Page 118 of Dear Rockstar (Dear Rockstar 1)

“No,” Dale said in a low voice. I looked at him sharply. He repeated it loudly. “No, it’s not.”

“I can make up my own mind, thank you very much,” I snapped.

“Go ahead. Make up your own mind. Fuck up your life. Why should I care?”

Dale stood and John and I stared at him, both of our jaws dropping.

I’d seen Dale angry before, but not like this. He was like a hot, simmering volcano ready to blow, just barely contained, trembling with fury, shaking with it.

“You want to throw your talent away on a bunch of little kids?”

I closed my mouth, glaring at him. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he cried, throwing up his hands. “You think I haven’t lived with the knowledge that your one goal in life is to leave me? I live it every single day, every single minute! And you know what? I love you anyway.”

I tried to speak, but no words would come. Besides, Dale wasn’t done.

“I know you’re scared. I know you’re hiding and you’re running and you don’t want to look around and see what’s right in front of you because it hurts too much. No one in your life really exists because you’re living in some fantasy where you’ll meet Tyler Vincent and he’s going to be your knight in shining armor come to rescue you from your miserable life. He’s going to have some magical cure for all your problems. He’ll say a few words and ‘presto!’ You’ll be happy!”

“Dale, no…” I whispered, but my words were drowned out by his.

“I know how much you hurt. I know how afraid and lost and alone you feel, even when you’re in my arms. Sara, I know.”

I blinked back tears, trying to hold them in, shaking my head to deny it, but it was true. It was all true. He did know, had always known, had been able to see through me and into me from the moment he walked into Mr. Woodall’s class and sat down beside me. I didn’t know how he could see so much, but he did.

I’d always been naked in front of him.

John opened his mouth once or twice, but obviously changed his mind. All the life and meaning and emotion had been sucked up into Dale’s eyes—they were blazing.

“You’re so selfish,” he whispered, chin trembling, lip quivering. I felt tears running down my cheeks. I couldn’t hold them back anymore. “Why are you like that? The world doesn’t revolve around you, Sara. I’ve been here for you. I’ve listened to you. I’ve tried to help you. And you just throw it back in my face. Girl… he doesn’t even know you’re alive. I’m the one who’s here for you. Me!”

His eyes were bright, too bright—with tears—but they didn’t fall.

The world doesn’t revolve around you.

That’s what I’d said to the stepbeast before I walked out.

I’m not like him. I’m not.

“What about me?” Dale took a deep breath. “What about me, Sara?”

“Don’t…” I swallowed, wiping the tears from my face. “Dale, please. I came here first thing to tell you, to share it with you. Can’t you be happy for me?”

“I am.” He shook his head, lowering it, so I couldn’t see his eyes. “But you didn’t come here for me. That was for you, Sara, not me. You wanted someone to cheer with you. And I did.”

He was right. In spite of his fear of losing me, in spite of his jealousy and possessiveness and desire to hold and keep me, he had loved me enough to congratulate me, to even tell me he was proud of me.

“Did you forget you have a prior commitment on April twenty-second?”

I stared at him, shaking my head, confused.

And then I understood.

The Battle of the Bands. The finals. That was April twenty-second.

“You wouldn’t stay for me, would you?”

“Dale…” My throat hurt from trying to hold back my tears, but they were falling anyway, all over my soggy catfish. John handed me a napkin and I took it. I’d forgotten he was even there. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

---