Page 4 of The Boy Next Door

While the sudden return of Hunter Cruse is troubling, there's nothing to worry about. He hopefully has better things to do than meddle in a high schooler's life. I do my best to push my concerns away during dinner.

To celebrate finishing my big project, Dad and I go to this tiny burrito place Mom hates.

She swears everything is too spicy and the chorizo will send my father into an early grave.

We eat outside, and the cool fall air feels surprisingly good, even as the sky darkens.

I dig into my food with gusto as the carnitas and lime scent in the air makes me hungry.

Dad tips his burrito to me in a cheers. "You're my favorite artist."

"Can you name another artist besides me?" I wonder around a mouthful of fish tacos.

"Elvis Costello?"

"He's a musician."

"Music is a type of art, right?" he asks, proud of himself before changing the subject. "Hey, did you know there are some great accounting programs at the community college?"

"Mom told me."

"You're good at math. And hey, if you like it there..."

"I'm not interested in local colleges," I remind gently. At least not 'live at home' local. There's more to life than a small Midwest city and much better art programs out there too. Even the relatively nearby schools I applied to are still different, they're still not here.

Dad smiles at me from across the table. "If you leave, I'll miss you too much."

Why do parents never understand that they aren't supposed to express such sappy sentiments in public?

"You'll survive," I grumble.

"Not if this burrito gets its way." He takes a giant bite with a satisfied mmmm . "If you don't like accounting, what about human resources? You'll have a stable income and earn a respectable living." He sees how non-thrilled I am. "What, you want excitement?"

"Maybe a bit." Or a future that doesn't make me yawn.

"What about a phlebotomist? They work with blood." Dad shudders. "Spooky."

With college right around the corner, my parents are trying to push respectable career paths onto me, hoping to sway me away from art school.

Starving artists, by reputation, starve. My parents, with their upper middle-class home and college educations, believe their son should do something more befitting of my high GPA and privileged upbringing.

I love art, but I am aware it doesn't provide the most reliable income. Even without them reminding me every five seconds. Part of the reason I'm so determined is because they resist it so much.

Truthfully, anything is possible. Right? It's kinda scary. And also wonderful.

~

Since we aren't far from home, I tell Dad I'll walk, and he leaves without me. Maybe I'll discover a moment of inspiration on the route. French always encourages us to step away from routines and immerse ourselves in the world to 'spark our creativity.'

Indulging the art teacher pays off to avoid a crash course in humiliation. She made Kara W. act out 'passion' in front of the whole class. Steve M. spent a whole period in a closet for... actually, I'm not sure why.

After dumping our trash into the bin, my walk is just starting when I nearly run into Hunter on the street.

"Hey, you barhopping too?" He nods, indicating some bars farther down the block.

"Fish tacos," I answer honestly and stupidly.

Still without his leather jacket, Hunter looks smaller. The night helps hide his surprisingly muscled arms, probably from dragging his drum set around.

"I'm not old enough for bars," I say when we linger awkwardly.

He confides, "I never let that stop me."

But I will. Because I'm not as cool and badass as him. He never lets me forget.

"Well, I should probably—" go far away.

"I can sneak you in," he offers, probably because he knows I'll refuse. Is he even old enough to drink legally?

"No thanks."

"Come on," he coaxes, amusement at my expense in his eyes. I see it perfectly since he's under a streetlamp and I'm not.

"It's a school night." Even a nerdy excuse is better than nothing.

"Well I—"

"Yeah," I interrupt. "You never let that stop you."

“Don’t you wanna have some fun and take a risk?”

“Maybe next time.”

This 'fun' banter feels the same as ever, a game of cat and mouse. I always play the tiny rodent to his proud tomcat; the only question is whether he'll cut me to pieces with his claws or make me his dinner.

"Sam," he says, tone strange.

His teasing demeanor vanishes, and we prey to the predators know when a quick exit is necessary.

"Uh, see you around, Hunter."

When he moves, I expect him to waltz past me without saying goodbye. Instead, he steps right into my personal space. As he joins me in the shadows, I can't see the intensity in his eyes, but I feel it on my skin.

"Be bold," he says.

Up this close, it's hard to breathe normally without inhaling the scent of him. And even with better lighting I could never read those eyes, too dark with unfathomable depths.

I manage to step away. "Fish tacos were bold enough for one night."

"No, not about your plans for tonight. Just in general." He's trying to tell me something. What? I don't know. "Sounds like advice you need to hear."

"Y-you don’t even know me,” I stammer. “We haven’t seen each other in a couple years."

"You’re taller and you grew up nice,” he says, tilting his head and looking me over.

"What the heck does that mean?" I hiss, fighting the urge to blush under his stare.

"But you’re still the same Sam,” Hunter concludes. “Hanging out with Dylan, hanging around. Close but not too close."

"W-we’re neighbors."

He nods. "See, same old Sam."

"And you’re the same butthead," I snap at him. And immediately regret it. That’s how I used to think of him when we were kids. Guess I should have updated my insults.

"Butthead?” I expect him to comment more, but he only shakes his head. “Look, all I’m saying is that it’s time to take some chances."

"I do fine." I cross my arms around myself, suddenly chilly out here.

"You could do better than fine," he insists. "Be bold. You won't get what you want otherwise."

"How do you know what I want?"

Something about his expression makes me wonder if somehow he sees right through me. He isn't smirking as he always does, yet he seems sure.

A shiver wracks my body, and I hope he doesn't see. He probably does because he sees everything. Any second, he's going to reveal what I keep hidden—but the moment ends.

"Anything worth wanting doesn't come easily, so…" He shrugs.

"Yeah, yeah." I take another step away, but it doesn't feel far enough. "Bold. Got it."

"You don't." He seems... sad. Sad I'm so slow. He pities me. Nothing new there.

I smile tightly. "Have a good night."

~

Walking home? Such a good idea. It gives me time to cool off.

"How dare he?" I mutter. "How dare he?!"

Okay, I'm not calm yet.

Hunter blows back in here for the first time in at least three years and thinks he's qualified to make judgments about me and my life? For all I know, he's fresh off a stint at rehab and riddled with venereal diseases from groupies.

Maybe I still look like the shy kid afraid of his own shadow. I'm not. The waves of anxiety and stress that used to wash over me, especially in new situations or when talking to people, has eased. The anxiety medication works wonders, and I even talked to a counselor for a few years.

Even before he left, I began improving. Not that he noticed me enough to do anything other than sneer and judge me.

"Ugh! He's so stupid!"

A bunny darts from some bushes on the nearest lawn and away from my voice.

Despite my progress, the worst part is he's right. I'm not bold enough. I don't go after everything I want. I don't go after Dylan.

This is my year. It's going to be. That means more than saying the words. I must try. By the time I get home and see the lamp in the living room left on for me, my mind is made up. I turn around and walk right back out the door.

No time like the present, right?

"Now or never."

Neither choice is particularly appealing, but I don't want never. That leaves now.

I can be bold. Bold enough to march over to the Cruse house.

A hypothetical hits me as I near the Cruse backdoor. If Dylan is dating someone, which is worse: a guy or girl?

What an awful hypothetical. Both are terrible in different ways. He's bi like Clay, so being with a girl isn't a surprise in theory. Yet if I look at her long red hair and curves, I see a person who is definitely his type, and I won't ever have some of those things.

And a guy, well, a guy is who I could be but I'm not.

Each would be terrible, though right now... a girl.

Dylan dating a girl is totally worse. Why?

Because he’s with her right now. They dart through a lighted spot near the backdoor while sneaking in, and I stare even though the sight rips my heart out. I swear nothing is worse than this.