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“Red, why are you standing outside getting soaked?” he asks as he takes my bag and pulls me into a hug.
I pull away because I’m wet, but also because his question annoys me. I pull my jacket off and hang it on the coat rack that stands in the foyer.
“I wasn’t standing outside. Hortensia here thought I was a burglar disguised as a door-to-door salesman and wasn’t exactly rolling out the red carpet for me,” I snap. Annoyance and embarrassment dripping from every word I utter.
“What?” he says, immediately angry as he looks between Hortensia and me. Hortensia’s eyes widen in fear, and I'm immediately contrite. She's only doing the job she was hired to do. I'm sure part of her is conditioned to see other brown people as suspicious. I shouldn’t let my anger jeopardize her job here. I'm sure she has people who rely on her and her paycheck.
I walk up to Dean, wrap my arms around his waist and hug him.
“Dean, it’s nothing. I didn’t say right away I was here to see you, so she was asking me questions and was about to let me in when you walked up. I'm starving, what’ve you got to snack on?”
That distracts him, he looks away from Hortensia and turns back to me.
He winks at me and says with a grin, “Cheese, of course. Come on.”
We get our snacks, Dean’s favorite sesame sticks and a cheese stick for me, and head upstairs.
We work together, sometimes talking about what we’re reading, but mostly in silence. Soon, we’re wrapping up our homework. We’ve been doing this . . . thing . . . for the last month or so. Dean usually comes to my house, but we study together, hang out, listen to music, or watch television and then he goes home.
I know Dean likes me. I like him, too, but he’s the popular guy on campus, and I’m the girl whose only friend is my younger sister.
I already know the guy everyone else sees on campus isn't who Dean really is. He hates the attention. He won the genetic lottery and his parents live a flashy lifestyle. So, kids look at him and see those things. But I can sense his anxiety because I have it, too.
I know he wishes no one cared how good he was at lacrosse. I saw him cringe the first time he gave me a ride home in his brand new convertible BMW. He was embarrassed by it and the impression it created.
I think that’s why we get along so well. We are both misunderstood. People only see our exteriors and no one bothers to look any deeper. I was so lonely until I met him, and he’s already my closest friend. I don’t want to ruin this by turning it into something more. We’re in high school. He’s dated a lot of the popular girls, the ones who won’t even sit at the same table as I do at lunch.
“So, what do you want to do now?” Dean asks breaking my meandering thoughts.
“Actually, I should probably go home.” I prepare myself for him to argue. He always wants to stay at my house late, even when it’s past his curfew. He always wants to stay on the phone, even when we’re both struggling to keep our eyes open.
He looks at me from his end of the couch and smiles. That smile, it’s devastating and makes my heart do a somersault.
“Okay, maybe you should go,” he responds. My somersaults stop and disappointment, fresh and hot blooms.
I try to smile as I gather my things. “Yeah, okay, sure. It really is late.” I look up at him. He’s still smiling that warm smile; his eyes are looking at me the way he always does. But, he’s watching me pack up and not asking me to stay.
“Well, my mom will be home any minute. And she hates you,” he says, still smiling the same warm smile.
I rear back like he slapped me. I knew his mom didn’t love me and only tolerated me because my dad is an executive her husband reported to, but Dean saying she hates me causes tears to spring to my eyes.
“Why would you say that?” I ask him, not able to disguise the hurt in my voice.
His smile disappears and a dark sneer mars his handsome face. He leans toward me on the couch.
“Because it’s true, Milly. We all hate you. You killed my father.”
* * *
I wake with a start and find myself in a haze of congestion and with a horrible taste in my mouth. I’m drenched in sweat, my heart pounding from the nightmare. It’s one I haven’t had in years. But, seeing Dean must’ve revived some of my old fears. I’ve spent much of my life thinking those things are true, but it’s been a while since that nightmare has been so vivid.
My room is dark, but I have blackout curtains so that doesn’t tell me anything. I glance at the clock by my bed and see that it’s 1:00 p.m.
I pick up my phone and see that I have several missed calls from my mother, but I also see the date and I realize three days have passed since the last time I checked the phone. A thread of anxiety shoots through me. What is going on?
I groan as I try to stand up. My body is stiff, yet my legs feel like jelly.
I remember bits and pieces of things. I remember my mother leaving for her weekend away with Rabea. I remember my cold turning
