Page 32 of The Boy Next Door

Not everyone is a lion tamer, rock star, hero, or.

.. an artist. This realization hurts now but will work out better in the long run.

What was I thinking? I'm no match for sexy older guys or for moving across the country.

.. Even Hunter gave up on his dreams eventually. If he quit, what hope do I have?

And as far as consolation prizes go, Dylan—no, he's no consolation. He's everything I desired for so long. What if I’m better off with him?

I haven't told either brother what I’m considering yet. Dylan must have some idea when I tutor him again in the art classroom. He's making slow progress on a pot at the wheel, and the secret smile on his face probably isn't for his moderate success.

"Don't get me wrong," he says, carefully encouraging the clay a bit higher. "I'll be thrilled when I'm done with this, but I'm imagining taking you out to dinner."

"Y-yeah?"

"There's this trendy bistro my mom says is so romantic, unless you'd prefer something low-key."

"Anything with you is f-fine." I wanted to say 'perfect,' which is too much pressure, and ended up going too low instead. "Uh, sorry. I can't believe... I've thought about this for so long."

There are butterflies in my belly, swimming around and making me slightly nauseous.

Good nerves! Probably. While the happy scenario at the end where I date Dylan is great, the road to the date.

.. it's bumpy. My mind can't forget the few uncomfortable, painful steps that come first, like who I’d have to let go.

The pottery wheel slows and stops. Dylan wipes his hands off and turns to me. He should keep going—oh well.

"Alright, give me your favorite fantasy." He realizes his words when I blush scarlet. "For a date!"

Closing my eyes, I feel silly. Fortunately, it's not difficult to remember all the times I pictured dating Dylan.

"Uh, the small things were most interesting, I think. I imagined you putting your arm around me in a movie theater. Writing notes to each other at night because we don't want to sleep. Though I guess texting takes care of that."

When I open my eyes, Dylan smiles shyly. "No, writing notes and showing them to each other from separate houses is more romantic."

"Yeah."

"Sounds nice. What else?"

Finally, the tension in my chest eases. These 'what ifs' never failed to put a smile on my face before, and they still work now.

"You give me your letterman jacket. We switch off eating with your friends and mine, and we go to photo club together."

My smile fades as his vanishes abruptly.

"No, I quit, remember?" Dylan frowns at his half-finished pot.

"Right." These fantasies aren't especially recent. Still... "You could start again?"

"Come on," he groans, foot hitting the pedal too hard as the clay spins rapidly. "This is what caused trouble with Renee and me."

"Well, if you quit for your dad... you should do what makes you happy."

“There’s more to life than being happy.”

“That sounds… bleak,” I offer unsurely.

“Crap, that’s not what I mean.”

Resting a hand on his knee, I want him to ease up on the pedal. His knee jerks, the wheel stops suddenly and whirs to life again, causing his pot to collapse. Dylan takes his foot off the pedal, punching the lump of clay with his fist.

"Look, Dad suggested I quit," he admits. "But I decided to listen. Finishing the year would have been nice, yeah, but it's not a huge deal."

"It isn't?"

"Photography is a hobby, nothing more." He sounds so sure. It's... a little sad. I didn’t know he felt that way. "Did I tell you I got the internship with the governor?"

"Uh, congrats? That's what you want?"

"Yes, even at the risk of my father micromanaging everything." He laughs, then sees my expression. "The guy isn't perfect, but the life he has? Super nice. A family, money, career success. The classic American dream. All that would make me happy."

“It would?”

“Yeah,” he says. “If I really wanted to, I could always pick up a camera again, but there’s so many more important things to focus on, so I may not have the time. Internships, college, networking. Having a future and being someone important, that’s the life I want. That’s what matters.”

He smiles thinking about that future, looking partly like the cute boy I grew up with and partly like a man. The man he could be, someone I don't know very well.

"Anyway, about us," Dylan begins.

"Don't think there is an us," I interrupt. My voice wavers, but the words sound true.

"We don't need to dream about exactly the same things."

"Maybe not at first, but... You have an internship with the governor, and I'm still waiting on art school."

"And I think you're nuts to not accept Steadfast or Stillman."

"You do?"

"Uh, it's your choice!" he assures. "Obviously. But kinda, yeah." He's somewhat sad, though not devastated. Fortunately, he seems to be coming to the same conclusion as me. "Maybe we do see the world too differently."

He’s always been my sweet neighbor. We support each other but don’t share many of the same activities or friends. Maybe that’s how I missed that we want different things and see the world in different ways.

Dylan was always caring, sweet, and good. The perfect guy for anybody. The right guy. Yet I suppose I never truly stopped to ask myself whether he was right for me.

~

Tearing through the halls, I'm not sure who or what I hope to find. I skid to a stop when I spot Maggie exiting the girl's bathroom. She's wearing a dark wool sweater with a black headband, though her fashion choices can't dampen my mood.

"I came so close to making a huge mistake," I confess immediately.

"Huh." She blinks at me. "I usually hear that inside the restroom."

"What?"

"Great place for gossip," she says. "Especially on Mondays when people share what they did over the weekend."

We stare at each other, standing in front of the bathroom door, unsure how to proceed. Nope, I can't hold back.

"Why didn't I realize? I should have seen it sooner! Dylan told me at least I have Steadfast when I didn't get into RISD."

"That's wrong?" she wonders doubtfully.

"No, but there's still hope. Anyway, Hunter said screw them."

"That's right?" she clarifies next.

Shaking my head, I grab her hands and tell her the important part.

"Dylan. I picked Dylan."

She breaks free of my grip and snaps her fingers. "Dammit, I owe Clay 20 bucks."

"Well, I was going to choose Dylan," I correct. "I thought it was him because it's always been Dylan. I thought I couldn't—" Take a chance. Do the brave thing. Follow my heart. "—I was wrong."

Dylan is sweet and supportive, but it's easier for him to support the things he understands. Art school isn't among those things. He's not a dreamer, he might not even be an artist. Not like me.

"Does this mean…?" Maggie wonders, a small smile on her face.

My own smile is tremendous. "Hunter is the guy for me."

"I win the bet!" she cheers, jumping up and down. "And I'm happy for you!"

Honestly? I'm happy for me too. And relieved I didn't make a huge mistake... and a little terrified. Because Hunter isn't the safe choice. He might be gone any second. I'm not even sure if I can follow him to New York or if I should.

Yes, choosing him is a risk. Yet I'm sure I want him.

I realized something when talking to Dylan.

Picking the safe choice is also a risk, just a different kind.

After experiencing passion, possibility, elation, and yes, even fear and pain, going back to the safe route in life?

That's the biggest risk of all, assuming I can still be happy there when. .. I can't.