Dizzy

by Jolene Perry

  “Mr. Gibson?” I can’t believe he didn’t notice me right away.

  “Hey, Ziah. Bad timing.” He glances around so nervously making me feel even more panicky.

  “I got a weird phone call from Dylan, and—”

  “When?” He takes a few jogging steps toward me and rests his hand on my arm.

  My chest drops again. “What’s going on?”

  His dad pushes out a hard breath. “When did he call?”

  “I don’t know. Thirty minutes ago? Traffic was bad, and…” and now I’m having a hard time breathing.

  “He was already gone when he called you.” He releases my arm and stands back.

  “Where?”

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be about to leave you alone in my driveway.” He begins walking away. “I waited for him to come home, and now…”

  “Wait!” I plead as I follow. “What’s going on?”

  “Family stuff, Ziah.” He reaches into his pocket. “Here’s my card. Please call if you hear from him, okay?” He continues toward his car.

  I stop in my tracks. “Tell him I’m worried!” I call after him. “Or I’m sorry!” Or I’m an idiot…

  Mr. Gibson leaps into his car and peels out of the driveway. I’m left standing beside my mom’s car with his business card in my hand in front of their monstrous house. And in that moment, it all comes together in my mind—family stuff, Dylan’s mom, the blue-eyed woman. The reason he needed me.

  He must think I bailed on him, just like everyone else. I didn’t listen closely enough to him when he called, and that was all it took—the end of Dylan and Ziah. I barely make it back to the car before slumping in the driver’s seat and sucking in shaky breaths in a failed attempt to not cry.

  ***

  The drive back to my house is dark, long, and slow. Mr. Gibson never came back, and nothing happened. I waited for hours, alternating calling Dylan’s phone and Lora’s. Mom has a big banquet tonight at the restaurant, so I can’t call her. I don’t know why Lora isn’t answering me. I’m still not sure if I want to tell her what’s happening between Dylan and me, though I’m probably past caring what she knows. I slide low in the old flowered chair Dylan and I shared yesterday and wish for things to be different.

  Lora bursts through the front door with Derrick right behind her. I almost leap out of the chair. “Have you heard from him?” I ask.

  They both slump. “We were hoping you had,” Derrick says.

  “Why didn’t you answer my calls?” I ask.

  “Lost my phone.” Lora shrugs. “I keep changing bags, and…”

  Derrick sits on the ottoman and rests his elbows on his knees. “I screwed up, Ziah. If Dylan calls, can you pass that on?”

  “Did you know?” I ask.

  Derrick and Lora exchange a glance. Do they think I haven’t caught on?

  “I saw her, Derrick. It was your mom, right?”

  “Dylan told you about Mom?” Derrick sits back watching me.

  “Yeah, when…” but I let that trail off, not wanting them to know all the details.

  “What’s going on between you two?” Lora asks.

  Derrick waves his hand between us. “You don’t have to answer, Ziah.”

  “We just…” I think about kissing him, about him teasing me for burning popcorn, and about us watching movies. “I guess we were trying for more than friends.”

  Derrick closes his eyes for a second. I don’t know if this is good or bad or irritation.

  Actually, he doesn’t get to be irritated. “Did you know your mom was coming? Isn’t this something you should have warned him about?” I ask.

  “Ziah!” Lora snaps.

  “No.” Derrick holds up his hand. “It’s fine. I tried, and he didn’t want to talk about her. I let it go because I wasn’t sure if we’d even find her. I had no idea she was coming or if I’d even found the right person. She knows where we live, obviously.”

  I start blinking because I hate knowing Dylan probably feels like I shafted him the way everyone else has, and I’m mad at him for not giving me two more seconds to explain.

  Derrick rests a hand on my knee. “Relax, Ziah. Dylan tends to be overdramatic.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself, not me. “It’s not your fault.”

  But it is. “When he called…”

  Now my voice won’t work, and I feel like a ridiculous, whiny girl. Lora sits on the arm of the chair next to me and rests her hand on my shoulder. It really just makes me feel worse.

  “James was here because we were studying. It was something we set up way before Dylan and I were trying, and Dylan didn’t give me a chance to explain. I just made it all worse.” This time when I blink, the tears spill down.

  “You’re a cool girl, Ziah. I’ll find him and get it all straightened out, okay?” Derrick stands up, and I realize he’s going to be around a lot. Like he’ll answer Lora’s phone sometimes, and when they have kids, he’ll be there. He’s going to be my brother-in-law. Crazy.

  “Ziah, I’m gonna stick with Derrick for a few more minutes, but I’ll be back later, okay?”

  I nod as they start for the door. “I’m glad you’re marrying my sister.”

  Derrick stops, turns, and smiles. “So am I. Let’s hope we find my little brother in the few days before the wedding.”

  And this time he’s not able to hide his worry from me.

  ***

  My body’s tired as I flop onto my back on the bed. I’m both hopeless and desperate to make things better all at the same time. Even though I’ve really screwed up, I’m not going down without some sort of fight. At least he’ll know how I feel. I pull out my dying phone, plug it in, and start a series of texts.

  ME: OK. I DON’T CARE IF YOU WANT TO HEAR FROM ME OR NOT.

  Send.

  ME: I MESSED UP. I SHOULD HAVE READ UR VOICE AND KNOWN IT WAS IMPORTANT. I SHOULD HAVE TOLD YOU JAMES AND I WERE TALKING & STUDYING. HE KNOWS ABOUT U. HE KNOWS I DON’T LIKE HIM.

  Send.

  ME: I FEEL LIKE SHIT, DYLAN. I GO FROM FEELING LIKE THE WORST PERSON ON THE PLANET TO BEING PISSED B/C U WON’T ANSWER ME.

  Send.

  ME: PLEASE JUST, IF UR 2 MAD OR IF THINGS SUCK 2 MUCH FOR U TO TRY TO BE W/ ME, I GET IT. I FEEL THAT THOUGHT CRUSHING ME, BUT I GET IT.

  Send.

  ME: NO MATTER WHAT, WILL U SEND A MSG 2 ME, THRU MY SIS OR A TEXT SO I KNOW UR OK?

  Send.

  ME: I’M SO SORRY. I WANT TO DO THIS WHOLE THING WITH U. I KNOW ABT UR MOM. I WANNA TALK. HELP. SMTHNG. MASTA DYLAN. PLEASE?

  I hit send for what feels like the millionth time and know there’s nothing else I can do. My heart drops, and it’s like I know again, just like I knew in his driveway, that I probably lost my chance with Dylan Gibson. It hurts way worse than I expected—and I expected it to hurt bad.

  Alyssa steps into my room without knocking. She’s holding a carton of Rocky Road and two spoons.

  I’m so glad we’re friends again.

  Twenty-Three

  ~Dylan~

  I’ve spent the past couple days in two places: in the bed or on the deck at our house on the coast. It’s embarrassing to be in this kind of slump, and I’m thankful no one is here to see me, but the sad part is, it’s all I can do. It’s all I want to do. Still, I can’t wrap my head around this. After everything Mom did, she came back. There are no words to describe how that makes me feel, but it’s nothing compared to knowing they knew. They chose her over me. Kept it from me. What does that say about me?

  And Ziah chose James.

  What was she doing with me this whole time?

  Putting my feet up on the wooden porch chair, I pick up my sketchbook, my eyes taking in the foaming waves in front of me. Salty air hits my skin. It reminds me of the rain when it swam around her. How she made me want to try when she knew she had James in the background.

  Suddenly, I’m pissed. My hands shake as I start ripping drawings out of my book, the one of her eyes in Dad’s office building, th
e one of her smiling as she looked up at the wet sky. It’s so stupid, and I know it. But I can’t stop myself from ripping the pages over and over again, watching them fly away with the wind.

  How long was she hanging out with James? How long was Mom back? How long were Derrick and Dad lying to me?

  Totally aware I’m throwing a tantrum, I push to my feet and chuck the sketch book as far as I can. It lands at the edge of the water, one big wave away from being gone.

  “Wow… good arm.”

  I whip around, my heart somewhere in my throat. “Dude, warn a guy, would ya?” As much as I don’t want to admit it, I’m glad Paul’s here.

  “I knew you’d be here. Just wanted to give you some time, but now we’re running out of it.” He walks over to me and leans against the railing. “So what’s up, man? You have everyone all stressed about where you are. The wedding’s tomorrow.”

  “I texted Dad to let him know I’m okay.” I look over at my best friend. “You tell them I was here?” I don’t acknowledge the wedding bit. I can’t deal with that right now.

  “Of course not. Bros before… you know what I mean.”

  I let out a small laugh. It’s almost a real one. Then I want to kick myself in the ass. It’s almost a real one? When did I start talking like this? Thinking like this? My head is so screwed up, it’s like I’m not me anymore. I don’t do this moping shit. I don’t let people get to me. This is why I go for girls like Chastity, who only want one thing.

  I turn to Paul. “Let’s get drunk.”

  “Umm… okay?”

  “Seriously, we haven’t partied here in a while. I know we can find some people who want to chill.” I’m pacing now. Why didn’t I think of this before? It’s the perfect way to get my mind off stuff, to get back to just having fun and being me. “A few phone calls, and we can get this place packed. Think we can get beer? Yeah, I’m sure we can. My cell’s dead, but we can call some people from home on yours. I know some people here, too.”

  “Hey.” Paul steps in front of me. “Is this a personal conversation or can I join?”

  Without replying, I shake my head at him.

  “Dylan, let’s just chill. You know I’m down for any reason to party, but,” he shrugs. “I mean, I know about everything.”

  “Nope. Not going there.” I push open the sliding glass door and go inside. Paul’s right behind me. “We’re not Dr. Phil’in it.”

  He grabs my arm as I try to walk into the kitchen for the phone. “Dude, I’m your best friend. I know you, Dylan. Anyone would feel screwed up after all this. I mean, shit, she’s really back after all this time?”

  Ripping my arm away, I collapse in the kitchen chair. “You probably know more than I do. I didn’t stick around to find out the particulars, but yeah, she’s back. I don’t care about anything else.”

  “I don’t know any more than you do. Your dad called to see if you were with me, told me she was back, and I said I hadn’t seen you and came here.” He scratches his shaved head, obviously about to delve into territory we’re usually not in together. “If you like, wanna talk or whatever, we can get some beer, chill, talk, break stuff… whatever.”

  I kind of want to... to spill it all, but I can’t.

  “You want to help me? Then let’s get this house packed full of people. I want…” I want to forget. “I want to party.”

  Paul blows out a breath. “No.”

  His words make me stumble. Paul not want to party? Is the whole world falling apart, and I wasn’t told that either? “No? Fine. I’ll do it without you.”

  “She kissed that guy in the park, Dylan. I saw it. She didn’t bring us there because she wanted us to have a good time. She did it so she could hook up.”

  Red is all I see. I’m shaking as I turn on him. “What the hell are you talking about? Why are you bringing that stuff up now? Why are you lying?”

  “Because, bro, it’s time to man up. You know what it was like. I didn’t even live with you, and I know what it was like. She wasn’t happy. Hell, she didn’t give a shit. You’re never going to move on until you wake up and stop rewriting your own fucking past!”

  Unable to stop myself, I lunge, toppling into Paul and making him fall to the ground. He rolls, I roll, both of us trying to get the best of the other. My body is on fire. My head is gone now.

  “I didn’t rewrite my past! You’re just jealous because she did stuff with us your mom didn’t! How can you say that shit to me?”

  Another roll and Paul’s on top. “Because I’m your best friend, and I’m tired of seeing her win. After all this time, I’m tired of seeing her hurt you!”

  “So you decided to do it?” I yell at him.

  “No! I’m trying to tell you she didn’t deserve you guys. I’m trying to make you have a fucking life and not let her ruin it anymore.”

  My hands drop away from him and his from me. I’m sitting on the floor. Water wets my face, running down harder than Ziah’s rain. Paul is next to me. My chest hurts I’m breathing so hard, but I don’t know what to do. What to say.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean... I just think you need to acknowledge it or whatever. It wasn’t perfect like you want to believe it was.”

  He’s right. I know he’s right. I’m not sure if I knew all along and couldn’t admit it, if I blocked it out, or what. But I know.

  “I used to hear them sometimes… her yelling at him late at night. I think… I mean, I don’t remember it all, but I’m pretty sure she used to go out a lot. Leave me with Derrick. I thought it was fun.”

  But it wasn’t cool, was it? I’m sitting with my knees up, my back against the wall. My arms wrap around them, my head falls forward, and I let it out.

  “Why? Why couldn’t I see it before?”

  Paul shrugs. “I don’t know, man. Maybe it’s like post-partum depression or something.”

  Looking at him, I shake my head. “That’s for pregnant chicks, you idiot. It’s post-traumatic.”

  “That, too. Maybe you had both.”

  We laugh, and somehow I feel a little lighter. “None of you guys said anything. You, Derrick, Dad. You all just let me go around in freaking La La Land for years.”

  “That’s because we like… careforyouandshit.” He scratches his head, so I can’t see his face. He might have mumbled, but I heard him. Even if he didn’t speak, I heard him.

  “Yeah… yeah.”

  He scoots away, and we both stand up. Now I find it in me to feel a little weird. Not because I don’t trust him or that I think he’d tell anyone, just because… well, I just cried in front of my best friend.

  But somehow it doesn’t matter. “Seriously… Thanks.”

  Paul holds out his hand, and this time when we bump fists, our hands linger there a little.

  “You owe me one, though.” He doesn’t let me ask him what. “Don’t run. You’re not the type. Don’t let this shit eat you alive anymore, Dylan. She doesn’t deserve it. No. You don’t deserve it.”

  And he’s right. I have no idea how he got so smart or if he’s always been this smart, but I never saw it. Or he never showed me. He’s right though. I’m tried, so tired of running. Derrick got over it. Maybe Dad and I can too.

  “Can you get ahold of them? Tell them I want her to come here. Her. No one else.”

  Paul nods, takes out his phone, and then he’s gone.

  Twenty-Four

  ~ Ziah ~

  My alarm is piercing. Even more than normal. I know I fell asleep because I don’t remember Mom coming home and because I’m hanging on the edge of my bed banging the top of my stupid alarm. I snatch my phone off the floor as my fingers finally find the snooze button.

  Nothing.

  No replies to texts, no voicemails. Nothing. Am I on day two now? Three? Even Derrick said he was headed out of town to find him, leaving his fiancé behind. Tomorrow night is supposed to be the rehearsal dinner, and no one’s heard a word.

  I really, really thought if one of us was going to screw things
up, it would be him. And maybe he is the one screwing everything up, but it’s also me. One or two sentences would have kept him on the phone, but I didn’t say them. At the same time, I could have told him a million different times. “James and I are talking again. It’s awkward, and I’ll never be more than friends with him. But we’re talking.” And I didn’t.

  Then when Dylan called, maybe he wouldn’t have hung up. Maybe I could have cheered him up the way he’s done with me over and over. Instead he’s disappeared, and I know that part of it’s my fault.

  My heart drops. And then it drops again when I remember my calculus mid-term is today. Time to pretend the last bit of Ziah’s world didn’t just fall apart.

  ***

  There is no concentrating on anything. My brain won’t focus. I’m in this haze of frustration, anger, and sadness. Oh, and sleeplessness.

  I feel defeated after calculus. Everyone’s done with our test and is trying to relax and joke around on our last day before spring break. I’m trying to stay awake.

  James seems okay. He’s two rows over and a chair up from me. Rachelle is laughing with him in our final few minutes before the bell. And it hurts a bit. She’s not as pretty as me, which I know sounds mean, but she’s definitely sweeter. James looks half-interested, and I’m sure it won’t take much for him to be wholly interested.

  I’m staring at the way he’s looking at her. Sort of like the way we started looking at one another more than a year ago. Definitely interested. But cautious. Our eyes catch just before the bell rings. I leap out of my chair to get to the door before he catches me.

  Talking to James isn’t high on my list. Except… I sort of left him hanging at my house the other day. Crap.

  “Ziah!” He steps up behind me almost touching as I stop at my locker. We may be broken up, but after so much time together, he has no problem invading my personal space.

  “What’s up?” I try my best neutral smile.

  “No offense, but you look like hell.” He leans sideways on the locker next to mine. It’s not a “James” thing to do. He doesn’t lean.