi, Sam.”

My heart trips over a beat. Of course, he’s here to steal some of Sam’s attention. Why would he be here for me? Plain, unremarkable, clumsy me. Okay, that isn’t fair. I know I’m not plain. I’m cute, bordering on pretty. I don’t stand out because I don’t make myself. Sam is always larger than life, and I’m happy in the shadows. Why would someone like Rex notice me?

Case in point, he’s sitting next to me, and I can’t think of a thing to say to him, so instead, he stares at Sam who’s sharing a story about the time her family went to Sea World.

There must be something I can talk to Rex about. He likes baseball, but I don’t know what position he plays or who the local professional team is. That’s out. He’s in my Bio II class, I could ask about the homework. Yeah, that’s lame. We both know I get a better grade in the class than he does.

“Aren’t you eating?” I blurt. “I could get you a refill on my fries if you’re hungry.” I’ll have to thank Bek for the inspiration later.

“No, I ate, thanks.”

I wilt. That’s the extent of my small talk. I should just shut up and listen to Sam too. I reach for my iced tea. At least I can stick a straw in my mouth and pretend that’s the reason I can’t chatter merrily with the hot baseball player. Unfortunately, the cup catches the lip of my plate and slips from my hand. I jerk to recover it, but only manage to nudge it and change its trajectory so that it splats to the table and spills its entire contents down Rex’s shirt and into his lap. He leaps backward out of the chair, tea soaking the front of his pants as well.

The room burst into laughter and applause.

I want to slink under the table. Instead, I grab Sam’s napkin and blot at Rex’s leg.

He grabs the napkin from my hand. “I’ll do that.”

Only then do I realize where I’d been blotting. I turn seven more shades of red. Honestly, I’m probably purple by this point. I’m surprised the heat of my embarrassment doesn’t instantly dry Rex’s clothes.

Bek gathers more napkins and hands them to Rex so he can soak up the extra moisture from his clothing.

I’m chanting a litany of apologies, but I’m not even sure it’s loud enough for anyone to hear. I probably look like a crazy girl talking to myself.

Rex tosses the sodden mess of napkins on the table and looks across the room to his buddy, Lane. “I gotta change, bro. We gotta go.”

“Rex, I’m so, so sorry.” This time I put some real feeling behind the apology, but he never looks at me.

I watch him walk out, laughing and shaking hands with other guys as he passes by them. When Lane catches up with him, he slaps Rex on the back and says something that makes them both laugh, and I just know it has something to do with me trying to help clean him up.

As my gaze follows them out, it snags on the guy leaning against the wall of the entrance. Dylan stares at me with that snarky half-smile of his. I scowl and drop my gaze to my lap, only then realizing that I’m wet too.

Of course.