Page 18 of My Debacle with De Lorenzo

“Okay.” I rise again and kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Dylan, can you pick up some mushrooms and cherry tomatoes on your way home today? I think I’ll make a vegetable casserole for dinner.”

I groan inwardly, trying not to let her see my apprehension. There is absolutely nothing I hate more than going to the grocery store. Just the thought of going there puts me on edge.

“Sure, mom,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. I race down the stairs back to the kitchen and grab two protein bars from the drawer. “See you later, big man.”

He grabs my head and kisses my forehead. “Later.”

I must zone out again because I don’t remember arriving at school or parking my Jeep or walking to my locker. Coach is always telling me I’m not focused, that I need to get my head in the game. I see now what he means. My mind is always off in the distance, obsessing about things I can’t change. At some point, I have to accept that this is my life now and we can never go back to what it was before.

It’s almost like I’ve sent out a subliminal message because my phone starts ringing then. “Watson,” I answer.

“Holmes,” she chirps back. “How was emotional hangover week?”

“Fine. Same as always. Dana didn’t get too violent. I only got a few scratches this time. Nothing major. My mom’s still a mess, though. How are you?”

“I’m okay. Just worried about you, so thought I’d check in.”

“I’m fine.” I’m lying and she knows it, but she also knows that I don’t like talking about it, so she doesn’t push for more. “How was your date on Saturday?”

“I think I blew it. I started rambling like a dork, and I’m sure I scared him off.”

Francesca tells me about her date with some guy. I know she mentions his name, but I’m not paying enough attention to catch it. My mind keeps wandering back to that shitstorm of a weekend when my sister came to visit. I don’t sleep when she comes home. It’s a week later and I’m still exhausted, so keeping up with the details of this conversation isn’t easy.

“...other girls, Dylan?”

The use of my name pulls me back into the conversation. “Sorry, the connection dipped. What did you say?”

“I asked why I can’t be sexy like other girls.”

I chuckle. “Your dorkiness is what makes you sexy, Fran.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. You got that girl-next-door vibe going on with your sleek brown hair and pretty green eyes. Guyslovethat. Trust me...I’m one of them.”

She pauses, and I know her well enough to sense her discomfort. “You don’t feel weird talking to me about this, do you? I mean...you’re dating other people too now, right?”

This is a weird conversation. Francesca and I have been best friends since before we could talk. Our parents have been friends since college, so we were inseparable growing up. As we got older, we started developing feelings for each other. We decided to explore that, but it was short-lived, not even lasting a few months. When my family moved to Pasadena last year, we decided we didn’t want to do the long-distance thing, so we ended it and agreed that we would move on and see other people. But we’re friends first and foremost, and I want her to be happy.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it dating, Franny,” I reply, sounding both irritated and amused. “Try this dating app, you said. It’ll befun, you said. I meet this cute blonde waitress on there, and she seems really sweet. I make a plan to go meet her. We chat for a week, but then I find out that she has a boyfriend. She was manipulating me the whole time. Remind me never to listen to you again.”

She giggles. “Don’t blame your poor judgement on me.”

I take my books out of my locker and stuff them into my bag. Even though I’m talking to Fran, I still feel like something is missing. My school day always starts with a husky voice shamelessly hitting on me, and I notice its absence immediately. I close my locker, expecting to see her, but she’s not there. I check the time on my cell phone. 7:22. She should be here and it’s bugging me that she’s not.

I lift the phone back to my ear. “Listen, Fran, can I call you back after school?”

“Sure.”

“Alright, chat later, Watson.”

“Enjoy your day, Holmes.”

I feel bad for ending the conversation so abruptly, but Fran isn’t the girl I want to speak to right now. I wait another minute, getting more anxious by the second. Something doesn’t feel right. I’m edgy, craving to hear her voice. I realize then that her voice is a distraction to my distraction. It’s almost like it centers me, brings me back to the here and now. My thoughts are always scattered and yet for a few minutes every day, she draws me back to reality, and I’m there, and I’m present. That’s missing today. It’s 7:28 and I can’t get over how much it’s bothering me that she’s not here yet.

I head down the corridor, but I’m barely halfway to class when I stop and turn back. I know it’s the girl’s bathroom, but other than Bella, I’ve never seen anyone use it. No harm in checking. With my mind made up, I walk straight in.

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