Page 8 of Because of Dylan

“The building next door. Room 203.”

A new neighbor and friend, and all in the space of a few hours. My senior year may be starting on a different track.

“Can we exchange numbers?” His blue eyes widen, hopeful and eager, like a puppy in a shelter hoping this will be his chance. His tone hints at loneliness and a fear of rejection. And even if I don't want to admit it, the same thing hammers inside my chest.

“Yeah, sure.” I unlock my phone and give it to him. He does the same and hands me his phone.

I have a new friend. And it feels good.

Chapter Five

“Make a wish.”

I stop and look at the dandelion puff Tommy is holding inches away from my face. I can’t help the smile or the flood of memories that come with the simple gesture.

As a kid, I had only one wish. For my father to come and find me. I wished on anything and everything a kid could wish on—dandelions, stars, eyelashes. I even made up a few of my own. Any time I saw the same three numbers lined up in a row, be it on the clock or a license plate, I made a wish. And it finally came true. It’s here. I should have set a time limit. Given the universe a deadline. Fucking universe and its loopholes. My eyes shoot to the sky, and I send out afuck you, fuck you very muchnote of thanks.

“Where did you find it?” I look around the concrete sidewalk. Tommy points to a crack on the curb where a dandelion grows.

“Come on, make a wish.” He smiles at me. I have the urge to ruffle his hair and give him a hug. If I had a younger brother, this is what it might have been like. Having a sibling would have eased some of my loneliness growing up, but I'm glad I was an only child. I'd hate to have anyone else live through the hell my life had been until I left for college. Having siblings would have meant leaving them behind, and I don’t know if I would have been able to do that.

“I don’t know what to wish for.” I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear.

“Close your eyes and clear your mind. It will come to you.” He nods at me. “Come on. You can do it.”

I do as he says. Close my eyes, breathe in, clear my mind. I wish … and then it comes to me. What I truly have been wishing for all along. I want to be loved. I want someone to know me—all of me—and love me anyway.

I open my eyes, look at the dandelion, and blow. The tiny seeds swirl between us for a few seconds before catching in the breeze and floating away.

Tommy smiles, takes a step closer to the curb and gently puts the dandelion stem next to the plant he picked it from, his lips moving silently as he does so. Most people would probably drop the stem to the ground.

“What did you just do? Did you say something to the dandelion?” I point at the weed growing through the crack on the curb.

His cheeks pink a little. “When I was little, I felt bad for picking dandelions. I thought it would hurt them. I know they’re weeds and a nuisance for most people. But I loved the bright yellow flowers.” He puts his hands in his pockets, and we continue walking.

He speaks again. “My mom used to say that dandelions trade wishes for the chance to fly away and create new life. So when I picked a dandelion, I was helping it fulfill its destiny.”

I have to stop moving to completely absorb what Tommy said.Dandelions trade wishes for the chance to fly away and create new life.“That’s beautiful. I love that. Your mom is a wise woman.”

His smile fades.

He shrugs. “So, to get back to your question, I was saying thank you, for the wishes, and for the trade.”

I look back in the direction we came from. The dandelion puff is long gone in the wind, but I send it a silent thank-you anyway.

We walk without speaking the rest of the way to Pat’s Café where we order two coffees and a doughnut for Tommy. I introduced Tommy to Pat a couple of days ago, and she’s already taken him under her wing. I’m grateful for that. Like always, her gaze stays on me a little too long when I walk in, but she never looks at me with disapproval or judgment or makes me feel bad. I know she wants to say something, but she respects my walls. I'd hate to have to find another place to hang out when I need to feel welcome.

We take a seat. “You’re on your own tonight. I won’t be home.”

Tommy’s hung out with me in my dorm room nearly every night this week, and I’m growing used to having him around. Being with Tommy helps me keep any thoughts of my father at bay. Dad texted a few times, but I have yet to respond. A small, vengeful part of me rejoices in his attempts and my rejection, but the shallow joy is short-lived. Part of growing up and being in control of my life is also having the courage to confront the things I don’t want to.

“You’re going to a party?” He takes a huge bite of his doughnut.

“Kind of. It's my friend River’s twenty-first birthday, we’re having a girls’ night out.”

“Sounds fun. Where are you going?”

I hesitate. “We’re going to Skins.”

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