First Comes Like #Wattys2020

14

Feeling too emotionally drained to argue with him, I do as I'm told. Eventually, Dean swetves to the left and turns into the filled parking lot of an ancient looking building with walls that look like they would crumble if someone just leaned against it. 

Like the girl who's making out with that boy on the side.

It could crumble.Any minute now.Just a little more tongue action and...

"Poof, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Cheer Up Factory!" Dean gestures grandly out the window like it was a palace before us and not some run-down old building.

"Wow." I say, sarcastically. "This is neat!"
Not.Literally, not neat.

We get out of the car and I take a better look at the place Dean was taking me, just in case I needed to call my parents, teary eyed, hungry and abandoned and tell them where I was. I glance at the large sign on the flat roof that read CHEER UP FACTORY in bold letters. 

It doesn't look promising. "More like the throw up factory." I say, as we walk toward the entrance, and laugh a little at my own joke. The place isn't dirty, just incredibly old.

"Gross, Blythe." Dean says, pushing open the door of building. Inside, surprisingly, it's pretty nice. 

The retro looking furniture, vintage pops of color on the walls, tables and chairs and black and white tiled floor making it understandable why the parking lot is, well, packed. The Cheer Up Factory is a restaurant, apparently, and waiters on roller skates navigate their way from table to table bringing mouth-watering (I must admit) dishes to the different customers.

The place is packed, honestly. I see kids from school, families, elderly couples and young couples. It's like everyone in this part of town was walking around depressed, and looking for a bridge, until they stumbled across this place. Dean and I have to wait a while before a waiter brings us to a cushioned, red leather seat.

The leather makes squeaky noises as I slide in, and I can't help but feel happy about being here. I guess that's how the Cheer Up Factory worked. Maybe it was the major contrast of the outside of the building to the inside that just kinda surprised you. Or being around so many content people at once. Or the music. Or the rush of your own adrenaline as a waiter zipped past you on roller skates carrying three plates and two milkshakes! Wow!

"Trust me." Dean says, when the waitress, a bubbly brunette who ruffles Dean's perfect hair, comes to take our order. "The usual." He says to her as he attempts to smooth his hair back into place. It doesn't look the same, but I don't say anything.
Dean looks with genuine interest at the blue model of a vintage looking convertible on the center of our table while I look around the restaurant some more. "I take it you've never been to this place." Dean says, after a while. My face must ask how can you tell?, somehow, because he speaks up again. "You look so giddy. It's a first time thing. After that you get used to all the movement."
"It's not just that," I say, a smile creeping onto my face,"I usually don't hang out with people with questionable backgrounds."
Dean always has an answer. "Oh. Me neither," He says, "This is my first time." He grins at me and I smile and roll my eyes.
The waitress brings us huge ice cream sandwiches: creamy vanilla ice cream between thick slabs of a double chocolate cookie. If I was giddy before then I don't know what I am now. Drunk maybe?
I open my eyes wide at Dean to say, Wow. He moans as he takes another bite and wipes off ice cream from his chin with his napkin. We're silent until we finish and then Dean says, "Better?"
I look up from my square red plate, wondering how bad it'd look if I licked the crumbs. I know he's talking about my feelings.
"Much."
He smiles a little, then turns to look around the restaurant himself. Then he faces me quickly and suddenly. "Is my hair O.K?" He asks, urgent almost.
"Uh. Yeah?"
He runs his hands through it again. "Be right back."
I follow him with my eyes as he makes his way to the front counter and wraps his hands around the waist of a girl with a thick, long ponytail.
Gina.
She squeals when she sees him, like she didn't just see him at school not to long ago. I watch him laughing with Gina, by the counter, her hand not so casual on his chest, his eyes fixed on her. I can tell she really likes him. 

In fact, lots of people really like him. Nina, Macey, basically everyone at school. Thinking about it, I can't think of anyone who shares my dislike of him or at least understands why I feel the way I do about him.

Dean is not all bad I suppose, and I guess he showed that Saturday and this afternoon, by bringing me to the Cheer Up Factory because he could tell I felt bad about Cole. I realize that people at school like him, Nina likes him, because he's, well, likable.

It's easy for me to remember when I started hating him. I was seven, Nina was completely out of the picture and my dad was teaching me to ride a bike.
My bike was new, matte purple, with silver streamers on the handle bars. My dad had gone inside for a minute to take a call and I was practicing by myself, training wheels attached, helmet on my head, elbow and knee pads in their right places.
Seven year-old Dean was sitting on his porch stair with his own bike. I remember just noticing him there but not doing anything, because we weren't the kind of neighbor kids who played with each other.
I was going up and down the pathway when he came up to the short hedge that separated his house from mine. "I can ride my bike better than you can." He shouted over. I didn't even look his way, just continued with what I was doing.
Dean spoke up again, wanting some attention."You know what I want to know? How your head fits under that tiny purple helmet. Or why you need it. Or why you need any of that stuff." He gestured to my elbow and knee pads.
I turned my bike and started riding back towards the road for the third time.
"Would you just leave me alone?" I shouted, still not looking his way,"And I don't need any of it." I was lying through my teeth. I had only started riding the day before.
"Prove it."
This time I faced him, eyes narrowed, then threw off all my protective gear. I don't know how, I mean, my training wheels were still on, but I tumbled off half way down the driveway, my limbs tangled up with my bike. My knee and elbow bleeding. Feeling dizzy.
He didn't laugh or anything. He just watched.
I kept blaming him when really he never forced me to do anything. I touch the small scar on my elbow and look back at Dean. He's hugging Gina good bye I'm wondering if, at seventeen, it's even close to a good reason to despise someone so strongly.
"Ready?" He asks when he reaches our table, not bothering to sit again. "I paid at the counter."
Not admitting that I wanted to stay a little longer, I pull my bag onto my shoulders and follow Dean out the door.