Page 16 of The Boy Next Door

Only after Hunter and I chatted at the pond did I remember I was supposed to be ending things once and for all. That situation is still a mess without a solution, but when it comes to school, I have a plan.

Clay leaves art class while I stay behind to talk to Mrs. French. Maybe I made a mistake.

"Extra credit," she repeats. The teacher once expressed regret she couldn't encourage us to shoplift because all artists should experience that base thrill and rush of adrenaline. Yet she boggles as if I'm the crazy person between us. "Extra credit?!?"

"Yeah, to make up for my project.” The grades are out, and I got a D. I didn’t even know it was possible to get a D in art.

"The concept is familiar. But in my classroom, the art is what matters. Can any human give extra credit for life? That's what art is—" She pauses her passionate speech. "Ahem. There are students in my other classes who need extra attention."

She points to ceramics projects, sad grey shapes waiting for firing in the kiln. What?

"You could assist them for me," she suggests. "But not for extra credit."

"Did Clay turn you down?" I guess. She was looking for him a while back.

"Yes. For you, however, teaching could be illuminating. It may give you the insight you need to improve... and I can hire a TA with the budget I use for buying you all spontaneous trinkets."

"Are you sure I'm right for the job?" I'm not exactly impressing her in class.

"Your technique is fine, above average even.

" Before I can enjoy the faint praise, she steps into my space, speaking with urgency.

"Sam, I selected you for my class because you have potential.

Bringing it out is my job and you're not there yet.

I'm not hard on you because you're a terrible artist. I'm pushing you because you could be great! "

"Oh." I try to process this.

She raises an eyebrow. "So, do you want a paying gig or not?"

Well, what else can I do? "Yes, please."

This isn't the problem I hoped to solve, but it's still an accomplishment. I'm employed.

~

The yellow curtains of Dylan's room are replaced with chocolate brown for blocking out the sun. Is he still down after his breakup? Is there any way I can help? I have to know. Staying away from him is impossible.

"Oh, hey," he greets when I ring the bell. "Hunter isn't here."

Hunter may be a mystery, but I know what I want when it comes to Dylan. He’s hurting and I’d like to make him feel better. I summon the brightest smile possible, offering the surprise I brought over.

"Wow, I loved those cookies when I was a kid."

"I remember." I jingle the bag, tempting him.

"Come on in." Dyl leads me to the living room. "I can't eat these without my partner in crime."

Mrs. Cruse had the audacity to select plush white carpeting in the living room, pure white in a home where two boys grew up. Eating in the living room is strictly forbidden . Sneaking in thin chocolate chip cookies was the ultimate act of rebellion for us at age 10.

"Just like old times." Dylan opens the bag and helps himself. " Mmmm, delicious."

I politely accept a few cookies, careful not to create crumbs.

After swallowing his mouthful, he sighs. "I should stop moping, huh? We weren't dating long." He tips his head back, resting on the couch. "There were, like, two perfect weeks , so I made a huge deal about her when we were official."

"Then things changed?"

"Yeah, we started fighting like crazy. And only Hunter knew because he heard our huge blowup when he came home after you two went out. It's been downhill from there. I also wanted to keep you out of it." Really?!? "You and Hunter don't need me ruining your happiness."

Oh. That's why he didn't share his problems even though I caught him in a bad mood the day of photography club. But it still feels important for some reason. I can't really pinpoint why, but I push whatever it is away.

"Hey, we're friends. You can always talk to me."

"Thanks." A genuine smile lights up his face. "Seriously, these cookies are just what I needed."

I try not to smile too much. He finishes off the bag while I sit with him. I never had the heart to tell him this crispy variety isn't my favorite.

It's almost like when we were kids. Except he's stronger from football and growing up and wearing a plain black shirt instead of anything with superheroes. And Hunter's missing.

Whenever we were proud of ourselves for being daredevils with our secret cookies, Hunter would stroll in the living room after us with a popsicle or some other inherently messy food, making us feel like babies compared to his older, riskier ways.

Dylan seems almost shy when we stand up.

"Is it totally stupid if I ask for a hug?"

"Not at all." Play it cool, Sam. Play it cool.

"You won't tell anyone?" He means his older brother, who will mock us endlessly.

"It's our secret."

Our safe embrace is still intimate. There's the heat of his body, and he's switched shampoos or body spray, something is different. Before I figure it out, I remember being this close to him is a gift. It's going to end any second, so I should enjoy this now and obsess over the details later.

Since he can't see, I close my eyes. There's a single second of pure bliss, or a nice feeling that I imagine will become pure bliss as—the moment ends.

"What the fuck?!?"

It's Hunter. He's pissed.

Call me crazy, but I doubt eating in the living room enraged him.