Page 38 of The Boy Next Door

When I stop by French's classroom to see if there's any work she needs done, she surveys colorful pottery attempts. Fired and colored, the bright blues, yellows, and other colors somehow make every lumpy pot and tilted vase more pathetic. The color highlights the amateur results.

"Saddest pottery I've ever seen," I admit.

She snorts. "Then you missed their first attempts."

"Not a lot of improvement."

"But some!" she insists with an invigorated, slightly demented smile. "What an inspiration, really. There's nowhere to go but up."

Dylan's vase is easy to spot. Partly because of the black color, a piece for the black and white entryway of his home.

Mrs. Cruse could even display the pottery without shame, which is what really makes it stand out.

The wide circular bottom tapers off into a long neck, and French must realize I liberally helped Dylan, though she doesn't penalize him.

She scrutinizes me like a piece of art. "What's the matter?"

"Everything," I answer without hesitation. Apparently, I've been waiting for somebody to ask. "Every single part of my life has gone wrong. I guess I'm supposed to pick myself up and try again, but I'm not sure how... maybe I should just stay down."

"Hmm. If your life is the problem, then you start a new life."

Her 'sage' advice doesn't inspire me.

"Do you know what you need?" she tries next.

"To be bold?"

"What? No, not at all." She looks around, seemingly for help. "How did you get that from the conversation we were having?"

"Okay, never mind! What do I need?"

She waves her hands with a flourish. "To reinvent yourself!"

"...Alright," I agree tiredly. If there's no work for me, I should probably leave.

"Anything's possible!" Glancing over her shoulder, she wraps her shawl around herself tighter and lowers her voice to tell me a secret. "Can you believe that before I reinvented myself my name was Maude Grey?"

"No, it wasn't," I guess.

"No, you're right. It wasn't. But I was a dull little person from a dull little town."

"And what about how personalities like yours don't get out of bed for less than three syllables?"

"They don't. My name wasn't right, so I invented a new one. I changed everything."

"But you weren't Maude Grey."

"No, thankfully." She winks. "But I was Megan Grey."

Surely she's still kidding. Except she's smiling this secretive smile, delighted as I try to figure out the truth.

Her eyes twinkle. Reinvent yourself, reinvent yourself, they tell me.

If I did it, so can you! She's happy, like she's stumbled on the best lie of all: the truth.

A truth almost impossible to believe, even though anybody can start out with any name, she's still the last person in the world who should have been given such an ordinary name.

How did her parents not see she was nothing short of unique and larger than life? Probably because she wasn't once. She was just a tiny baby wrapped in a pink blanket in a nursery, a young girl living a simple life in a boring place. Until she transformed. Until she decided to create a new life.

I'm not sure why it cheers me up. But it does. Maybe I needed a reminder. That no matter where you start, the place you end up in can be totally different.

~

Some people require reinvention. Ripping down all the old constraints and expectations and totally starting over. Perhaps this becomes the only solution when life is so unsatisfying, so far away from all your dreams.

Other people just take a wrong turn or two and find themselves a bit lost. They need to remember who they are.

When I see Hunter, I approach, slightly emboldened by him not running away.

"We aren't getting back together," he says instantly. "Haven't you gotten the message yet?"

His words halt whatever I was about to say. As I stare, maybe I see him for the first time. Not just my friend's brother, the surprising guy I went out with. I see all of him, the guy who desperately wished his dreams would come true, who would have given anything to make it, except himself.

The guy who I always thought hated me and never paid attention to me. The guy who smirked and sneered and I never questioned that he was hiding pieces of himself from the world the same way we all do, the same way I do.

"Should I take your silence as acceptance and leave? I'm gonna leave."

"Wait!"

I see him and... am totally confused.

"Why are you still here?" I wonder.

"Beats me. Bye."

"No, living here. Why aren't you in New York?" With a new band.

"How is that any of your business?" he growls.

"It's not but you're pissed anyway, so what's the worst that can happen? You don't talk to me even harder? "

For a second, I think he'll leave without another word. He doesn't.

Are we forever destined to have stolen conversations on driveways from now on? Forever destined to only see each other in passing? No, if he leaves, we won't see each other anymore. Which suddenly makes these stolen conversations where I freeze my butt off so valuable.

"I'm not a musician anymore," he reminds quietly.

"Not now. Unless you join another band."

"Don't even have drums."

"So what? You're gonna work some dead-end job, live in your parent's house? Forever? If we're really broken up, if there's nothing keeping you here, you should go. Even if we do get back together—"

"Not gonna happen."

"—You should probably still go. Don't give up. You're the one who inspires me and Dylan to keep going, so please, don't give up."

I think he’ll walk away at first. His face looks totally blank, then it morphs, shifting into rage. Uh-oh.

"Some nerve you got," he spits, getting right in my face. "Telling me how to live my life."

"I'm right." Wow, I don't even stutter.

"Fuck off, you are not."

"Then why are you so upset?"

Standing my ground is sorta terrifying as Hunter does a raging bull impression, yet the way his eyes almost cross and he sputters is so rewarding.

"Know what I think?" I ask before he starts swearing again.

"Don't wanna hear it."

"I think you're brave."

Crossing his arms, he eyes me warily. "...Okay, you can continue."

"Walking away from your big break took serious strength." I speak slowly, partly watching in case he runs away and also because I hope he hears me. "Don't doubt yourself now. Did you really wanna spend your life faking? Pretending to be something you aren't?"

"It happens."

"So what? I think you made the right decision for you. "

Reaching out alone feels bold, but I'm not suicidal. My hand hovers close to the sleeve of his leather jacket, not making contact.

"There's no shame in declining an opportunity that wasn't suited for you," I say. "And nothing is stopping you from trying again. Except for you."

The cool mask he wears around me these days isn't there. I almost miss it because the wall he puts up is better than him seeming vulnerable. Because he doesn't want to show me his insecurity right now, he just can't help himself.

"Kinda feels like I gave up," he whispers.

"Until the second you start trying again. Then you didn't really give up, did you? You only took a break."

I hope even a third of my words enter his thick skull. He probably needs some time to think, which will be easier if I’m not around, so I leave him to think on his own.

Besides, I'm busy.

Reinventing a life isn't always as simple as adding syllables to your name. I have work to do.