Chapter Thirty-One

Dylan

Dylan paced his room, wondering what else he could do. After his disaster of an apology to Lucy, he’d gone home and run on the treadmill for a solid hour. Instead of making him feel better—or at least numb—he’d only felt worse. Now he was practically crawling out of his skin, wishing he’d been less of a dumbass.

“You’re going to wear out the floor,” Tristan said, watching him pace. He’d been sitting in the chair at Dylan’s desk for more than an hour, having shown up after Dylan failed to answer any of his texts.

“There has to be something I can do.” Dylan rubbed a hand over his head. “When Alyssa was mad at you, what did you do?”

“That was a misunderstanding, not…” Tristan cleared his throat awkwardly. “I got help from her best friend.”

Enlisting help from the best friend. Classic technique. “Think Serena would help me?”

“Not a chance.” Tristan gave him a sad smile. “But Otis might.”

Otis. Why didn’t I think of that? “This morning, he was as pissed as I’ve ever seen a nine-year-old get. Clenched fists and all.”

“Yeah, but there’s some hero worship left there, I think. You could always bribe him.” Tristan laughed. “Keller bribed me all the time to keep me off his back, or to help him with chores.”

“That’s…not a bad idea.” Dylan picked his phone up from the bed. “Except…I don’t know how to reach him.”

“I’m disappointed in you.” Tristan pulled his own phone from his pocket. “We have access to all the releases from camp, remember?” He tapped and scrolled for a few seconds. “Here’s his home number.”

Dylan swiped the phone from him and dialed the number, only realizing as it rang that he had no idea what he was going to say. Randomly jumping into action was Lucy’s way of doing things…but he could learn, right? Spontaneous could be his new motto.

A boy answered after four rings. “Hello?”

“Otis? It’s Dylan.”

“Oh.” The kid’s tone was flatter than fresh-mowed grass. “What do you want? Lucy’s not here, not that she’d talk to you.”

“I’m calling to chat with you. I need your help. I want Lucy to start talking to me again, but I don’t know what to do. What do you think will work? Flowers? Candy?”

Otis snorted.

“See why I need your help, then?” Dylan asked. “I don’t bake, man. I can’t sing, and I’m only good at throwing a baseball.”

“That’s not true,” Tristan muttered, and Dylan threw a pillow at him.

“She likes chickens.” Otis paused. “Serena’s farm might be shut down. I heard Lucy talking about it. She’s doing this web thing to make money. Like, selling her sewing stuff to people for donations.”

“An auction?”

“I think so.”

After a quick conversation with his mom, Otis was able to tell him the site address for the auction. Dylan typed it into his phone. “Thanks, buddy. Look, I might need your help to talk Lucy into meeting me. I promise I won’t hurt her. Will you help me say I’m sorry again?”

“Well…” Otis’s tone was crafty. “What’s in it for me?”

He sounded like a child-mafia boss, and Dylan burst out laughing. “Lunch at Dolly’s next week, and ten pitching lessons, on the house.”

“Deal!” Otis said, much too quickly. “Tell me what to do tomorrow.”

They hung up and Dylan hurried to his desk, shoving Tristan aside. “Dude.”

“Sorry. I need my wallet.” He fished out his credit card. He had almost two grand in the bank. Would that be enough? Hoping so, he started hitting “bid” on every single item in Lucy’s auction.

Then he stopped to think—maybe two grand wouldn’t be enough. He needed a partner or two. Most of the stuff was girly and cute, some of it for little kids. A slow smile tugged at his mouth. “And I need to text my grandma.”