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“So,” Jack appeared next to Dylan’s locker in the hallway early on Monday morning, “you didn’t text me.”
“You didn’t text me either,” Dylan countered.
“Touché,” Jack conceded. “I want to go out with you again. When are you free?”
“Not until after four thirty,” Dylan told him.
“How about we have dinner tonight? We could go to the Java Pub again, or there’s a diner nearby.”
“Are you talking about Riot Kitchen?”
“Yeah, something like that. It makes me think of seventies punk rock.”
“I always thought of them as being more of a fifties motif, but okay. Can we meet here at a quarter to five? That will give me time to clean up the art room.”
“That sounds excellent,” Jack agreed. “I’m working on an article for the paper tonight anyway. Would you mind if I doubled our date as an interview? I pitched the idea about your art class and the Leeman foundation to my editor, and he liked it. Although, full disclosure: I’m the editor.”
“Sure.” A brief smile tugged at Dylan’s lips.
“You wouldn’t happen to know the best way to contact Mr. Leeman, would you? My last interview with him was set up though my advisor, and he’s out this week.”
“I’ll give you his e-mail address. He’s a total internet junkie,” Dylan explained. He reached into the locker and pulled out a notebook. He carefully wrote down Stuart’s e-mail and handed it over to Jack, who looked at it, folded it carefully, and then pocketed it.
“Excellent.” Jack grinned and Dylan felt the little thrill run through him again. “I’ll see you in English later.”
The rest of the day was a blur. Pixie got the details of the date out of him, as well as that they were going out again that evening.
“Ooooooh,” she crooned, “you totes have a boyfriend.”
And to his amazement, he didn’t actually mind the idea of Jack being his boyfriend, But, he still flushed pink. “We’ve gone on one date. It went well, but don’t get a head of yourself. We hardly know each other. And tonight, is still going to be part interview for the paper.”
“No, it’s going to be totally about getting to know every single thing about you so he can make an angle at snagging you off the market as quickly as he can.”
“You’re really into this.” Dylan look a little step back from her. “I wish you’d put as much passion into your art as you seem to put into my love life.”
She made a pfft noise and rolled her eyes. “Art schmart. You need me to keep you in check and focused on your goal. Getting a boyfriend.”
“I have never once said I want a boyfriend.”
“Yeah, but you totally do. You’ve been moping ever since I met you. Which granted, wasn’t very long ago. You obviously had a rough break up or something. The best way to get over a crappy relationship is to jump back on the horse.”
“Jump back on a horse or rebound?”
“Both?”
“I don’t want Jack to be a rebound guy. He’s nice and I like him. I don’t think I’ve ever liked a guy just for being him, and not just a guy I wanted to sleep with.”
“Well, yes, that is typically what happens when you fool around with people your own age,” Pixie agreed. “Just, promise me you aren’t going to fight it. You’re going to stop thinking about this other guy and give Jack a chance.”
“I can’t make any promises.”
“A dude likes you,” Pixie scoffed. “You can handle it.”
Dylan considered those words though the rest of his classes, and even afterwards. Jack appeared ten minutes before class ended. He was helping Loretta, a ginger haired girl who was positively stickish in appearance, learn to steady her hand and the pressure she was using to more purposefully to create different line strokes.
“Hey,” Dylan smiled, looking up at him. “You’re early.”
“I wanted to get a look at your class room. You know, for the article. Do you mind if I talk to a few of your students? I won’t get in the way. And maybe grab a picture or two?” Jack wiggled the camera.
“Sure, if they don’t mind,” Dylan agreed. “Otherwise, you know Pixie will talk your ear off.”
“True enough,” Jack acknowledged. “Thanks.”
Dylan tried not to watch Jack make his way around the room. He focused on the students, gently correcting or praising where necessary. Eventually, he announced five minutes to clean up. The students were decent about putting away supplies and tucking away their works-in-progress so they weren’t in the way of the regular art student’s work, but they weren’t perfect. A few of them stuck around to chat more with Jack and let him take a few pictures on his phone while Dylan finished wiping down tables, and cleaning paint brushes.
“You look cute, covered in paint,” Jack noted when the last of the students, including Pixie, had left them alone in the art room.
“I’m hardly covered in paint.” Dylan brushed at a smudge on his arm, which just made it worse. “Well, not as bad as I would be if I were the one doing the painting.”
“Do you paint? I always see the pencils.” Jack started to walk around the room, looking at in-progress pieces from the regular CSG students.
“I’ve started to dabble in new things,” Dylan replied. “I do mostly hyper or photorealistic pencil and ink drawings, but I paint a little. Charcoals are fun, but my parents don’t want me to do them at home. God forbid I get black smudges on our overpriced carpet.”
“You should set up a studio room,” Jack offered. “I mean, you live in Hughes Castle. You can’t tell me there isn’t a spare room you could rip the carpet out of and use as a studio.”
“That’s a good idea,” Dylan mused. “I’ll have to butter up my parents; maybe they’ll renovate a room as a Christmas gift. Although, they try to keep most of the house in its historic splendor.”
“I’ve seen pictures.” Jack turned back to him, sitting on the edge of a desk. He watched as Dylan tossed the clean brushes into one of the paint splattered coffee cans that the art teacher used to collect the brushes. “It’s a gorgeous property.”
“Thanks. I’ll have to show it to you sometime,” Dylan promised.
“That sounds lovely.” Jack stuffed his phone into his jacket pocket. “But right now, I am starving. Is there anything I can do to help you clean up faster? I hear a pile of grease and hamburger calling my name all the way from Riot Kitchen.”
“I’m almost done,” Dylan promised. “Give me two more minutes to put away the rest of the supplies we used and lock up behind us.”
Jack relaxed and watched while Dylan finished up and then let himself be led out of the art room. Dylan flicked the lock over on the door, and they made their way out of the school.
“So, do you enjoy teaching?” Jack asked.
“Are you sure you want to start your interview now?” Dylan teased. “What if I say something incredibly enlightening and you end up having to paraphrase it?”
“Eidetic memory,” Jack tapped his temple. “I can recall just about anything I set my mind to.”
“Well, that makes you a great writer then, doesn’t it?”
“It is pretty handy,” Jack agreed. “So, teaching?”
“It’s fun,” Dylan shrugged. “I like it more than I had expected to. It’s a good opportunity for me to work with Stuart.”
“Have you always been a fan of Mr. Leeman’s work?”
“Hardly,” Dylan laughed. “I doodle in my free time. I never paid a lot of attention to other artists. I’m only now beginning to get an appreciation for them. Including Stuart.”
“Who are some of your new favorites?”
“Um, actually, and I know how cliché this sounds, I’m starting to like Pop Art. Stuart wants me to go on a citywide art tour of all the museums to look at the photorealists. I’ve only ever looked at them online. Art is so much different when you’re looking at it up close and personal. Maybe that’s why I don’t think I’d be a good comic artist. I like seeing people’s reactions when they see my work. I try to read what they like and don’t like. That moment when a person first looks, before they realize they have an opinion. It’s a great moment.”
“You sound very passionate,” Jack told him.
“Oh jeez, I’m turning into a kooky art type, aren’t I?” Dylan slapped his forehead.
“No. It’s nice to see someone so into what they love to do,” Jack assured him. “In fact, for date number three, why don’t we hit up one of your assigned museums?”
“Date number three? Before number two is even over? Well, you certainly do know how to jump a gun, don’t you?” Dylan asked.
Jack’s smile broadened. “Maybe, just a little–oh,” he grabbed Dylan’s arm to stop him from crossing the street. “This way.” His fingers slid down the sleeve of Dylan’s jacket and he laced their fingers together. Dylan was surprised, but he let Jack lead him toward the diner, their hands entwined.
Inside, the diner had a low buzz of customer chat, the occasional bell from the kitchen, and the sizzling of the grill in the back. The two of them slid into a back booth. Dylan’s hand still felt warm from Jack holding it. He set his shoulder bag on the inside of the booth before sliding across from Jack.
“So, how did you get involved with the Leeman Foundation?” Jack asked, pulling out a little notepad to take down some notes.
“A mutual family friend showed him some of my work from a few years ago. He then chatted with my parents,” Dylan explained. “He took a look at some of my newer art work and was impressed with how much I had progressed without any tutelage. They’ve been calling me a prodigy since I was nine. I never believed it until Stuart started to analyze my work.”
“You mind showing me something you’ve been working on? I’ve seen your comic, but I don’t think I’ve seen any of your, what do you call it? Hyper realism?”
“Hyper realism, or photorealism is the more proper term,” Dylan went into his bag for his sketch book. “Nothing in here is finished. Just at a sketch stage, but you can look.” He handed over the notebook. “I apologize in advance for any possible nudity you may find. I tend to grab random books off my shelf when I leave home.”
Jack grinned, taking the notebook and flipping through it. Dylan watched him for the first few pages before the waitress arrived at the edge of their table. He ordered a coke and cheeseburger. Jack did the same, with an extra-large helping of fries to share. After that, Dylan tried not to look. Jack’s expression was thoughtful but Dylan couldn’t read any more than that. A carefully blank face.
“I love this one of your Dad. It’s uncanny.” Jack flipped around the image of Peter at his office desk. He had his chin resting his hand and he was looking out over his room. “and you can just see how exhausted he must have been.”
“It was during hurricane season, two years ago. He was swamped with phone calls. I took a photo of him because knew I wanted to capture that exact moment of peace he finally had in his day. He was so mad. I should finish it. Or touch it up at any rate.” Dylan’s eyes roved over the image, picking out all the little things that made it not quite right. “But yes, that is a good one.”
“And who is this?” Jack flipped further back into the sketchpad. Dylan felt the flicker of tension pass over his face. He felt an involuntary twitch at the corner of his eye. Tyler Norse stared him in the face.
“Um,” Dylan started, “he’s a friend. I met him over the summer when I was staying with my Aunt and Uncle.” He felt the pang of need for a drink; something he thought he had readily put behind him now.
“He’s gorgeous.” Jack turned the picture back around. “And this expression on his face. I mean, wow. Did he pose for you or is it from a photograph too?”
“Happy memory.” Dylan looked up gratefully as the waitress brought them their drinks and the fries to get started.
“Burgers will be up in a few minutes, boys,” she said, then turned away to see to her other customers.
“Happy memory, huh?” Jack laughed a little. “You don’t look very happy about it.”
Dylan clarified, “We sort of had a...thing.”
“He was your boyfriend? He looks older.”
“Twenty. Not that much older,” Dylan countered. “You should know age doesn’t mean a whole hell of a lot to me.”
It seemed to dawn on Jack just who was sitting across from him. Dylan watched as Jack’s eidetic memory went to work, lifting every headline and article. The drinking, the drugs, and of course the unproven but never denied, sexual exploit.
“He wasn’t my boyfriend.” Dylan had to break the look. “He wanted to be. I was in a weird place over the summer. My parents sent me to Jersey to stay with my bible thumping relatives. He was a welcome relief to dealing with my Aunt’s homophobia. We spent a lot of time together. I had to make it clear that I wasn’t staying there and that I wouldn’t hold him back or vice versa. So, we stopped seeing each other.”
“There is more to this than meets the eye, isn’t there?” Jack closed the sketch book. He set it back on the table, out of spillage range.
“He’s a musician with a band called Dark Little Town. They just got signed to some label. They’ve moved to the city. He wanted to pick up where we left off. I turned him down.”
“Oh,” Jack looked a bit baffled. “But, you...”
“Really liked him? I still do. I might even love him. However, we have two totally and completely different lives at the moment. It just seems like a horrible idea to continue with it.”
“That’s not all of it though, is it?”
“No,” Dylan shook his head. “He came back into my life after a month of not talking to me. On the same day you first asked me out.”
“Kismet,” Jack retorted.
“Something like that,” Dylan forced a laugh. “Now you know the whole sordid thing.”
“I’m sure you’re leaving out the juicer bits, but okay,” Jack nodded. “So, my competition is some hot musician. I may be able to work with that.”
“He’s not competition,” Dylan admonished. “I swear, he hasn’t even talked to me since running into me last week. We each texted once. I don’t even know what it means. He’s just he’s being such idiot.”
“Most men are idiots.” Jack smiled. “But you like him, so be honest with me. Do I have a real chance here or are you just using me to get over him?”
“I don’t do that kind of shit. I mean, knowingly. I know I fucked with Tyler’s head a bit. That was just me being me. I hope I’ve changed. I want to have changed from the person I was before I met him.”
Jack nodded thoughtfully, taking a fry and shoving it into his mouth. He used the time he spent chewing to mull.
“Okay,” he spoke up, “why don’t we pretend this guy doesn’t exist? For the time being. If something starts to spark up between us, we’re golden. Otherwise, I’ve enjoyed spending time with you. I think we could be good friends.”
“I’ve liked it too,” Dylan admitted. “And trust me, I don’t say that about a lot of people. I’m the quintessential lonely artist.”
“The love ’em and leave ’em type?”
“Sort of. How about we get back to talking about your article?” He not-at-all subtly segued the conversation back on track.
“Actually, I think I have plenty for my article,” Jack replied. “Why don’t we get to know each other more?”
The two spoke amiably, trying their best to stay off the uncomfortable subjects. They started off with school and classes, then hobbies and what amounted to work. Dylan was surprised by how good the food was and ate nearly everything on his plate, as well as a large portion of the fries.
“Oh!” Jack spoke up as they were finishing. “I know I might be jumping the gun again, but one of the Off-Broadway theaters is doing Rocky Horror Show for Halloween. Do you want to go with me? My Mom bought tickets and then her friend canceled on her. She thought I might like it.”
“I love Rocky Horror!” Dylan pressed his palms to the table top. “I’ve got the revival soundtrack on my phone.”
Jack grinned. “It’s one of my favorite movies. I’ve never seen it on stage.”
Dylan clasped his hands to his heart. “You have not lived! I will totally go with you.”
“Great. I’ll text you the details.”
“Excellent.”
Jack started to pull out his wallet as the waitress stopped by the drop off their bill and pick up their now empty plates.
“Wait,” Dylan stopped him. “Let me?”
“I asked you,” Jack waved him off. “Just because you’re rich doesn’t mean you can’t be treated once in a while.” He laid down a fan of bills on the table.
“That’s a thirty percent tip.” Dylan stared at the money.
“Have I impressed you?” Jack asked, winding his scarf around his neck before scooting out of the booth.
“No,” Dylan shook his head, “I think you’re foolhardy if you expected that to impress me.”
Jack feigned a sighed. “Well fine then.” He exchanged a ten from the stack for a five and re-pocketed the cash.
“Can I give you a ride somewhere?” Dylan asked. He sent out a quick message to David with his location. “My driver will be here in just a few minutes.”
“Sure,” Jack nodded. He zipped up his coat. “Ugh, I hate October. It can’t make up its mind about whether it wants to be warm or cold. Today it looks like snow, and yet last week we had temps in the eighties. It’s mind boggling.”
“Agreed.” Dylan packed his sketchbook and tossed the bag strap over his head. “But I’d rather live in New York City than anywhere else.”
“It’s not bad,” Jack shrugged. “I think I liked North Carolina. Quieter. And I didn’t have to worry about being hit by a bus every time I crossed the street.”
“Well, stop jaywalking and you’ll be fine,” Dylan teased. They exited the diner and hovered outside the door while they waited for the sedan.
“Why did we leave the diner to go stand out in the cold?”
“For me, its habit,” Dylan shrugged. “I should be better at texting my driver to pick me up before I’m ready to leave somewhere.”
Jack laughed, “Probably.”
“Besides, they’re usually pretty fast. They hover around school and then if I go somewhere, they–oh, there he is.” Dylan saw the car come up the opposite side of the street. In his pocket, the phone rang.
“David,” he sighed, “what have I told you about calling me while you’re driving?”
“Sorry sir,” David’s voice was slightly clipped. “Please, meet the car at the end of the block on the other side of the street.”
“Is something wrong?” Dylan asked.
“Of course, not sir. There just isn’t a good place to turn around here.”
“That isn’t what I mean and you know it.” Dylan took Jack’s hand and they started walking down the street. Dylan saw the car turn left and park just slightly out of sight in front of them. “Your tone indicates something has happened.”
“Nothing to concern yourself with, Mr. Montgomery.”
“David...”
“Be careful crossing the street, sir. This is a bad intersection.”
A moment later, Dylan realized that David had hung up on him.
“That jerk!” Dylan stared at his phone. “What the hell! He’s never hung up on me before.”
“Your driver?”
“He’s the head of our security team–and yeah, our primary driver. What the heck? Something must have happened with Mora.”
“Wife? Girlfriend?”
“Cousin,” Dylan replied. “She’s cool. I’ll introduce you to her sometime. Still, David never hangs up on us. It’s against his code of ethics.”
They made the trek to the other side of the street safely and Dylan slid into the car first, followed by Jack.
“What was that, David?” Dylan asked, clipping his seatbelt into place.
“I’m sorry sir,” David apologized. “Dropped call. It seemed silly to call you back.”
“Like hell it was a dropped call,” Dylan admonished. “What crawled up your ass and died?”
“You have a guest, sir?”
Dylan sobered, slightly, “David, this is Jack Piper. I told him we’d give him a ride home if that is okay?”
“Fine sir. Your address, Mr. Piper?”
Jack rattled off a street and David gave a slight nod.
“That’s a bookstore, isn’t it?” David asked.
“Yes, my Mom’s shop,” Jack told him.
“Very good, sir. We’ll be there directly.” He waited until Jack had clipped his seat belt into place before pulling the sedan into the traffic.
“So, which museum should we go to tomorrow?” Jack asked.
“Guggenheim has some very cool Pop Art and photorealists,” Dylan told him. “But it’s on the other side of town.” He turned his attention slightly. “David, could you pick us up after school tomorrow and take us to the Guggenheim?”
“The Guggenheim, sir?”
“Stuart wants me to look at some artists. He gave me a whole list.”
“Dakota can drive you tomorrow,” David told him.
“Dakota?” Dylan wrinkled his nose. “What are you doing?”
David gave him a look in the rearview mirror that told him he wasn’t going to answer that question. At least not with someone else in the car.
Dylan sighed. “Dakota is fine.”
“I’ll make sure he knows to meet you at school,” David promised.
The rest of the ride was quiet. David pulled up in front of the bookstore called Backslash a few minutes later.
“See you tomorrow,” Jack gave Dylan’s arm a squeeze. Dylan was sure that Jack considered kissing him but he hesitated and the moment was soon gone. Jack waved as he stepped out of the car onto the sidewalk. David waited until Jack was safely inside of the bookstore before getting back into the traffic.
“Any other stops, sir?”
“No, just home,” Dylan requested. “Are you going to tell me what the problem is?”
“Nothing to worry yourself with, Mr. Montgomery. I should be better at separating my personal life from—”
“David...”
“Yes, sir?”
“You’ve seen me at my absolute worst. I’m pretty sure I can handle whatever shit storm seems to be going down in your world.” Dylan crossed his arms over his chest. “Talk to me. Like I’m a person, not the kid you babysit.”
“Tyler called me today,” David offered.
“And?”
“He asked if I would spy on you.”
“Spy on me? What for?”
“He was joking. And I know he was joking. He seems determined to win you back.”
“He should try acting like a normal person then.”
“You know my first priority is you and your family, Dylan. I like Tyler. We’ve become good friends. However, your safety is always more important. I’m pissed that he’d make light of taking advantage of my position to get closer to you.”
“I’m sorry,” Dylan said quietly. “He’s just an idiot. I’ll call him and make him apologize.”
“Dylan,” David sighed, “I don’t want an apology from him. I want you to get your shit together. If you’re going to go out with this Jack guy, then you need let Tyler go. Completely. I don’t know what happened. I won’t pretend to. But some kind of miscommunication went on.”
“I’ll call him,” Dylan promised. “And I’m sorry that he put you into an awkward position. Whether he was joking or not. I am not a prize to be won.”
The car fell quiet as the words littered the car. The whole situation was confusing. Was Tyler jealous? Would he do something crazy to win him back? It had just been a silly summer romance, right? They’d left on good terms. Dylan wasn’t mad. After all, he was a much more mature person after being given the opportunity to clean up and pursue art. Tyler was doing the same; getting his chance with his music.
Dylan turned toward the window, staring out over the East River as David drove toward home. Traffic wasn’t horrible, but it still took a half hour to make the trek from the Greenwich Village bookstore. As they crossed the 278 and turned onto Montgomery property, it started to rain. The swish-swish of the wiper blades was comforting as the car wound up the long drive.
“Do you need an umbrella, sir?” David asked.
“No, it isn’t that far. Thank you.” Dylan checked the closures on his bag before throwing the strap over his head again. “Have a good night, David.”
“You as well, sir.” David gave him a brief nod.
The minute he stepped into the foyer, Dylan pulled out his cellphone. He tapped roughly on the screen to bring up Tyler’s phone number. It rang several times as he stomped up the stairs and toward his bedroom.
“Dyl?” Tyler’s voice sounded confused as he answered.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Dylan seethed. He took his bag off his shoulder, setting it on his desk chair as he stomped around his room.
“Excuse me?”
“Why would you ask David to spy on me?”
“We were having a conversation like two normal people. I wasn’t serious.”
“You can’t say that shit to the head of security for my family!”
“I didn’t realize he would take it so seriously. It was a joke.”
“The fuck it was. What is your deal? We ran into each other once after not speaking for a month. You never texted or called.”
“It’s been four days.”
“How long were you going to wait this time? Two months? Look, I moved on.”
“Moved on from what?” Tyler scoffed. “You wouldn’t let me be anything to you.”
“Good thing too; you’re obviously fucking crazy!”
Tyler’s end of the line was quiet for a minute. Then Dylan heard him sigh. “Dyl. I love you. That never changed. Maybe I was expecting too much. I want to be part of your life.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Ty. I’m still in school and being with me could fuck up your future. What are people going to think if they find out you’re fucking a seventeen-year-old?”
“The age difference isn’t that big of a deal,” Tyler argued. “And I’m closer now.”
“You’re all the away in the East village.”
“That isn’t nearly as far as you want to think it is,” Tyler replied.
Dylan sighed, “Look, I know expectations were varied but I’m okay right now.”
“And you like this new guy,” Tyler guessed.
“I do. We have a lot in common. We’re closer in age. We have a lot of the same ideas. We complement each other.”
“Complement each other? Seriously, dude?”
“I don’t have to listen to this. I just called to tell you to leave David alone. I can’t stop you from being friends, but I can ask you leave him out of whatever this is going on between us.”
“Fine,” Tyler agreed. “I won’t make jokes with your bodyguard anymore.”
“Fuck you, Tyler. You had chances, and you didn’t take them,” Dylan seethed. “Don’t call me. Don’t text me, I don’t want to see or hear from you. At all.”
“Dyl–c’mon, you’re taking this too personally.”
“No, I mean it. This summer was fun, but now it’s gotten out of hand. So, I’m saying goodbye now. For good.”
“Dyl, wait,” Tyler started but Dylan disconnected before he could hear more.