"You call me Christine?" Chris laughed. The two of them were sitting farthest corner in the library on Thursday after Thanksgiving, being hidden by loads of bookshelves. Dylan and his team had won the game that they played the weekend prior, and the Thanksgiving celebrations had been... fine.
"Well, you called me 'Brooklyn'. And I had to say something," Dylan defended, "technically it's your fault since it was because mom saw my bruises."
"I take partial responsibility," Chris admitted, "it's a little funny, though, you must admit."
"Alright, Chrissy," Dylan smirked and watched Chris cringe at the nickname. "Is that party at Tyler's this weekend?"
Chris nodded. "Francis has already invited most of the soccer team, just so you know."
"Okay," Dylan grinned, leaning over the table to give him a quick kiss. Chris smiled.
"Hey, by the way, have you started thinking about college applications yet?" He asked after a moment, squirming in his chair. Dylan nodded.
"I have made some drafts, but I'm not finished," he answered.
"You know where you want to go?"
"I've been looking at Georgetown, Brown, and the University of Washington," Dylan admitted.
"Wow, you really aren't afraid of leaving home if you've only looked at colleges that far away," Chris raised his brows, "Marine Biology, I assume?"
"Of course," Dylan grinned, "and yeah, I've been looking at colleges far away, but I don't really know yet. Maybe I'll end up at Greenhill, who knows."
"I highly doubt that," the other laughed, "I bet you'll get into Yale and become a professor."
"What about you," Dylan asked, cocking an eyebrow in his direction.
"Dad's been looking at colleges with a good football team," Chris sighed, "he recommends me to major in Business-"
"Chris, I don't care what your dad wants you to do, what do you want to do?" Dylan frowned. It always went like 'dad wants' and 'dad thinks' and he was tired of it.
"It doesn't matter what I want because he'll help me pay tuition and I need that," Chris shot back, he, too, frowning deeply. Dylan shook his head.
"Do you know how many teens pay for tuition on their own? They work and dedicate themselves to their passion. If you don't want to become an economist-football player, why should you?"
"Because maybe I don't have the strength to work and dedicate myself to my passion, maybe I just need to get a job so that I can get money and I can get that though majoring in business," Chris snapped, making Dylan take a harsh breath.
"But what good is a job if you don't like it? What good is life if you don't like it?"
"It doesn't matter. We live in a world ruled by money and I can't do anything about that," Chris barked, no longer caring that they were in a library. No one visited this part of the library anyway. "As long as it's tolerable, I'm fine with it."
"You shouldn't be fine with it! You should do what you love."
"I envy you because you can, but no one gets rich from drawing portraits."
Dylan spluttered. "What are you talking about? There are hundreds of world-famous artists that made their fortune making paintings. And even then, you could still make money by work with art without making art."
"I can't take that risk, Dylan."
"You can, you just down want to," Dylan huffed, starting to collect his thing from the table, "I've got to go. I'm not saying that you should change your mind, just... be honest with yourself."
With that, he left the library, still breathing heavily. Had they just fought about something that actually mattered? It felt like it, and it left Dylan feeling nauseous. He threw his things into the car, a bit more aggressively than what was needed. The bad weather did nothing to calm his mind and as he drove home, he found himself speeding in pure anger.
"Dylan, you're home," his mom exclaimed and he could almost hear the smile in her voice. Please, he thought as he let his bag drop to the floor of the hallway, please don't ask. If he had to say that he was tutoring one more time, he might just snap.
"Yeah, I'm home," Dylan sighed, "Is dinner ready?"
"In a minute, your dad gets home any time now," she replied from the kitchen. Dylan looked up to the wall clock and saw that it was just before six, and he was already exhausted. But he couldn't go to bed just yet, because they had just gotten a new assignment that was due the next week.
Dylan hung his jacket in the closet, then went into the dining room where Riley was already sitting, playing on her phone.
"Hey," she smiled, looking up from the screen. She must have seen that he was in a bad mood, 'cuz she frowned and asked: "Bad day?"
"We had a fight," he sighed. While he didn't say with who he'd fought, she seemed to understand.
"What about?" She asked with a worried facial expression.
"College."
"You don't want to go to the same one?"
Dylan shook his head. "It's not that, he can go wherever he wants and I'm sure that we'd get it to work. I just think that he's choosing what his dad wants him to pick instead of what he wants to pick."
"Maybe he's scared of his dad's disapproval?" Riley suggested.
"He definitely is, but who isn't?" Dylan took a breath. "I just think that he should go his own way without caring about what his dad thinks. I know he's strong enough to, and it just frustrates me that he refuses to believe that."
Riley smiled sympathetically, the kind of smile that Dylan had gotten a lot lately from her. Every time his mom asked about 'Christine', to be precise. "Give it some time, I'm sure he'll work things out."
"I hope so. Otherwise, he'll be majoring in business, of all things," Dylan grimaced and Riley mirrored his expression.
"Oof, that's such a douche major," she laughed as their mom entered the dining room.
"What's a douche major?" She asked with her hands at her sides.
"Business." Dylan and Riley said at the same time.
Their mom frowned. "I thought you were picking marine biology?"
"Oh, I am, we're talking about a friend," he gave her a short smile.
"Alright, well you can come and grab some food. Dad should be here any minute now."
Dylan rose from his chair and grabbed the plate that was laying in front of him, walking into the kitchen and started scooping some meat stew onto it. Riley was patiently waiting behind him and they both heard the front door open and then close.
"Hey!" Their dad called from the hallway.
"Hey, honey," Dylan mouthed the words at the same time that his mom said them, making Riley laugh, "we're in the kitchen."
Half an hour and a meal later, Dylan hopped up the stairs and into his room. He got his computer out and checked his phone. Was Chris still mad? He hadn't sent anything. No text, no call, no nothing.
Oh well, Dylan thought, ignoring the hurt that settled in his chest. The assignment was on the most recent book that they'd read in the class, and he started with the first question on the rubric, quickly zoning out.
Another hour passed and he was almost done with the review, but it was late and he was tired, and so he turned the laptop off and went into the bathroom.
By now, having marks up and down his neck was nothing out of the ordinary, but he still covered them. Every. Day. He turned on the tap and washed off the concealer, then brushed his teeth and returned to his room.
It still hurt, which wasn't even fair because he shouldn't even have said anything about Chris's life choices. If his mom or dad had told him to do something or they basically not talk to him again, he'd probably do it.
He turned where he lay on the bed, sighing aggressively. If he could just fall asleep and wait with dealing with his problems until tomorrow. That would be so much better than just laying in bed and feeling bad for himself.
"Are you awake?" A soft knock on the door, followed by Riley peeking her head inside.
"I am," Dylan sat up, "what's up?"
"How do you think mom and dad would react if I told them about Natalie?" She came into the room and sat down at the end of the bed. Dylan hesitated.
He didn't know. Honestly, truly, didn't know and it scared him, but he didn't want to tell Riley that. He smiled.
"I think that they won't mind," he said, "but I don't know. I think about it, too."
She sighed, laying down on the bed. "It's not that I need to hide that much, they think we're just friends, and yeah, it would be good to tell them considering how long it's been going on, but I just wanted to get your opinion.
"How long has it been going on?" Dylan raised an eyebrow, moving his legs to give her more space.
"It started about mid-semester last year," Riley admitted, "in the spring."
"Really?" Dylan raised his eyebrows. He hadn't thought that they'd dated for so long. He had friends that had broken up after a month and had lasted nowhere near nine months. He smiled softly at his sister.
"Yeah, I told you that I don't tell you everything," she turned on the bed and grinned.
"Truly," Dylan agreed teasingly.
"Alright, well, I won't disturb you anymore," she sat up, then rose from the bed and walked toward the door, "goodnight."
"Goodnight, Ry," Dylan replied as she closed the door behind her. He took a breath and closed his eyes.
__
They barely said a word to each other on Friday at lunch. Dylan tried to get his attention, and they made eye contact, but he looked away. There was just tension and not the good kind that he wanted. It felt weird and wrong in every way, and he wanted to reach out, but there was no opportunity to do so.
At least they would meet the day after, Dylan reassured himself as they walked out of the last class of the day and made his way toward the gym. Today was one of the days when the practice was equal to getting out feelings in a healthy way, and Dylan needed it.
He worked harder than he had in a long time, even out-doing Landon in goals made and laps ran, and Coach Jones was surprised and delighted all at once.
"That is a good practice, Dylan, keep up the good work!" He yelled, even though Dylan was almost straight in front of him. On the way to the lockers, Landon came up next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Are you okay, Dyl?" He asked, following the other into the locker room. "You seemed very... determined today, has something happened?"
"It's nothing," Dylan huffed, peeling off his sweaty shirt, "I had a fight."
"With whoever's giving you all those hickeys that you've never addressed?"
Dylan faltered for a split second, before coming to his senses and shook his head. "No, with my mom. She's just bitter because William has gone."
"Still? Didn't he leave, like, three weeks ago," Cole frowned from the other side of the room.
"Yeah," he sighed.
"But you're still coming to Tyler's party tomorrow, right?" Shawn asked, looking at him expectingly.
Dylan smiled. "Of course, she couldn't keep me away."
"Good," Landon added, "it would be weird to be there without you, you have the best footballer-connection."
"What are you talking about?" Dylan frowned, cocking a brow as he pulled his shirt over his head. "We all sit with them every lunch."
"Yeah, but you know-know Chris, and he's still the one with most status. Did all of you see Delilah's show this Wednesday?" Jake agreed.
Shawn laughed. "Yeah, that was pretty dope. I wonder who that Brooke chick is. That's gotta be her name, right? He said Brooklyn."
Dylan tensed up a bit, swinging his back over his shoulder. "Maybe it's just somewhere they'd been together, a secret inside-joke?"
"Maybe," Landon said, making eye contact with Dylan as the latter walked toward the exit. "See you, dude."
"See ya," Dylan replied, letting the door fall closed behind him and walked down the hallway in the empty school.
///