Dizzy

Chapter 13

~ Dylan ~

The next day as I sit at home waiting for Paul, I'm still thinking about last night.

I've never really been on a date in my life. Yeah, I know. Crazy, right? Not like anyone would believe me because... well, even though I don't date, I definitely get girls. Which everyone knows. Which makes people believe I'm taking girls out left and right, but I'm not. Now that I think about it, it kind of makes me feel like a jerk. But then again, why do guys always have to ask the girls out on dates? It isn't like Chastity would ever come up to me and say, "Hey, Dylan. How about dinner and a movie?" No. With her hand inching toward my crotch, she says stuff like, "Hey, maybe we can hang out tonight," which may sound similar, but it's definitely not the same thing.

Now I can't stop wondering if I went on a date last night with Ziah. We did the dinner thing—for the second time. We watched a movie. After our first dinner, we sat on Mary and talked about the secrets of the universe and shit. Okay, maybe just the secrets of Dylan, but pretty close. It felt different than it would with Chastity. So was it a date? Did I want it to be a date? Honestly, the thought makes me want to puke in Dad's grass again. Not because it was Ziah. But because the more I hang out with her, the more I realize the girl is hot as hell. Not only that, but she's way cool to chill with and pretty funny, too. Oh, and did I mention hot?

But my stomach starts constricting because I MIGHT HAVE WANTED IT TO BE A DATE. I mean, what is that? Dates lead to commitment and commitment leads to temporary insanity and temporary insanity leads to full on mental illness—picking out china patterns, choosing museums to get married in—and ends with two fucked-in-the head sons and a dad trying to hold it together when he's just as fucked-in-the-head as they are.

So no, I definitely don't want it to have been a date. Either time.

All you're doing is being nice to her. Helping with the wedding, I tell myself. Which is true and even further drives my point home. I'm sure Derrick never planned on ending up like this when he took Lora on a date. Luckily, I'm not only better looking than my brother, but I'm smarter too.

Then why do I still kind of feel like puking? Why can't I get her laugh out of my head? It's higher-pitched than her voice but not annoyingly so. Hot high-pitched. Or the way her breath catches when I accidentally-on-purpose brush up against her? And the way her eyes are on me, studying me like she wants to memorize every part of me that she can—the way I obviously want to, too, since I'm dissecting her fucking laugh and breathing patterns!

Stop thinking about it. That's all I need to do is stop thinking about her.

***

"Dude, you've been all weird and sulky lately. Did someone kick your dog? Scratch Mary? Oh, you got turned down by a girl!" Paul turns down the music in Mary.

It takes everything in me not to ignore him and turn it back up. First, when the hell did he get so observant? Usually he doesn't notice anything that isn't a way for him to get attention. Second, he had to go and remind me that I have been weird. Oh, and then he hit the nail on the head that it's about a girl. Not that I'll admit it.

"I'm not sulky. Who even uses that word?" Except I am sulky, and I know it.

I flip down the sun visor. I can't stop thinking about the sort-of date, and how I didn't hate the idea. Did it start that way with Derrick? No, I can't let myself think like that. I don't like her. She's angry voodoo-doll chick.

"I use that word, and you're definitely sulky man. Is it the wedding shit?" Paul's been my friend forever. He's the one who knew us before and after Mom. Besides Derrick, no one else would even know to bring up the wedding pissing me off.