Page 15 of The Boy Next Door

Our trio ventures to the school library. Clay needs a history book for a project he's working on with Dylan. Maggie and I accompany him because he doesn't want to miss any of the details about what I learned yesterday.

Not that I learned much about Dylan's break up. Mrs. Cruse called her son inside shortly after he broke the news. There's still so much to figure out on my end. What does this mean?

"This is your chance, Samuel." Clay speaks from the next aisle.

"What am I supposed to do? Drop one for the other?"

"Am I a dick if I say yes?"

"Kind of." "Maybe." Maggie and I both answer.

"Think of it as trading up. It's a compliment."

Maggie moves a book to gape at Clay. "A compliment for Dylan at Hunter’s expense. Insulting Hunter won't exactly win over his brother."

She's right. All this may be too much for Dylan. Why would he want to be with the guy who just ended things with his brother? And if Hunter leaves town, will Dylan forgive me? Did one moment with his brother really ruin any chance for us?

"Dylan's back on the market," Clay points out. "The longer you wait, the more competition you'll have."

"He just broke up with Renee."

"Which won't slow anybody down for long." He sees me glaring between a crack in the books. "Not me, jeez, he's not my type. Too goody-goody."

To Clay, Dylan might seem boring. But who wants to date someone who isn't nice?

An image of blond hair and a devilish smirk crosses my mind and—someone shushes us, so we move and end up in a fiction area.

Either Clay doesn't know how libraries work or the Dewey decimal system is seriously out of whack here.

Maggie turns to me. "Where were we?"

How surreal. When I first left the note, I apparently talked and stressed enough to drive my friends crazy. This time, there's no limit. Nobody tells me to shut up. They want more, more, more. Personally, how much more can I take?

"I'm not sure what to do," I admit, scanning the nearby titles at random.

My gaze falls on a book across from me. A red cover with gold lettering grabs my attention. Forbidden Passions. I'm surprised it's even in a high school library.

"Wait, we're assuming you want to distance yourself from Hunter and be with Dylan," Maggie says. "But if that's not the case..."

"It is, of course it is!"

"Hey, I don't blame you," Clay says. "Dylan's a nice enough guy, but there's no fire there."

"I don't want fire, I—" No, that didn't come out right. "I want Dylan. But how can I pull this off?"

"It is complicated." Maggie places an arm around my shoulder as we begin heading somewhere we can talk freely. "So don't make it worse by dragging things out. Let's work on unentangling yourself from Hunter and go from there."

Good advice. Whatever feelings, regrets, or whatever Hunter inspires, it's too confusing and impossibly complicated.

~

My curtains are open as I do homework. When I see Hunter near the pond, I force myself to join him.

The plan my friends and I devised involves telling him we should forget the whole 'us' thing, no hard feelings, and be friends.

It doesn’t have to be so complicated. We went on one date and discovered it was a mistake. Hunter will agree to move on because it's a resolution. It's better than some high school boy following him like a lost puppy and pining for him.

Hunter Cruse is the last guy I'd ever obsess about, but he definitely thinks he's pine worthy.

Hunter sings to himself, tossing food pellets as the first hungry fish emerge from the depths of the pond. He freezes when spotting me.

"You heard nothing," he says a second later, feigning nonchalance. "Wanna feed some fish?"

"Sure."

"Don't worry, I promise I won't sing anymore."

He drops a handful into my open palm. I'm not disappointed there's no contact between us.

"Your voice isn't terrible," I say, buttering him up.

"Gee, can I quote you on that?"

"Oh, um, sorry." I begin edging away. So much for trying to get him in a good mood.

"Nah, I understand." He shrugs, tossing a few more pellets in the water as a fat white and orange koi gobbles them up.

Despite hiring people to keep their lawn beautiful, yardwork is a chore boys 'should' help with for allowance, to build character, or whatever reason that made Mr. Cruse deem it a good lesson.

Dylan, ever the good son, did and does indeed still pitch in with yardwork.

The closest Hunter comes is feeding the fish.

"I'm no vocalist," Hunter says eventually. "Drummers don't even play notes. How the hell am I supposed to sing them?"

"I told you—"

"You told me I don't sound terrible. I agree there. Can I carry a tune? Yes. Am I good enough for one of those thousand reality TV singing competitions? Maybe." There's the rock star attitude. "Anyone who doesn't outright suck makes it past the initial audition."

"Except for The Voice."

"Yeah, my voice is okay, but—" he smiles as I must look at him funny. "Kidding. I know what The Voice is. John Legend does something, you pay attention. Even I know that."

"Uh, I think the fish has eaten enough." I nod down as he keeps giving the orange and white koi more food. Can fish be obese?

"That's Stan." He tosses 'Stan' another couple of pellets. "Stan is my favorite."

...Hunter has and named a favorite fish. It's so surprising it almost steals my breath away because... he's... kinda adorable.

He coughs and continues gruffly. "Anyway, I'd get booted from any singing competition before the point where the audience votes and learns my name. I'm not even the guy who barely misses the top however many finalists."

Focusing on orange and gold scales and swishing tails, I feed the fish and don't watch Hunter to avoid spooking him.

"The only legit opportunity for Wombat Soup... Some studio execs decide we're worth talking to and they get the bright idea I should be the front man."

I accidentally drop some fish food on the ground at this news.

A completely orange koi brushes up against the side, unable to grab the nearby morsels.

Hunter really had the opportunity to become the rock star he’d always dreamed of being?

And it didn't work out? Is that why he quit music altogether?

And strangest of all, he's telling me about what happened?

"Yeah, me as a lead singer. I was speechless too. See, 'ideas' from these music mogul guys? Not optional once you sign with them."

"Wait, seriously? Is that why—"

"No," he interrupts. "I don't know. There were a lot of reasons." His voice is quiet and... not emotional, but closer to expressing human emotion than normal.

His face is intentionally blank, and I realize how hard I'm staring. He must feel it even if his own gaze is fixated on—gosh, he really should stop feeding Stan.

"We were on the verge of collapsing anyway.

I don't know if that's the best or worst time to receive a real offer.

Coulda been our salvation, and man, we needed saving.

" He chuckles darkly as he remembers. "Our singer and bassist couldn't stand each other anymore, so me and Johnny, who I met the year I was forced to attend fuckin g Cub Scouts , we're holding everything together with duct tape and working at least sixty-hour weeks to pay rent.

Everybody else got fired at the same fucking time. "

Once he starts, the dam breaks and he can't stop. He's probably never unloaded any of his frustrations before. But he finally realizes he's ranting and stops.

"I can't say I loved the idea of singing." He throws the last of his food into the pond. "But hell, they were probably right. Between me and them, I'm the guy who hasn't made a dime from music."

"They handle the big picture details," I say, fumbling for, I'm not sure, a way to cheer him up? "Maybe they've lost touch. Who does a fan want a record from more, the winner of America's Next Big Singing Competition After the Last One or the guy cut in the quarter-final?"

It takes him a moment to answer. "Neither."

"Huh?"

He smirks. "Nobody buys records anymore."

"Shut up." I shove him and he laughs.

Struck by some emotion I can't deal with as he laughs, I turn to the pond and give my remaining food to a golden fish because he or she is prettiest. Stan floats nearby, attempting to snatch a few pellets, but the pretty fish gets them all.

When I look up, Hunter is watching me. I can't deal with that either.

"Um, why did you tell me this?" I wonder.

"You asked."

"Except you didn't tell me when I asked."

"I'm telling you now."

Yeah, which adds to the confusion.

It's his yard, his 'chore' of feeding the fish. Yet he's the one who strolls away.

We were almost getting along there. Not that I'm hard to get along with. Peace and friendliness are rare for him. Which means he's a dick. So, I shouldn’t really care when he actually drops his guard and acts like a regular human. It shouldn't feel so rewarding.

Yet it does.