"Hey, there's Sarah," Dylan said as he poked me in the ribs.
I gulped. Sarah was almost a couple of feet away from me; her hair fell like waves down her back, and even without any makeup, she still looked beautiful.
"Ask her if she's going to Ashton's party," Dylan told me. Sarah got closer and I tensed. She smiled at Dylan and me and I could only muster an unstable smile.
"Sarah, isn't it?" Dylan said as he offered her his hand.
"Yeah, you're Dylan, right?" she said, surprised at how he knew had known her name. I, however, took a long time to get my senses back.
"Pleasure meeting you," he told her.
I sensed her blush.
"Hey, Sarah," I finally spoke. Sarah shifted her attention to me, and she looked almost relieved I had spoken.
"Jamie, hi!" she greeted me, her blue eyes almost twinkling underneath the fluorescent lights. "I didn't see you at your dad's party" she said as she pulled her books up to her chest.
"Yeah I was pretty much unseen," I said. What?...
She giggled, probably at how dumb that had sounded. I could see Dylan turn around to chuckle at my blunder. I took a deep breath.
"Speaking of parties, are you going to Ashton Yates' party this week?" I asked. I let out a breath, realizing I had said my sentence without any speech impediments.
She smiled. "I think I might, yeah. Are you?"
I shrugged. "I think I'll probably go, too," I said with a nod.
"Great," she said with a large smile.
"Great," I repeated after her, feeling my face heat up. We began to walk and almost ran into each other as we walked into the American History classroom.
"Sorry," I said at the same time as her. My face could melt off from the heat I was feeling.
"Idiot," Dylan teased me from behind and I chose to ignore him.
"Mr. Dylan Reed?" Mr. Marslow said as he stood behind his desk. He rolled his sleeves up to his arms and shot Dylan a stern look, probably just to scare him off at first, but Dylan did not look one bit intimidated.
"Mr. Marslow, Sir," Dylan said, as if in the army. Was he trying to look like an ass?
Mr. Marslow glared at him as Dylan walked away, breaking into a chuckle once his back faced Mr. Marslow.
"Congrats on getting yourself on his blacklist, Reed," I said as we took our seats, him behind me, as usual.
"He looks like a Neo-Nazi," Dylan said as he focused on Mr. Marslow.
I just hoped he wouldn't ask him.
Mr. Marslow cleared his throat, his usual indication that class began, and the whole classroom grew silent in an instant.
"What makes this country so great?" he asked, leaning on the desk in front of him. He clicked his fingers. "Answers, I want answers."
"Our democratic system?" a guy named Jason replied. I heard Dylan scoff behind me, and the class turned towards him. Mr. Marslow included.
"Mr. Reed," Mr. Marslow shifted his attention to him. "Anything you want to comment on?" he asked.
I turned to Dylan who winked at me. "Well actually I do. I think our 'great' democratic system is actually ruining the country. Our country is losing its greatness, Mr. Marslow," he said. The class still focused on what he had to say, and Mr. Marslow crossed, interested in what Dylan had to say.
"Explain, please," Mr. Marslow said. He looked unsure whether he should let Dylan speak or not.
"I think that the current demographic composition is a great threat. I don't believe in "Americanization" of people. It's not only them who adopt a nationality unparalleled to their place of origin, but we, as Americans, are forced to be introduced to alien cultures and backgrounds that aren't in any way American to us, thus destroying the whole image of what's left of our national identity," he said.
There was a long pause in the classroom before Mr. Marslow rubbed his chin and spoke.
"So you think we shouldn't let foreign people live in our country, is that what you're saying?"
Dylan shifted in his seat. "That's not how I would put it, but almost. I believe people were born in a certain country, a certain culture and background for a reason which they should stick to for the rest of their lives. There's no need for moving from one place to another. They don't benefit anyone and they're only a burden to us," he said with a shrug. The class finally reacted and whispers spread in the class, especially among ethic students who began to shake their heads at Dylan.
"Class, class, let's keep it quiet in here," he said. "That's your opinion, Mr. Reed, but I can argue you against it. Your own ancestors moved from where they were originally born and came here to make a living for themselves," Mr. Marslow tried to argue.
Dylan scoffed. "They were my ancestors, I'm not responsible for their actions. If it were up to me I'd be in glorious Germany or Denmark where my roots originate from," he said with a shrug. I wanted to tell him to shut up, the class was uncontrollable by now.
"We're not responsible for our grandparents' actions too, you know," Mindy Chin, an Asian student shouted to him from across the room.
"I said ancestors, like a thousand years ago. Not ten years," he retorted at her. Woah.
"But still, I had no say," she said, her voice breaking into tears. "You can't say stuff like that. If you're so insistant on it then why don't you go back to wherever country you came from?" she said.
"Class, enough," Mr. Marslow said as he rubbed his temple.
"What a bitch," Dylan said under his breath.
"Guys, enough!" Mr. Marslow said.
"Mr. Reed I won't tolerate xenophobic remarks in my class anymore, yes you are entitled to your own opinion but we do not need to listen to them anymore," Mr. Marslow said.
Dylan scoffed again. "Didn't you ask me to elaborate on my point, Sir?" he rebuked.
"Mr. Reed, one more word and it's straight to the principal's office," Mr. Marslow said. Dylan slunk in his chair and chewed on his pen.
"Racist pig," I heard someone whisper to Dylan from behind me. Forturnately, Mr. Marslow didn't hear anything. I did not agree with Dylan at all, but I didn't want to say anything to him because I didn't want him to burst, and it was only his first day in school. I looked around the room, some students were still glaring at Dylan, while others tried to comfort others in physical touches. My eyes fell on Sarah who was busy texting about this on her phone. I wanted to tell her I wasn't with Dylan on this.
I felt a poke on my back, but I didn't flinch.
"Who's side are you on?" I heard him whisper to me. I gulped, but I pulled on a calm demeanor and shrugged.
"I'm Switzerland," I said, trying to calm his tension, and it worked. He smiled and lounged back on his chair.
*
"If I had known you were coming over I would've asked you to bring your family to dinner," Mr. Reed said as he sat at the dinner table. I smiled.
"I'll make sure it happens next time," I said with a shrug. Dylan had asked me to come over after school to review the subjects with him and help him with homework. And to show me his new video game.
Their house was surprisingly a ten minute walk from my house, and strange enough it was almost as big as our house, except his was a bit too modern for my taste, with gray interior walls and dim lighting across the dining room. All the artwork in the room was fuscia for some reason, as if Mrs. Reed wanted to create contrast in the house.
"Jamie," Dylan whispered, and I realized they were waiting for me to hold hands to say grace. I gulped, unused to this tradition as I put on hand in Dylan's hand and the other in his twelve-year-old sister, Meredith's and bowed my head down, feeling a bit awkward between them.
"Thank you Lord for the gifts you've bestowed upon us," Mr. Reed began to say. I felt Dylan tickle my palm and I had to look up, only he had a smile plastered to his face. He lifted his hand away from me and put a finger to his lips. He looked at his family, who had their eyes closed, listening to Mr. Reed's prayer. Except for Meredith, who kept glancing at us in suspicion. Dylan reached over the table, daringly, and picked up a roll of bread with stealth. I tried not to laugh, but Dylan tossed it on my plate as soon as Mr. Reed said "Amen."
"Amen," Dylan said, trapping in a laughter.
"Amen," I said as I tossed the bread roll back into Dylan's plate, and one second later the family had opened their eyes.
"Dylan," his mother said, frowning at the roll of bread in front of him, and I had to bite my lip to keep myself from chuckling at him.
"So how was school today?" Mr. Reed asked as he poured himself a glass of water.
"It was alright," Dylan said with a shrug. "I have four classes with Jamie, though," he said with a smile. He kept the American History class out of the discussion. He picked up my plate to scoop samples of the dishes in front of us in my plate.
"Your dad tells me you're on the soccer team," Mr. Reed told me. It was more of a question, though.
"I am," I replied.
"Oh Dylan plays defense. Dyl, maybe you could try out for the team sometime, huh?" he told Dylan. Dylan nodded as he chewed his piece of meat.
"Meredith, how was school?" he asked his daughter. She was busy picking the food on her plate.
"Oh it was good. A bit boring, though," she said with a nod.
"And Jamie, how's your dad with the election?" he asked as he took a bite out of the meatloaf.
"He's pretty busy," I said as I took a sip of water. "He'd spend endless hours at the office working on his campaign."
Mr. Reed nodded understandingly. "I remember those days," he said. "You had to work so hard for something you weren't sure was going to happen. I remember I was so close to quitting but I had to continue, I didn't want to set a bad example. God be with him," Mr. Reed said as he shook his head.
Dylan put my platefull of food in front of me and I thanked him. I was famished. I looked at the small family of four. I wondered if they knew of Dylan's xenophobic and personal beliefs or if that he smoked and bribed people with drugs. He looked so innocent among them, and I felt, I knew, he had a good heart, but he did not want to show it.
"It's pretty amazing how you boys continued where you left off, huh?" Mr. Reed said with a smile.
"I honestly don't remember much," Dylan admitted with a shrug. "But yeah, he's alright," he said with a smirk.
We ate in silence, except for a couple of small chats, and by the end I was bloated from all the food. I thanked Mr. and Mrs. Reed for their hospitality as Dylan dragged me away from the table by my arm upstairs. There were isles of boxes on the hallway that needed to be unpacked and two doors later Dylan opened the door to his room. It was a bit bigger than mine, and it was a dark shade of gray with white flooring. He too had numerous unpacked boxes resting at the end of the room. I squinted at one of the boxes that almost read "Fun".
"So, what shall we start with?" he asked as he passed me a rolling chair for me to sit on by his study.
"I don't know, what do you want to start on?" I asked. He sat on another chair next to mine.
"Doesn't matter. I have a question, though," he said. I sat up straight and nodded for him to continue.
"Are you, you know, ashamed of being seen with me in school? I mean I figured I wasn't really the nicest guy out there, while people actually liked you," he said with a shrug. I tried to answer, but my voice was caught in my throat.
I cleared my throat. "Of course not," I answered sincerely. "Yeah you may have different views than others but that's just a stupid excuse for me to be ashamed of you, which I'm not. I mean, to be honest, I wasn't exactly too sure I'd wanted to continue being friends with you. But today I realized you're actually a pretty good person, Dylan," I said, and I felt him warm up at my words. "Like you said, we're almost the same. I think we're the same, anyway," I said, adding a smile to the end of my words.
"Thank you, Jamie," he said as he nodded at me appreciatively. "Thank you for being my friend."
I smiled at his words, and nodded, not knowing what to say.
"So, um, Calculus then?" I said.
Dylan roared with laughter for some reason and shook his head. "For a likeable guy you're pretty awkward, you know that?" he exclaimed. I nudged him and rolled my eyes.
"Anway, you didn't answer. Calculus?" I repeated.
Dylan nodded. "Yeah, sounds okay."