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School was kicking Dylan’s ass.
While the Carnegie School for the Gifted was geared to hone the student’s gifts, they still had the regular regime of school work as required by law. Calculus homework, when combined with teaching inner-city kids how to do still-life drawing, left him exhausted. And school had only been in session for four weeks.
It was early October. He hadn’t heard from Tyler at all, except an excited text message a few days before: OUR SONG WILL BE ON THE RADIO! Dylan had not however been listening to said radio, as his query for a particular station had gone unanswered. He had listened to the CD that Tyler had given him though. While it was true that it was rough, the third track had stabbed him right in the heart. It was an upbeat song about the crazy sweetness of being in love and fucking. While also being totally frustrated and pissed off because it’s never going to be more than that. Dylan had listened to it on repeat until he’d committed every word to memory. Then he’d hidden the disk in the closet, because listening to Tyler’s voice hurt too much.
Which was completely ridiculous, because he was not in love. And Tyler hadn’t been his boyfriend, goddamn it. Besides, he knew he could make the first call. The ball wasn’t entirely in Tyler’s court. But he couldn’t fathom picking up the phone to say, “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
The halls of CSG were relatively quiet after school. Dylan was making his way from the third floor to the first, where the art rooms were built with large open glass panes to let in the outside light and overlooking the large courtyard area of the school. He wasn’t paying attention, rifling through his notes on his “class”. This week they were working with charcoals. He was looking forward to the new medium; which was his last thought before everything from his hands went up the air. It all hit the floor, and he was knocked flat on his ass.
“I’m so sorry!” A cute boy with a crew cut, khakis, and a button-up shirt knelt down to start collecting the papers. “I was off in my own little world. Suddenly, there you were and I just couldn’t stop. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Dylan winced, getting up on his knees. “I don’t think I broke anything.”
The boy looked up and a shock crossed his face. “Oh man. You’re Dylan Montgomery.”
“That’s me,” Dylan replied, taking the sheaf of papers that he had already collected.
“I’m Jack Piper.” He thrust out a hand which Dylan tentatively shook. “I’m a writing student. I mean, that’s my talent. We have AP English together. But you’re an art person.”
Dylan nodded slowly.
“Crap. I ramble when I’m nervous,” Jack admitted. “Let me start over again. Hi, I’m Jack Piper and I’m very sorry for knocking you over.”
“It’s okay,” Dylan told him. “No harm done. I’m not late for my class.”
“Class?” Jack tilted his head quizzically.
“I’m working with Mr. Leeman on his Foundation. I teach, sort of, remedial art classes to public school kids.”
“That’s very cool. You must be talented if you’re working with Mr. Leeman.”
“They tell me I am,” Dylan confessed. “Sometimes I think they’re just being kind because my parents are wealthy.”
Jack chuckled. “Can I quote you on that?” He paused then clarified, “I work on the school paper. I interviewed Mr. Leeman last week about his program. He mentioned a student working with him, but I didn’t realize it was you.”
“How kismet for you then,” Dylan told him. “And sure. It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever said to a reporter.”
“That’s very true,” Jack nodded. “I’m pretty sure your absolute worst quote was telling Thomas Reed to shove his head up his ass and fuck off. Paraphrasing of course, because that couldn’t be printed, but that was the gist of it.”
“Wow, that was a long time ago. I’m surprised you remember.”
“I found your antics over the last year entertaining,” Jack admitted.
The two of them got up from the ground, now that all the papers were collected. Dylan began to rearrange them nervously in his hands.
“Um,” Jack shoved his hands into the pockets of his khakis, “I don’t want to seem forward but, do you want to get coffee with me some time?”
“You want to interview me?” Dylan asked.
“No,” Jack’s smiled broadened a little, “I want to buy you a cup of coffee. Like a date.”
“Oh,” Dylan’s voice dropped an octave. He was pretty sure he had gone completely blank because Jack took a step back.
“It’s fine to say no,” he stammered. “I just thought we were having a meet-cute moment. Just me, though! That’s cool.”
“No, it’s not that,” Dylan assured him. “I’d love to get coffee with you, but my schedule is a little hectic. I run this class for an hour and a half after school.”
“How about Saturday?” Jack asked.
“I can do that. How about Java Pub? It’s two blocks over, across from that Korean Deli.”
“I love that place,” Jack told him. “I’ll meet you there. One o’clock?”
“Okay,” Dylan nodded, “it’s a date.”
“Excellent.” Jack gave him a true grin that, to Dylan’s chagrin, sent a shock through him. He hadn’t had such an immediate reaction to a person ever. He wasn’t completely sure how to feel about it. Jack gave him a little wave before continuing on his way down the hall.
“You look morose, Teach.” A hand clapped on his back and he saw Britannia “Pixie” Brown standing next to him. She was a CSG student who had taken to sitting in on his art classes. She was a science student; her parents being a literal NASA Rocket Scientist and a brain surgeon. She was positively hopeless when it came to art, but she didn’t let her lack of skill get her down. Dylan had come to enjoy her company in the class room. She was pasty pale and, true to her name, had a sharp pixie cut hair style that was paired with loose and layered tops and tight pants, and finished with flats or colorful Chuck Taylor high-tops.
“Sorry,” Dylan apologized. “I have a date for the weekend.”
“Interesting,” She nodded. “But you have a class, so get your head off boys and down to the art room. You’re almost late.”
Dylan nodded, and the two of them continued the trek. His head was spinning, but he managed not to embarrass himself in class. Most of the kids in it were just a year or two younger than him. They had mostly considered themselves to be real “bad asses”. When Dylan made it clear that he wasn’t intimidated by them and wasn’t going to take their shit, they had settled down. While their work had started out rough, they had all showed improvement in their short time together.
And Dylan was learning a little about himself too. He’d always gone for the hyper realistic side of things. But he was discovering that other forms; painting, oils, pastels, charcoal, printing, even wood cutting, were all interesting mediums. He was now dabbling in toning down his realism for a more simplified form. Pixie had been prodding him about doing a web comic with his new cartoony style, but he wasn’t sure if he had the personal discipline for it.
“What was Jack talking to you about in the hall? You mentioned a date?” Pixie was walking with him after class. He usually went to the Java Pub; sometimes with a few of his students but mostly with Pixie or on his own. He liked to sit in one of the booths by the windows and sketch passersby.
“Well, he literally knocked me over,” Dylan explained. “And then he apologized profusely. And at length. And then he asked me out on a date.”
“Smooth operator,” she mused. “And he’s nice. We’re friends.”
“He seems nice. I don’t know a lot of people yet,” Dylan admitted.
“That’s because you don’t try,” Pixie chided. “Everyone still thinks you’re some kind of party animal.”
“Oh no, my party days are long gone,” Dylan admitted. “Five months sober, next month.”
After returning to New York, Dylan had tried one club. It had lasted all of five minutes. It had been odd, being there alone. He found he’d had almost no interest in meeting anyone, even though there had been more than one attractive man to catch his eye.
“Your parents must be thrilled.”
“I think they are,” he admitted. “I think they also like that I am home more. Why, I don’t know, because they aren’t exactly homebodies themselves.”
“You going to draw today or are you just getting coffee?”
“I might sit for a bit. You got other places to be?”
She shrugged. “No, but I don’t think I want to sit around the pub today. I’ll catch you tomorrow?”
“Yep, I’ll see you then.”
Pixie waved goodbye and turned onto a side street in the other direction.
At Java Pub, Dylan ordered a cappuccino and a toasted ham and turkey sandwich at the register. He then took a seat at one of the big booths in the back. He pulled out his sketch book and started to work on one of the little comics he had started, in an attempt to appease Pixie. A waiter dropped off his food and Dylan offered a small smile in return, but quickly lost himself back into the drawing. He took an occasional sip of the drink and picked at the sandwich. They both were still half there and growing cold when he was brought out of his dreamy haze at the sound his name.
“Dyl.”
He looked up. He knew he couldn’t keep the shock off his face.
“T-tyler.”
Tyler grinned. It had been only a month, but he looked different. He’d gotten a haircut and his clothes looked nicer. More form fitting. Altered to fit his lanky frame. Surprising given how it hadn’t been that long ago that he’d balked at price tags at the mall. He looked good. Hovering behind him, Heath had a to-go cup in his hand and was blowing on it, trying not to look irked.
“What are you doing here?” Dylan stammered.
“We’re recording at the studio, about two blocks over. The Choir Room,” Tyler told him. “We’re almost done with our first album. Isn’t that exciting?”
“Very,” Dylan agreed. “You in the city for long?”
“Actually, yes,” Tyler nodded. “The guys and I are renting an apartment over in Alphabet City.”
“Wow,” Dylan breathed. “I had no idea. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I wanted to surprise you. After we were all settled in, you know?”
“Well, color me surprised,” Dylan forced a smile that he knew didn’t seem genuine, and Tyler caught on quickly.
“You’re not happy to see me,” Tyler’s own smile faltered a little.
“It’s not that,” Dylan declared. “I just wasn’t expecting it. To see you here, today. Of all days.”
Tyler tilted his head quizzically.
Dylan grimaced, then breathed out a sigh. He’d never considered himself a liar, and he wasn’t about to start. “I have a date on Saturday. With a guy. From school. That I met today.”
Dylan couldn’t even begin to imagine everything that crossed over Tyler’s face then. Disbelief, amusement, sadness, confusion.
“Oh. And you agreed. Because, why wouldn’t you?”
“I haven’t heard from you in a month!” Dylan exclaimed. “I mean, you said all these pretty things when I left, but you never called or texted except to tell me that your song was supposed to be on the radio.”
“I gave you the CD. Did you listen to it?”
“Of course, I listened to your stupid hipster love song,” Dylan grumbled. “Which made it even harder when I never heard anything from you.”
“Because I didn’t want you to feel like you were obligated to wait,” Tyler told him.
“Well, I didn’t feel obligated.”
“It’s been a month.”
“And what was an appropriate length of time to wait for the guy who claims he loves me and yet never calls me? The guy that wrote me some song about how much he hates that he loves me because I’m a whiney little bitch?” Dylan didn’t know where the anger was coming from all of a sudden. Worse, it was unfair that the words pouring out of him were so mean. He liked the song.
“Fuck you,” Tyler forced out a breath. “Goddamn it. I knew this was going to be bad.” His annoyance came out with a self-assuring smile. “I should have just let you go the first time. I’m... Fuck. I’m sorry.” He turned. “C’mon Heath, let’s get back to the studio. Jordan’s coffee is getting cold.”
“Ty, wait.” Dylan tried to slid out of the booth, but got caught up on his shoulder bag.
“No, I’m done. I’m an asshole. You’re right. I should’ve called you, I should’ve told you we were coming. I did this whole thing wrong. You’re your own person. I hope you and this new guy hit it off and that you can grow up and be happy. God knows you couldn’t let yourself be happy with me.” Tyler raised his hands in defeat. “I’m done. Really, truly, honest to god, done.”
“Tyler.” Dylan perched on the edge of the booth. He was slightly aware of eyes on them, curious about what was happening with the Senator’s son and the unknown men. “I didn’t mean it. Please sit down. Heath too.”
“We have to get back, Dylan,” Heath spoke up.
“Call me,” Dylan added just a hint of begging to his voice. “Please? I want to talk to you. I need to. I just didn’t want to be the one to make the first move.”
Tyler scoffed and shook his head. “C’mon, Heath.” He turned on his heel and the two of them strode out of the café. Dylan sighed heavily. He drank down the last of his cappuccino; now practically iced coffee. He took a last bite of his sandwich, then shoved his sketchpad back into his backpack. He called up David on his cellphone.
“David, I need a ride from the Java Pub. Fast.”
“I expected your call, sir,” David’s voice was cool. “I’m just turning by the school now.”
“I’ll be out front,” Dylan replied and then hung up.
True to his word, David appeared a minute later in the black sedan. He paused on the street, unable to park, but Dylan slid easily into the back seat, giving another driver who honked at them for taking up room in the street the finger, and slammed the car door.
“Something amiss, sir?” David asked, always aware.
“Did you know that Tyler was in town?”
“Tyler, sir?”
“Don’t act stupid. You know I hate that.”
David took in a deep breath. “He e-mailed Mora and I a few weeks ago. Mora helped him get an apartment in her building. We went out for drinks a few nights ago. I thought you knew he was in town.”
“He never told me. I just ran into him at the café.”
“Oh.” David winced. “I’m sorry, Dylan. If I had known you didn’t know, I would have told you.”
Dylan sighed heavily. “Whatever. I just want to go home.”
“Did you have a good class today, sir?” David tried to turn the conversation to something more pleasant.
“It was fine.” Dylan refused to take the bait. “Music please?”
David pursed his lips but pressed play on the phone and let the noise fill the car as they made the trek back to the castle. Dylan asked to be dropped off at the front, and he made his way quickly into the house and up to his room. He threw off his shoulder bag. He knew he should do some homework. He grumbled to himself as he changed into a pair of basketball shorts and a loose tank top. He considered sliding into his desk chair, but opted instead to turn out the light and crawl into bed. He’d worry about the missed homework later. Right now, he just wanted to pull the covers over his head and take a nap.
The sentiment didn’t last very long. There was a soft knock, and then Peter gently opened the door.
“Dylan?”
Dylan grumbled loudly in reply.
“Is everything okay? David said you seemed upset.”
“I’m fine. Just leave me alone.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Peter offered, letting himself in. He left the lights off but came to sit on the edge of the bed.
“No.”
“Are you sure? Because, I might not get the whole gay thing, but I’m fairly certain relationship troubles are universal. And I’m known to be a good listener.”
“I don’t have a relationship problem. I have...” Dylan trailed off. He didn’t want to go into the whole thing with his Dad. It was too personal. It wasn’t as though Peter didn’t have a million other, better, things to be worried about besides dealing with his shit. “Long story short: Tyler is back in town. Apparently to stay.”
“Well, that’s great,” Peter grinned.
Dylan lowered the blankets enough to scowl at hom.
“What’s the problem? I thought you liked Tyler.”
“I do like Tyler.” Dylan wasn’t about to admit his true feelings when he hadn’t even been able to tell the man. He hadn’t even been able to tell himself! “He’s basically ignored me the last month. Ever since I left Tynan. I’ve gotten one text from him. Then I ran into him today at Java Pub. It’s like he just wants to pick up where we left off.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“I got asked out today. By a guy. My age.”
“You like this new guy?”
“I don’t even know him,” Dylan admitted. “But what are the odds that on the day I meet a guy who seems nice and into me, Tyler Norse walks back into my life?”
“Sounds like a bad romance novel,” Peter admitted.
“Yeah, but which one is Prince Charming?”