Chapter 6

Tyler didn't text or call for the entire weekend, obviously. He broke our dumb Snapchat streaks, his lack of presence on social media drove away a few followers, and his phone sent every call straight to voicemail. Honestly, I would've assumed he was dead if Josh hadn't texted me to let me know he was fine. Sunday evening he decided to wander on over to Tyler's place and finally talk it out, in hopes the hangover would've subsided by then — it didn't, actually. From what I heard, he got food poisoning from his failed hangover cure. That's what he gets for digging up graves in the middle of a nature reserve and bringing me back a necklace with a blood pendant.

I know I thought the necklace was disgusting, and it still is. It's deeply disturbing and not only did it come from a coffin, but it's filled with blood. Human blood? Animal blood? I don't want to know. Regardless, I hung it around my rear view mirror above the dashboard. I'm not stupid enough to get rid of something that might have monetary value, and if anything I hope it'll ward off anybody aiming to break in to my car.

As for the rings, Dallon spent the whole weekend trying to sort through them all. He counted roughly one hundred of them, all forged with precious metals and expensive jewels. A few of them were definitely wedding rings, but the majority were probably made with the intention to boast about salaries and inheritances. In fact, he hadn't even gotten through all of them when I checked in last. He said he was going to find a few pawn shops to sell to, but then the pile of rings to keep grew too large and the bag adopted a permanent position in his bedroom, right on his nightstand underneath the lamp I gave him for Christmas in eighth grade.

I didn't do anything for the whole weekend. I didn't touch my homework, didn't even look at my books, barely even left my room. Friday night was so emotionally exhausting I felt like I was recovering from a near death experience. I felt so dead inside I almost didn't pick up Dallon's FaceTime call.

"Oh my god," he says as the video connects, "you look like a corpse."

"Really? Well, I feel like a corpse."

"I would say we should look into burying you, but nobody's grave is safe anymore. Not when Tyler's under the influence. Is he okay by the way? I haven't heard from him since Friday night. Saturday morning? Same thing."

His unprovoked excitement is overwhelming. My gas tank is running on empty and his is overflowing with rainbows and sunshine, which, might I add, is completely out of the ordinary. He just got rejected from one of his dream colleges. I was anticipating a well-deserved pity party. "Is he okay? You know the hangover breakfast he makes?"

"Yes, the half-raw hamburger with extra cheese and grilled onions drenched in sriracha. It's very difficult to forget."

"Clearly. Anyways, he got food poisoning this time around. Finally." I almost feel bad for him. The key word is 'almost'.

Dallon shrugs. He sets his phone on the floor against his dresser and picks up the baggie of rings. Half of them are bagged separately. "He had it coming to him. Everything bad that happens to him from this point on, is deserved. It's karma. Karma is a wonderful person."

"He did give you a bag full of expensive rings. Shouldn't that give him some leeway?"

He shakes his head. "No. Things turning up aces for me has nothing to do with him. Good karma for me."

"Do tell how karma has tilted in your favor."

Dallon holds up a plain silver ring to the light cast from his lamp. It sparkles like stars. "Well, even if I was admitted to SFSU, I wouldn't have been able to afford anything at all. Not the tuition fees, not the dorm payments, not the meal plan cost, whatever. I couldn't even have paid it off if I sold every ring in here."

I think he could if he sold them all, but that's just my opinion. There are a lot of shimmering rare gems set in those puppies. "Is that it?"

"Besides the rings..." a sly smile creeps across his face, pride glinting in his eyes. "I actually went to go see that girl we met when we picked up Tyler."

My heart drops, unfortunately. "Taylor? You went to go see her? As in...?"

He shrugs, still grinning like a fool. "I went to go see her at her apartment all the way in Sacramento. Stayed the night, had some fun."

"Wow." I say. "And you just met her, huh?"

His confidence slips for just a second until he remembers who she is and what they did. "Yeah, but I feel like I've known her forever, y'know? She's just... amazing."

"You've known her for, like, two days. How much do you even know about her? Do you remember how we met her and what she was doing that night?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Wow. Way to be judgmental. You know her less than I do and you're acting like she's gonna steal my identity and frame me for vehicular manslaughter or something."

"She might. You don't know her."

"We're hanging out and going to dinner tomorrow. You should come with us." Dallon mutters. "I'll pay for your meal if you stop trashing on her."

"I'm not trashing on her." I might be trashing on her. She could be a wonderful person and I could be overreacting, but the fact he let her in so fast and essentially fell in love immediately really irks me. "But I have plans tomorrow. It's family game night."

"Yes you are, and no you don't. The last time you had family game night was when you were eleven and your parents almost divorced. I remember that."

God, I don't want to go. I'm already jealous enough. There is no way I could handle dinner with them sitting across from me, enjoying the romantic connection Dallon and I should've sparked years ago. I know we've been friends for ages but I always thought it would progress into something more. Maybe we were just destined to be friends and I was reading empty pages and invisible words.

"We're starting family game night again as a substitute for Jesus Camp. It's your fault." Family game night hasn't taken place for years, but I wish it would so I could use it as a viable excuse. Maybe I should try to convince my mom and dad to get a divorce again. I got a dog out of it the first time. Imagine what I could snatch this time around.

He rolls his eyes. "Whatever. I'll pick you up tomorrow night. Six o'clock?"

"Family game night."

He clenches his jaw and a glittering ruby ring slips from his fingers, clattering amongst the rest of the stolen items. "Anyways, I have a dentist appointment at noon so I'm not even gonna bother showing up to school tomorrow."

"So you can have squeaky clean teeth to kiss your girl?" I catch him off guard with that. "I'm going to go. I'll see you later."

"Brendon—" He reaches for his phone but I end the call before he can even lean forward far enough. I feel bad about it, but only for two seconds.

Not even a year ago he went on a rant on my rooftop at three in the morning, going on and on about how he could never see himself in a relationship, how he could never see himself giving up parts of himself for someone else. That was why I didn't try to pursue anything, and frankly I tried to push it to the back of my mind so it wouldn't affect the way I acted around him. If he was so against romance in any form of the word, there was no way he'd hang around for long if he ever realized. And now here comes this girl that he's known for all of two days and was on drugs the night they met, and suddenly she's the game changer in his anti-affection bubble?

Maybe she is as wonderful and perfect as he claimed she is. Of course she's gorgeous, but there's no way she could change his entire attitude with a kiss on the hand and a quick hookup. She has to be playing him or exploiting his emotions. She has to be fake.

And I think that's what upsets me. The mere idea of her is so perfect and flawless that she can't possibly be real. There's absolutely no way a golden goddess like her just waltzed into his life like there aren't a dozen carbon copies of the same white boy that's one cigarette away from crumbling to dust. I know Dallon's one of the carbon copies but I thought he'd become *my* carbon copy one day. I called dibs when we were seven.

But that's selfish. That's selfish of me to think. That's selfish for me to believe that I could stand back and expect him to rub the fog from his eyes and see that he belongs with me. I know his favorite songs and he tells me about his dreams. He drives to my house in the middle of the night because it's me that makes him laugh when he's about to cry. She could never do that. She doesn't know him like I do, no matter how selfish that sounds.

In the bathroom, I tap my toothbrush against the mirror, lining the plastic up with my forehead. "You are so selfish. Just be happy for him. Maybe she's the one for him and you're ruining it because you're a stubborn jerk."

I haven't even met her properly. Maybe she's like he said. Maybe I should give her a chance. Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Chapter 7

The level of jealousy skyrockets when six o'clock rolls around. They didn't tell me what restaurant they chose for dinner, so I just chose a plain shirt with the nicest jeans I had and the cleanest shoes in my closet. I dropped my wallet in my back pocket anyways and packed my driver's license in there just in case. And I prayed to god they weren't driving up to San Francisco to dine at the one of the fanciest restaurants possible. Not only would I be underdressed and broke, but there would be a packed restaurant full of pretentious rich folks to see me wander around as a third wheel and look like a fool.

The jealousy does not stem from the fact that they're holding hands and smiling and dancing to music when they pull up, no, of course not. The jealousy spikes when I realize the car they pulled up in is Taylor's. Taylor's black Chevrolet Impala from the mid-sixties, humming in perfect condition. Maybe she is the perfect person.

Dallon cranks the handle to roll the window down, just a smidge. He's wearing a white dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top. "Get in, loser. We're going to Sizzler."

The inside car is even nicer than the outside. The seats are pristine and don't have a single crease in them. The seatbelts click and the air conditioning works better than my own. Everything smells like coffee and white flowers with the slightest hint of vanilla. It's a scent made to turn heads. I would kill a dozen people to have this car park across the street from me. I don't even like cars.

Taylor's offensively bright blue eyes catch mine in the rear view mirror. Her eyeliner wings out evenly, and strands of her wispy bangs threaten to tangle in her eyelashes. "You like it?"

I nod. The seats are so soft. "It's really cool."

"Thank you. It's a family heirloom and my pride and joy."

Dallon rests his chin on their intertwined fingers, like he's memorizing every feature of her face as she turns the car around and leaves the way she came into the neighborhood. I have to bite my tongue.

"How was class?" He asks me without looking away from her. The jealousy levels rise further. I know he had a dentist appointment but he missed a pop quiz that I also would've liked to skip. I'm not going to tell him that. I want him to suffer right now.

The engine howls as Taylor floors the gas pedal on the main road. I have to yell over it. "Just as shitty as usual. Dentist?"

"Squeaky clean." He smiles and flashes perfectly bright teeth. "I forgot how sweet it feels to skip school when you aren't sick. You can't really do that in college, can you?"

I start to answer but Taylor scoffs and I realize the question was directed to her, not me. It hurts at first but c'mon — I can't answer a question about college. And it's a genuine question that I should probably learn the answer to. She has to think for a second before speaking. "It's a constant influx of work, but if you skip a day it's pretty easy to make up. If you know what you're doing, college isn't as difficult as everyone makes it out to be."

That sounds like a lie. I don't even think she's in college. She's probably a spy sent from another country to gather our American secrets so they can strike when we're weak and stupid, which is always. "Wha— How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

We make eye contact in the rearview mirror. The way she looks at me makes it feel illegal. "Don't you know you never ask a lady's age?"

"Yeah, but— sorry? I was just thinking— I wanted to— I just wasn't sure — maybe — see, my thought process — alright I'm going to stop talking now."

She slips her hand from Dallon's grip to turn the corner, and then places her hand right back in his. "You're adorable. I just turned twenty in December."

Oh my god, we're barely eighteen. We just became legal adults. Is two years too much of an age gap? What's the difference in maturity levels? How illegally legal is that? We're still in high school. This cannot be allowed. "T-That's cool."

Dallon presses another kiss to the back of her hand and stares at me while he rests his cheek on the side of the seat. He raises his eyebrows. I miss seeing his face just a few feet away from mine while we watch old movies at midnight on a school night. "Why in the world are you so nervous?"

I think there are a lot of reasons for me to be nervous. Anything that feels like it belongs in a coming-of-age movie is dangerous and will probably not end well. Maybe this is the climax of the movie and we all die in a fiery explosion. Maybe this is a dystopian movie and this is the setup before the aliens invade. Whatever. I think I have every right to be nervous, especially around a twenty-year-old goddess that I met once while she was on drugs. Frankly, his denial that something is off is alarming on its own.

"Just thinkin' about homework." I force myself to smile. "English class is kicking my ass right now."

"Oh shit. At least you're almost done with the year, right? College acceptance letters are rolling out soon." Taylor glances to her passenger quickly. "That's fun, right?"

Dallon's face turns sour. His recent rejection from his dream college surfaces in his eyes like the omniscient dice of a magic eight ball. "Let's talk about something else." He says firmly.

The absence of a discussion tells me nothing good has been coming out of the application process. It's a shame since he truly is a bright student, but some times it's just the luck of the draw. I wish we were sitting in my room alone on a weekend evening so I could tell him that. It'd feel weird to say it in front of Taylor. It feels like a raw and intimate discussion, not fit for a car ride to Sizzlers.

She picks up the hint immediately and drops the conversation just as fast. "Yeah, yeah of course. Tell me about... how long you two have been friends? Let's talk about that."

"Oh my god," Dallon turns back to look at me, "it's been, like, eleven years."

I nod. "We've been friends since the second grade. You bring the same lunchbox one time and it's all over after that."

I catch Taylor smile in her reflection on the windshield. Her lipstick is the color of the maraschino cherries I would get in Shirley Temple drinks at restaurants. She watches the road and my best friend keeps his eyes glued to her as if she'd disappear if he even blinked for too long. Slight jealously churns in my empty stomach like a raging whirlpool.

"That's so cute," she muses. "I love hearing that people have been friends for so long. It gives me hope."

Dallon shrugs and turns back to the dashboard like it's no big deal. I know it is in his eyes, because he always brags about the length of our friendship. He's just trying to seem cool and nonchalant.

"Hope for what?" I ask.

She rolls her eyes. I can't see her, but I can practically hear it in her disappointed and exhausted drawl. "Hope for humanity. I fucking despise this planet. I'll take any ounce of serotonin I can get nowadays. You feel me?"

I completely agree, but even if I didn't I'd be too scared to go against her. "Totally."

My phone buzzes with a text message and in the two seconds my attention is redirected, I'm out of the conversation. Curse Josh and his procrastination questions that I can't even answer.

And it's weird like that for the rest of the drive. It's not a long journey to Sizzler, but it's on the other side of town, and it's Sizzler. I haven't set foot inside a Sizzler, like, ever. What's even worse is that I never had the intention to. You only go to Sizzler if you are nostalgic and eighty years old, or chronically depressed.

I don't even bother to try to jump into the conversation again. I see the puppy dog eyes and the longing stares when one of them turns away for a second. It's hard to not regret hopping in the car and buckling my seatbelt — not only is the backseat isolation one of the most uncomfortable places to be, but it's a constant reminder that we're just friends and all those times I wanted to be something more, are all insignificant now. We're just friends, y'know. We've always been just friends. I think that's the worst part about all this — I should've at least said something. I had plenty of opportunities to do something, absolutely anything. All my angsty and unrequited emotions are my own fault.

Taylor is excellent at parking though, I will give her that. She snags a spot in the front of the near empty lot that exists for Sizzler only; there are no other restaurants in the immediate area. I can see the distant flickering sign to a shoe store and the dimmed lights of a Burlington Coat Factory on the opposite end of another large parking lot. I wish I was over there instead of at Sizzler. I don't want to be at Sizzler. There has never been a point in my life where I have wanted to go to that restaurant and have dinner, even less so in the current situation.

The height difference between Dallon and Taylor is just a few inches even with her high heel shoes, and it's perfect. Their fingers lace together like handcrafted puzzle pieces and she leans against his shoulder while they waltz across the asphalt. I stay a few paces behind and watch and listen to their low conversation, casual and sweet but somehow romantic.

So this is what unrivaled jealously feels like. Curses.

Sizzler is the physical representation of failed gentrification. It's supposed to look modern and comforting at the same time, like it's a fancy family restaurant. But the last time it was remodeled must've been in the early 2000's, because there is not any aspect of the whole building that screams modern or comforting. If I were to get stabbed anywhere in Atherton, it would be at this exact Sizzler, and not a single employee would even blink as I bled out on the ugly optical illusion carpet.

I sit by myself across the booth from Dallon and Taylor. They scoot closer together and almost sit on top of each other while I try to muscle through the hellish menu. Food poisoning awaits me. The only appetizing item I can find is the fish and chips, and even then I don't trust fish dishes that are served in an inland area. You have to learn that lesson quickly.

"I fuck with the steak and unlimited crispy shrimp combo meal," Taylor glides her finger down the laminated page. "It hits the spot and fills the void."

"How's the Malibu chicken?" Dallon's lip twitches in a one-sided smile. It sounds disgusting. He's only interested in it because of the name, and I know that for an absolute fact.

"Disgusting. They do have a fancy steak burrito. I think you'd like that."

"Wow. I take you with me to get burritos one time—"

"To get eleven burritos in one stop." She rolls her eyes, infatuated somehow. "And then I sat in the passenger seat and watched you eat them all at one in the morning."

Dallon's gaze flickers to me for barely a split second. "Oh, so funny. D'you have any recommendations for Brendon? He's never set foot in one of these joints before. And he doesn't like burritos like I do."

"I like burritos," I say. "Maybe not eleven burritos at once, but I don't hate them."

She flips through the menu, skimming through the appetizers and entrees. "I still stand by the steak and shrimp combo. It's a solid choice no matter what you like. And it's a shareable size, so if you don't want anymore then we can help finish it off."

"Is the shrimp really unlimited?" Dallon rests his chin on his palm, adjusting in his seat ever so slightly to turn and look at his dinner date.

Her teeth playfully graze her red lips. She inches closer to him, ever so slightly. There's a look in their eyes that ignites a flame of jealousy deep within me, but it fades to disappointment in myself as it sinks in. I've lost the chance I never had.

"The shrimp is truly unlimited." She says.

"Ah, I like your funny words, magic man. Let's get some unlimited shrimp." He grins and closes the menu as he closes the gap between himself and Taylor. They kiss, softly and sweetly, and I hate it. I hate that I have to sit across from them and feel the pit of jealousy in my chest grow exponentially.

I don't know if I would hate it more or less if it was a raunchy peck full of desperation and superficial romance. Then it would feel fake, it would feel like a lie, it would feel like my chance would be waiting around the corner from the first sign of trouble. Impulsive desire is what I glance for over the top of my menu booklet, but it's far from what I find. I've never taken note on what intimacy and passion looks like, but I'm sure that's what flies with the sparks between them. All I can find is a deep and true personal connection, and that's the worst part.

The sparks fly when they talk to each other and catch a glimpse of a smile when they joke around. The sparks fly when they swap plates and continue to inch closer and closer throughout the meal. I can't help but wish I was in her place. And that's a stupid thing to wish for, isn't it? To wish that I could sit where she sits and feel the things she feels? To wish that I can experience everything that she is right at this very moment?

That's such a stupid thing to wish for. But god, I wish that were me.

Chapter 8

There are nine things I learned about Taylor from the third wheel date to Sizzler.

Number one; she has no flaws. There is nothing wrong with her. Every aspect about her is positive. She can do no wrong.

Number two; she's very smart, and it's very intimidating.

Number three; she's in her second year of college.

Number four; in college, she is pursuing a double major in both physics and mathematics. She's very good at math and science and it scares me. Nobody should be good at both of those, and she is. It's unfair.

Number five; she loves shrimp.

Number six; there is a negative thing about her, and it's the fact that she deals both casual and hardcore drugs to make money and pass the time. I don't know where she gets her stockpile from and she didn't care to specify, but she makes bank from it so I may consider dealing drugs in the near future. Those student loans won't pay themselves.

Number seven; she knows a lot about cars and loves her old car very much.

Number eight; she frequently deals illegal substances to Tyler and other people. That's how they know each other. Josh doesn't know that Tyler has taken up that fun extracurricular activity, so I'll have to call him up and break the news.

Number nine; she falls in love hard and fast.

There is one new thing I learned about Dallon.

Number one; if he's with the right person, he also falls in love hard and fast.

There is one new thing I learned about myself.

Number one; I wish I was the right person.

Chapter 9

When I said we haven't done a thing in our science class, I mean it. I thought physics would require a lot of grueling work and after hearing the anecdotes of students in a different class, I believe it. However, our teacher is a major slacker. He's always physically present and that's about it. The only words he ever spoke were at the beginning of the year, when he introduced himself for the very first time. I have a conspiracy that just one brain cell resides in his hollow brain, and it bumps around like the DVD symbol on a sleeping television screen. Every time I see him walking around campus with a blank stare, I fall deeper and deeper into the conspiracy.

As long as everyone keeps their voice down and we don't unionize or rebel, we basically have a free period. Deep down, I suspect that even if we did set something ablaze, our teacher wouldn't bat an eye. I certainly don't object to a nice break near the end of the day, especially when I have an exam in the next class, but more recently it's been insufferable. Dallon still sits directly in front of me in our row and he still turns around to chat with me every now and then, but it's not the same. The conversations are different. His sense of humor is slowly changing. His phone buzzes more often and he swivels back around to hop on a call and then we don't speak for the remainder of the class period. So I sit there and twiddle my thumbs at my vandalized desk while he talks and talks to the girl he just can't seem to get enough of.

In total, they've been together for two months now. Officially, two months. They have labels. They're a thing. They're a couple. Bleh. It's the beginning of April now and college decision deadlines are catching up. I've tried to avoid thinking about my choices but I'm at the point where I can't do that anymore. I don't have enough time to put off my future.

I got accepted to a college halfway across the country — nothing close to home, even though Stanford is nearby. It seemed like a lost cost to apply to an Ivy League school.

The University of Colorado in Denver offered me a hefty scholarship and it would be close to family so I wouldn't have to pay for a room on campus. They have a good path for my major, I like the weather, and Denver is far from Atherton. There were a few other places that checked all the boxes, but UC Denver was the best of them all. I've never been to Colorado either but I'm sure it'd be nice to be able to start over completely. If I wanted to, I could go by an obscure nickname and nobody would ever have to know my real name.

I didn't tell anybody. Nobody knows about my possible college plans. I mean, of course my parents were the first to know because they're my parents, but I've kept it to myself for almost a month now. Not because I don't think people care, but because I fear what would come out of such a revelation. One of the least favorable outcomes is Tyler trying to move to Denver with me. Another shitty outcome is Josh trying to follow me too because Tyler would also be close behind, assuming they're still together after graduation. I want a select group of people to possibly follow me and neither of them are included.

The absolute worst outcome I can imagine is Dallon cutting ties with me. He hasn't received any acceptance letters, and he's been integrating himself into the Atherton community college system. I know college is a touchy subject right now, and I fear the slightest mention could set him off, especially the mention that I have a scholarship worth over fifteen thousand dollars to a popular and highly-ranked college. I know he'd be happy for me and would want to celebrate, but it would hurt him to find out. Something like that cuts deep.

I could tell him. I'm mostly afraid we'll grow apart after that, and that I'll never hear from him again. That's kind of stupid, isn't it? I deserve to celebrate my accomplishments— I just don't think it'd be the same if we couldn't fully celebrate together.

The more I try to explain it to myself, the stupider it sounds.

Now a rare occurrence, Dallon sets his phone down and turns around to straddle his chair and hang over the front of my desk. He's got a funny little grin on his face and his eyes sparkle with a secret. "What're you up to this Saturday night?"

"Gonna take a long bath and try to forget about all my issues."

"That's gonna be a long bath."

"I know. That's why it's a Saturday thing." Out of the corner of my eye I see the teacher slump over his laptop and fall deeper into sleep. "Why? What are you and Taylor doing on Saturday?"

He glances at his phone briefly. "Nothing, actually. I wasn't talking to her just now either because she's got an internship interview thing in Sacramento."

Yeah, right. They're always texting and calling and whatnot. "Who were you talking to then, your mom?"

"No. I was talking to Hayley. Williams. Hayley Williams."

Her name sends a shiver down my spine. Hayley scares me. She dyes her hair a new color every other week and it still manages to stay healthy and shiny. It's a mystery and I'd kill a man fo figure it out. She lives in the same neighborhood as Josh does, but her parents have completely different occupations and their money does not come from holy places. I'm convinced the police will arrest me the second I step onto her property because her house has been raided by the FBI six times now. I'll probably be a part of the seventh raid, knowing my luck.

"That's cool. She need bail money or what?"

He rolls his eyes and starts tapping the toe of his shoe against the front leg of my chair. The plastic of my seat vibrates but I don't have the courage to tell him to fucking stop. "She's throwin' a party. It starts at nine on Saturday night and I want you to go over there with me."

"You want to go to that party with me? Because Taylor's busy, isn't she? And because she's, like, twenty and it'd be weird for her to go to a high school party?"

Dallon has to bite his tongue. I know he wants to launch into a lecture about our friendship, but he holds back. "No, she's not busy, for your information. Can't I miss you and want to spend time with you? We're still friends, man."

Yeah, we're still friends, and I think that's part of the problem here. "I appreciate it but I do not want to set foot in her house let alone go to a party hosted by her."

"Aw, c'mon, don't be such a party pooper. We should go! It'll be fun."

"I'm not a party pooper. I'm opting out of a party that doesn't even exist yet. No party to poop on."

Dallon sighs deeply and relaxes back in his seat. He crosses his arms and leans against his own desk. His neck cranes so far back I can't even see his face. "Oh my god, you're just so fucking boring some times. What do we have to lose if we go? Think of all the experiences we'll miss out on. These are formative years of our lives that we will never get back, we have to do something stupid that we're gonna deeply regret in a few years. That's what makes you a better adult. All good adults regret an incident from their teenage years."

If things go wayward, I'll probably lose my scholarship, my college acceptances, my dignity, my life — all of the above simultaneously, maybe. Maybe it'll all go down at Jesus Camp. I don't know what happens when you give stupid and impulsive teenagers alcohol, in any setting. Honestly, I don't want to find out either. "There's a lot at risk. I don't want to go."

"Don't overthink this. We're young and dumb, we should do stupid shit while we still can."

"No."

"Yes! If I thought this would be even, like, slightly dangerous, I wouldn't have mentioned it to begin with. We should go. We have to go."

We don't have to go anywhere. There's nothing to lose if we don't go to this party. And who's to say what substances will be at her house? My parents will not hesitate to send me to Jesus Camp if they see or smell anything out of the ordinary. They're like hawks. I can't get anything by them anymore.

His posture snaps back to hunched over my personal space and his hands grab onto mine almost desperately, like the floor is about to collapse and I'm supposed to catch him before he falls. Instantly, my cheeks start burning, and it only gets worse when he laces our fingers together and squeezes tightly. His hands are larger than mine and comfortingly warm. I know my hands are cold from the way he tenses when our palms meet.

Not to be cliche, but it's like our hands were meant to fit together. Sue me. It's a perfect match.

"What will it take for you to come with me? I'll do anything, please? Pretty please?" Dallon pouts like there's still the possibility that I'd give in.

"Nothing. I'm not going."

"Come on, please? If you don't go with me, you're gonna have to find yourself a new best friend."

"Pft, you've been saying that since the fifth grade. Try harder."

"Pick something else then, and it's gotta be doable. I do not have very many useful life skills."

There are a lot of things he could do to convince me to go with him, but I don't think he knows what they are. And I don't have the guts to even suggest them as a joke either. "I want you to cook me the greatest meal you can manage. I want it to be, like, a five star restaurant quality dinner."

Dallon purses his lips. Not only is my request moderately reasonable and realistic, but he's a shitty chef. I bet a bowl of cereal would catch fire under his watch.

"Come on," he grunts. "You know I can't cook."

"Those are my conditions. No outside help either — I want you to cook the whole thing. And I'd like to oversee to confirm that too. I'll pay for whatever ingredients you have to go out and buy."

He lets go of my hands, exasperated. A dirty look follows but doesn't last for very long. "Honestly, I don't even think we have ever owned a cookbook. What does the guest of honor request?"

"The chef's special."

"The chef has no special. The chef dropped out of culinary school. Either you choose something or you get plain buttered pasta and frozen garlic bread."

"I mean it! I want you to choose what you're gonna make. Show me what you've got."

"I've got plain buttered pasta and frozen garlic bread."

"Dal—"

"I've got plain buttered pasta and frozen garlic bread."

God, he can be annoying. I give him one thing to do and he tries to weasel his way out of it. "You mean to tell me you've never cooked for your girlfriend before? Never set a table and served her a fancy dinner over candlelight?"

The word 'girlfriend' leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I don't hate Taylor but I wish I was in her place. I would kill to be in her place.

Realization crosses his eyes because he knows I'm right. There's nothing a girl would love more than a boy showing how much they care, and the same holds true for any relationship I imagine. It looks good in the movies, so that means it has to hold up in real life, right? It's a simple trope.

He nods. "You're right. I should surprise her someday or something."

"I'm glad we can agree. You'd better start practicing. Why don't we go shopping later and you can plan for two meals instead of one?"

Dallon scrunches his nose, deep in thought — never a good thing. "I think I should find out her favorite dish and try to make it. Oh, I know, that's what I'll make for you!"

This may have backfired. "So I'm like a trial run?"

"Woah, no, absolutely not. Hold on, look, I just... wait. Hey, now. Come on." He frowns and tries to backpedal but he ultimately gives up after a minute of stammering his way into a deeper hole.

I sit back in my seat and cross my arms, which only seems to frustrate him further. He keeps stuttering and trying to cover his tracks, but he's failing miserably. "It's alright," I mutter. "Take your time. Keep digging your own grave."

"Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up. You know that's not what I meant to come across as," he hisses lowly. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. I'll make you something else. Something great."

"That's sweet of you, but now I feel like I deserve something extra. Y'know, because I'm just a trial run. Just a taste tester. A lab rat, dare I say."

He waves a finger at me nearly out of sight. "You motherfucker. I apologized a million times, what more do you want?"

I want you to feel for me the same way I feel about you. I want you to wake up in the middle of the night and realize that everything you've ever wanted is with me and always has been with me. I want the day to come when we wake up beside each other and I don't have to fear the happiness and content blossoming in my lungs. I want to know what it feels like to be in love and have it be returned in the purest and warmest way possible. That's what I want more than anything in the world.

"Well, I feel like I deserve a dessert. My favorite dessert." I shrug and he groans.

"Jesus H. Christ, Brendon. You know I can't cook let alone bake pastries. I barely even know what a creme brûlée is." Dallon twists around to grab his phone and surf the Internet. He knows my decisions can't be swayed, not when he's already five feet under.

Again, I shrug it off. He's got it. "You'd better start studying. I'm free on Thursday evening to come over to your house, I guess."

He nods once, still focused on the dozens of baking articles flooding his phone. "I know, I know. You're lucky I don't have anything to do on Thursday. And my mom won't be working so she might intrude."

"That's fine, I like your mom. You've cleared your whole weekend?"

"Of course I have. Apparently on Thursday, I'm cooking for you. On Friday my mom is gone and I'm recovering from cooking and emotionally preparing myself for socialization. The party is on Saturday and the hangover is on Sunday."

"Ah. I see. That's very efficient."

"Thanks. I actually just planned it out around your schedule, so thanks."

Surely his mom is working all weekend then. He wouldn't dare breathe within a five mile radius of her if he'd had even a sip of alcohol. I can't imagine how far she'd go if she took banning the little bit of weed to the cosmos. There would probably be a breathalyzer in every room of their house. He'd never be able to step outside without parental supervision ever again. His mom didn't singlehandedly raise and corral such a self-destructive monster for him to go out and screw up his life like that.

I watch Dallon clear a few safari tabs and open a dozen new ones. When he types in, 'dinner recipes', I know I'm in for a shitty treat. I absolutely regret requesting dinner — but I don't regret requesting something that'll earn us more time together. Smart and stupid on my part. Mainly stupid.

Chapter 10

I come home after school to find my mom passed out on the couch, huddled up underneath two blankets and a Sherpa throw. Her favorite wildlife program plays softly on the television, barely audible and visibly drowned out by the sun pouring in through the window and glaring against the screen. If I didn't know any better, I would've assumed she was dead. I do know better though, obviously because she's my mom, and my only good option is to leave her be to do whatever she wants. Maybe it's depression, maybe it's stress, maybe it's exhaustion. I don't know. She doesn't talk to me about those sorts of things.

The note on the kitchen table doesn't even let me set down my car keys and take a minute to breathe. It's not depression, stress, or exhaustion. She's sick and feeling way under the weather, and I'm the first person that arrived home so I'm the one that has to go to the store and pick up some soup and medicine. I'm the one that has to run the errands because I got home first.

There's a fifty dollar bill clipped to the note, so I just take both papers and head back out to my car. What's the use in me being at home, honestly? I don't have anything to do and I'd feel like shit if I just ignored the note and hung out upstairs until someone else got home and picked up the slack. I have homework but I can put that off for a while, and there's nothing for me to do with colleges until I decide where I want to go. For now I'm just existing, and I'm more alone than ever somehow.

Honestly, I think this is the worst time for me to venture off by myself. I don't know what I'm doing — not just in a general "I haven't done adult things yet" sense either. Ever since I woke up a few weeks ago, I feel like I've been ejected from my old body and into a new one, left to my own devices to decipher a whole new life. The disconnect is staggering and it's set me off. I don't even remember myself. Everything feels different without Dallon around, not because he is part of my boring ass personality, but because he isn't — every time we're together, I feel like a better version of myself, in some weird codependent independent way.

I yield to a couple cars before turning onto the main road. Even though I go the speed limit, cars just keep passing me. It's an obvious and clear relation to how I do feel. I got rejected from a few schools too, and they were schools I thought I would get into. Any school with an acceptance rate below sixty or seventy percent was a no-go. That meant I was average. *Average*. Then I had to start thinking about my applications and the person I had presented to them in transcripts and essays. There was nothing truly special about me. I didn't save an animal in a disaster, I didn't rescue a child from a burning building, I didn't travel to a foreign country to build homes, whatever. I didn't even participate in a beach cleanup or something easy like that. I'm just average. In life, in school, in every aspect.

And who would want an average person? Is that how I present myself to the people I surround myself with? Is that how Dallon thinks of me? Of course we're best friends and we have been for years, but there is nothing overtly special about me. That sounds narcissistic and pessimistic simultaneously. I mean it in the most flat and basic way possible.

Then this feeling of being average creeps into how I feel about other people. Do I really love Dallon or do I love how he's so above average and out of the ordinary? Do I love him or do I love how I feel when I'm around him? Am I even capable of loving someone in a romantic purpose, or just platonically or for my own consolation? I want to know what will happen when or if I truly, completely, relentlessly fall in love with someone. I want to know what that feels like. I want to know if I can even fall in love at all.

It's kind of fucked up to think about, but I have to question it all. I have to question everything when I'm unsure if my existence is even appreciated beyond a general acknowledgment.

I would kill to know how other people perceive and remember me. Do they love me in a platonic way is there someone out there that views me in a romantic light? Is there something about me that registers as average and sends that signal to everyone around me? Is that why it's always been me pining after someone else in the worst unreciprocated way? Perhaps I'm just so perfectly average that it's just going to be me in life, featuring nobody else. That's how it works, right? Perfectly average.

I roll to a stop at a red light. I guess I dropped into autopilot mode and drove myself to the back way. It's just me sitting at the intersection, waiting for the red light to turn. I'm tired of being alone with my thoughts, but here I have no choice.

The only thing that would get me out of slumps like this is taking a drive with Dallon to either talk it all out or distract myself. It's kind of hard to let him know it's one of those days though, because he's either out with Taylor or busy with something else. That's been the case for a while now. It's just me, still relentlessly dreaming before I go to bed about how different my life would be if just this one feeling was real and reciprocated.

The traffic light stares at me, still red and taunting me with every second that passes without a change.

"Is it gonna be alright?" I ask aloud, like someone's supposed to respond. My eyes are drawn to the traffic light. "Will it be alright?"

It stays red. It doesn't turn. I wait for another thirty seconds before checking the intersection thoroughly and running the light to continue on my painful journey to the grocery store.

That stupid traffic light must be broken. There's no other way I can rationalize the cruel silence and angry red that haunted me for much longer than I'd like to admit. I should've run the light long before I asked if for advice. Of course it doesn't know. It's a goddamn traffic light.

Half the parking spots at the grocery store are vacant. I don't know why nobody's going shopping in the middle of the afternoon, arguably when you should go grocery shopping, but I'm not going to complain. It's easy to snag a working cart and waltz right on inside.

I grab everything my mom wrote on the list first, because I would definitely forget to search for half of the items if I didn't take care of them first. That's her own fault, because that's her trait. She passed down the forgetfulness to me.

When I scoop in the last of the chicken noodle soup cans, the job is done. But she gave me fifty smackeroonies, so the job is done, but not completed to the best of my ability. Roughly twenty bucks should be left over, which will fund my own impromptu shopping list. And I deserve it. I don't know why exactly, but I do.

Nobody questions me as I parade through the aisles again. Not one person stops and stares, not one cart rattles down the aisles that I walk through. I keep my eyes glued to the products on the shelves, scouring for something worth the—

My cart crashes into someone, unfortunate since I'd thought half the store was empty. It just means I've managed to crash into one of five people on the entire property. I'm too embarrassed to look up.

"Oh, hey! What a coincidence," a hand grabs the edge of my cart, and I instantly recognize who it is. "It's Brendon, right?"

"Hey, Taylor." I try my best to smile but I know I look like I'm fucking constipated beyond relief. "I didn't see you there. Sorry about that."

She looks stunning, like she's about to head down a catwalk at New York Fashion Week. I don't know where she finds the money to dress head to toe in what looks like a thousand luxury designer brands. "Oh, please, don't worry about it. I honestly didn't think I'd run into anyone here. It's so empty, isn't it?"

Yeah, it is. Just my luck. "Yeah, really. Crazy how I bumped into you."

"Isn't it?" Taylor grins sweetly. I wish I could hate her.

I can't even walk away coldly, because she'd turn around and tell Dallon. Then he'd call me and ask why I did that, and then I might dig myself into a deeper hole, jeopardizing my possible plans for Thursday and the foreseeable future.

"So what're you doing all the way down here? Don't you go to college in San Francisco or somewhere around there?" I glance into her cart to find a weirdly even mix of junk food and healthy organic shit. Roasted kale chips and a bag of chickpeas sit beside puffy hot Cheetos and deep fried chicharrones.

Taylor rests her hand on her hip and leans over the handle of her shopping cart. Her black turtleneck is plain but probably costs more than my 2004 Toyota Corolla is worth. I understand her appeal, I really do, but I absolutely hate her.

"I'm surprising Dallon tonight. My interview went pretty well, so I figured I have to celebrate a bit. I'll head back home later in the night, but he's worth the drive."

Jealousy blooms in my chest. "That's sweet. What're you guys doing tonight then?"

She shrugs and eyes the haul in the cart. "Nothing much. He did mention earlier today that he wanted to cook for me some time soon, so maybe we'll try that *together*. I know he's not a great chef, but I appreciate the thought."

"That sounds like fun." I say.

She smiles. "You think so? I was worried it would be a little boring. He's always aching to go out and do something fun and exciting."

Yeah, tell me about it. "Nah, I mean it. He's got, like, a massive crush on you. I think he'd have fun with you no matter what's on the itinerary."

I want to bash my head against the shelves. Stupid, stupid, stupid. When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?

Taylor stands up straight again and smiles even wider. Her red lipstick makes her teeth look superhumanly white. "That's so nice of you to say. Here," she digs into her Louis Vuitton bag and hands me a stark white business card that would embarrass Patrick Bateman. "I don't just carry these things around, I just had these made for my job interview. But there's my number — text me and I'll send you some leftovers."

Her name is written in thick black font, her phone number detailed in dark gold underneath it. I don't bother to read the fine print. It'll probably just remind me of my own failures and give me high standards for the foreseeable future.

"Thanks," I pocket the card and start to kick my cart away. "I hope you two have fun tonight."

"Thank you! I'll talk to you again soon." She waves politely and I try to scramble out of there fast before I feel even worse about myself.

I don't even try to spend the rest of the fifty dollar bill. Trying to blow the twenty bucks in my hand means I might bump into Taylor again. It's not that I don't like her or that I have bad vibes from her, but we're incomparable and it's dumb but I don't want to look at her stupid perfect face and I don't want to interact with her perfectly pleasant personality.

I sit in my car for a minute, have a quick mental breakdown, and head home.