Read Online Chasing Boys by Karen Tayleur - Free Book Online Page B

mumble.
    I throw on some clothes from my bedroom floor, look in the mirror and decide against brushing my hair. I don’t want to look like I’m trying.
    Back in the kitchen I make him an instant coffee and hoist myself up onto my favorite spot on the counter. Dylan doesn’t talk so I fill in the gaps. I ask questions and he answers using the least amount of words he can. I wonder if it’s a game with him.
    I find out that he lives two blocks away. He lives with his mother and father and his really little brother. His grandfather lives in an addition on the back of their house.
    “What’s it like living with your grandfather?” I ask, but he just shrugs.
    “You know,” he says.
    “I don’t,” I say.
    “Him and my dad don’t get along so well,” he says. “But I like having him around. He’s pretty out there for an old guy. He has a mean sense of humor. I guess I used to hang out more with him when I was younger. He gave me my first paint set.”
    Dylan has just put more than two sentences together. I should be celebrating, but I can’t stop thinking about Eric.
    “Why don’t they get along?” I ask.
    He shrugs. “They’re too different. Or maybe they’re too much the same. I’ve never worked that out.”
    “How come you moved schools?” I ask.
    “I felt like a change,” he says, so sharply that I don’t have the nerve to ask why.
    “Are you good at math?” I ask.
    “No,” he says.
    “Are you going to join the basketball team?” I ask. “Have you ever been to one of Eric’s games?”
    “No,” Dylan says. “I don’t like playing games.”
    Then I remember my good manners and ask if he wants a cookie.
    “Thanks,” he says.
    “I’m sure Sarah will be here any minute,” I say, looking pointedly at the kitchen clock. I can’t remember what time we made our meeting.
    Then I shove a box of cookies under Dylan’s nose and watch him devour half of it, carefully pulling the cookie halves apart and licking the cream from the center, then dunking the rest of the cookie into his coffee. Watching him do this makes me feel unsettled.
    “So, do you have any ideas about the project?” I ask. I’m not really interested. It’s just that the kitchen has been shrinking and Dylan is invading my personal space. I have an urge to reach out and trace the white scar that runs from his lips. I sit on my hands.
    Dylan shrugs. “Projects aren’t really my thing.”
    “Really? It’s just that Eric—”
    “You’ve really got it bad for him, haven’t you?” he says quietly.
    “What?”
    “I saw you in detention. You have the hots for him,” says Dylan casually. “But he already has a girlfriend—remember? So maybe you should, like, back off.”
    “What?” I repeat. My body is still and I’ve forgotten how to breathe. Tears sting the back of my eyeballs. I feel them escape and slide slowly down my cheeks. I don’t make an idiot of myself by moaning or gasping or shrieking. All my noise is clogged in my throat, but the tears pour out like some efficient fire sprinkler.
    Dylan grabs a paper towel and leans in close. He swipes at the tears on my cheeks then grabs my nose like I’m a little kid and says, “Blow.”
    So I blow and mumble that I have a cold.
    Then Mom bursts in, on a quick excursion for more pins.
    “Don’t let me interrupt.” She grabs her sewing box and disappears again without once looking at us.
    Dylan moves away and the phone rings. I get down off the counter to answer it. It’s Sarah. She’s stuck at home with her little brothers, still waiting for her mom to return from a quick trip to the mall. She promises to make it as soon as she can.
    “Don’t bother,” I say, trying to sound as normal as possible. “Let’s catch up in class.”
    “I’ve gotta go,” Dylan mumbles as I hang up. He’s already worked out there’s no geography project happening today.
    Then he leaves and I stumble back to the couch and turn on the TV. I can’t see the whole screen because