by Naomi Niles
“Yes, sir.”
The man must be waiting for the cops to arrive. My stomach took that moment to rumble. A loud and long sound that was unmistakable. The man’s face softened. “You hungry?”
“Yes, sir.”
Well, what was I supposed to say? My stomach had just sang a song if its people, so I couldn’t deny it. “What’s your name?”
“Dylan.”
“You got a last name?”
“Cabot.”
I licked my lips. I had no idea how I was getting out of this situation. Fuck. Shit. This had been stupid of me. If my mother was even awake, she was going to be pissed. I bet she’d let me stay in jail all night.
“Dylan Cabot who is hungry and trying to steal my car. Well, Dylan Cabot, it’s your lucky day. I haven’t called the cops and I won’t call the cops if you do me a favor.”
Shit, I’d do anything at this point. “Sure.”
“Let me take you home. I’m sure someone is worried about you.”
I shook my head. “No. No one.”
“We’ll get takeout on the way so you have something to eat. If I let go, are you going to run? Remember, I know your name, now.”
I shook my head, the lure of food pretty strong. If I had enough food, I’d eat all the time. “No.”
He let go of my hand and my better judgement prevailed because I didn’t run.
“Now, let’s switch places, and I’ll take you home,” the man said.
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Rob Dean,” he said, holding out his hand.
I shook it then we both climbed out of the car. I looked at him for a moment, unsure if he was joking. I had tried to steal his car and now he was buying me dinner and driving me home. What bizarre world had I stepped into.
“Buckle up,” Mr. Dean said when I climbed back into the car.
I really expected Ashton Kutcher to jump out and tell me that I’ve been punked.
“It’s okay, son. You care what fast food we stop at?”
“Uh, no sir,” I said.
I’d eat garbage at this point, which was probably what would have happened. I’d have gone dumpster diving behind the burger joint. Now, I was actually getting food from it.
But tomorrow I’d wake up hungry, so I might as well enjoy this meal now.
***
When we got closer to my house, I turned to Mr. Dean. “You can let me out here.”
“No, I’m taking you all of the way. I’m not going to tell your parents what you did.”
I clutched the bag of food he’d bought me while I searched for a way to get him to stop. He didn’t need to see the trailer I lived in. He didn’t need to see my mother in her bathrobe, assuming she was even awake. If she lost her job today, she would be drinking. Among other things.
I couldn’t have been more embarrassed. “No, really. I need to get out here. My driveway is rutted and it’ll do damage to your car.”
“No go, son. I take you all the way there or I take you to the police station.”
Shit. I frowned at him and didn’t say anything until we reached the driveway.
“See. It’s a mess. You don’t need to damage your car.”
Mr. Dean eyed the driveway then pulled off the road. “Then, we’ll walk the rest of the way.”
I looked at his nice pants and dress shoes. It had rained this morning. “You’re going to get muddy.”
“Everything is replaceable.”
Spoken like a man with a big paycheck. I climbed out of the car. At least, I could find a path that wouldn’t be so muddy.
The trailer I lived in was at the end of a long driveway. A rotted car sat to one side of the driveway. My mother said it had been hers, but it broke down and she couldn’t get it fixed. She’d been relying on rides from coworkers and several had let her down. That’s why she was fired. She hadn’t shown up for a few shifts this week.
I would have to apply for food stamps again, posing as her online, but I needed a computer for that. I had figured out how to get internet. A neighbor hadn’t secured their network and I could use it if I stayed at one end of the trailer.
“Is anyone home?”
“I only live here with my mother. She may already be asleep.”
“This early?”
“She works odd hours.”
Or in this case, doesn’t work. Mr. Dean nodded. “Okay, but I’d like to meet her.”
“I’ll see if I can wake her.”
I opened the front door. The smell hit me. She hadn’t cleaned. I hadn’t cleaned. In weeks. I tried to spend as little time here as possible, but I knew that sometimes my mother needed me to take care of her.
My mother was passed out on the couch when I turned on the light. Mr. Dean pulled out his phone. “Go check her. I’ll call an ambulance.”
He was barely inside the house and I could see he was wrinkling up his nose. I checked my mother. She was still breathing. “Mom.”
She didn’t stir. I blinked at her then shook her harder. “Mom.”
Mr. Dean put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, Dylan. The ambulance is on the way.”
The police arrived first, but there was nothing they could do. She wasn’t responding, but she was breathing. Then, the paramedics worked on her.
“Let’s go outside, Dylan,” Mr. Dean said.
He stood with me while the cops asked me questions. He kept his hand on my shoulder and for that moment, someone had my back. No had ever had my back. Not in my entire life.
“You came here and just found her like this?” the officer asked me.
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Does she drink?”
“Yes.”
I couldn’t look him in the eye. I could tell he was viewing me with pity. I didn’t want anyone’s pity. I wanted a hand out of this place, but that was never going to happen. I was eighteen – too old to be put into the system.
I was on my own having been dealt a shit hand.
“Does she do drugs?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
Always nice to have one’s life laid out for strangers. I wanted to eat my burger and go to bed. Forget that this all happened. Or figure out another way to get a computer. Anything but stand here while these two men dissected his life.
“Okay. I need to talk to the paramedics. Do you know what drugs she does?”
“No sir. I never paid attention.”
My mother had taught me call all adult males sir. It was probably the only thing good thing she taught me. When I glanced up at him, the officer nodded, but he didn’t look as if he believed me.
I wanted to shout that I had bigger plans for myself than a trailer in the woods. Maybe I’d go into the military or to trade school. I just had to figure out how to get out of high school alive.
The paramedics took my mother out of the house. She still hadn’t woken up yet. If she died, I was going to have to quit school to make money. Otherwise, I’d have no place to live. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I wanted to punch something. Mr. Dean squeezed my shoulder. “Dylan will come home with me.”
“He’s eighteen, he can do what he wants,” the officer said.
The both stared at me. I still had the sack of burgers in my hand. I really just wanted to eat them.
“How about you eat your dinner, then you can decide. Hard to think on an empty stomach,” Mr. Dean suggested.
I nodded, then followed him in. I didn’t look at the couch. I just sat in the kitchen. I could hear Mr. Dean moving around in the living room. He finally sat down with me as I finished my food. I did feel better.
“You are free to do what you want, Dylan, but I suggest you come home with me. I have a bedroom for you and we can figure out what’s next.”
I nodded. It was the best offer I’d gotten in awhile.
Chapter Two
Taylor
Mom had picked me up and told me that Dad had been out. I loved my mom, but I enjoyed the time in the car with my dad. He was m
uch more laid back than my mother and I could talk to him about so much.
I could ask him about boys and he wouldn’t get upset or tell me that I couldn’t date certain boys. I was eighteen, and he respected that I needed a little more freedom. My mom was all about the appearances – what I looked like and who I hung out with.
It was so annoying. All I wanted to do was go to school, cheerlead, and hang out with my friends. Why do I have to be bothered about what I look like? People like me. I’m smart, sort of. I get so disgusted by her.
She makes me show her how I look before school every day. I know how to dress. She taught me, after all. I thought she should leave me alone. We don’t talk the whole ride home. When we got there, Dad’s car was in the driveway.
I hopped out to go see my daddy. I missed our talk on the ride home. I had a question for him that I didn’t think my mom could answer. Flying in the front door, I stopped dead at the strange guy sitting in my living room.
“What are you doing here?”
The boy stood. He looked a little familiar, but I was scared.
“I’m Dylan. Your father brought me home,” he said.
“Dylan? Where’s my father?” I raced down the hall to the kitchen before he could answer. “Daddy?”
“What, pumpkin?”
I stopped in the doorway to the kitchen. My dad was putting food on a plate.
“Who is that guy in the living room?”
“That’s Dylan Cabot.”
I had heard of him. He was a burnout and bad news. Why was he in my living room? My friends were coming over after dinner. “Why is he here?”
“He had no place to stay, and his mother is in the hospital,” he said.
It still didn’t make sense. “How did you meet him?”
“That not important, pussycat. He’s staying with us for a few days.”
I blinked. “Staying with us? Does Mom know?”
“Not yet.”
The front door closed and my mother strode into the kitchen. “What is that tattooed boy doing in our living room?”
“Relax, Mallory. He needed a place to stay, so I offered him one of our bedrooms. We have more than we need.”
“He looks like trouble.”
“Well, he is in trouble and I’d appreciate you being nice to him. The kid’s had it rough, and he needs our help.”
“Robert Dean, you are a softy. Do you have a plan?”
“Not yet. But I will.”
She frowned. My mother didn’t like people in the house. She only tolerated my friends because we went into the basement and she couldn’t hear us. My mother could be a bitch. I bet she was going to give Dad a hard time about Dylan after I went to bed.
“Dylan,” my dad yelled.
The boy appeared in the kitchen doorway looking at all of us as if we were going to challenge his right to be there. As long as he stayed out of my way, we’d be fine. I had no time for sullen teen boys when I had my eye on the quarterback of the football team.
“Here’s some food. Eat.”
“You already fed me,” he said.
His voice was deep, more like a man than he looked. He was skinny and a tattoo snaked up his arm into his shirt. I wasn’t sure I liked tattoos, and it made him look a little scary.
“Well, Dylan, I guess you’ll be our guest for a little while,” my mom said.
As much as she didn’t want him here, she still had manners. You know, all about appearances and such.
“Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate it.”
He took a spot on a stool at our kitchen island, then dug into the food Dad had offered him.
“Dylan, this is my daughter, Taylor,” he said.
Dylan looked at me, then through me. “Hello. You’re in my math class.”
Okay. I hadn’t seen him, but I might not notice someone like him. He wasn’t in the crowd I hung out with.
***
I was hungry, but I didn’t really want to eat with Dylan. He ate like he hadn’t seen food in years. Did he never eat in public?
“I’m going to take my plate downstairs,” I said.
My mother nodded. My father frowned. “You might as well eat with Dylan and me. Are you eating, honey?”
My mother shook her head. “No, I have a meeting tonight.”
She eyed Dylan as if she didn’t want to leave him alone in the house, like a new dog that might not be housetrained. At least my mother could escape. My father gave me a look that told me I couldn’t argue with him. I did anyway.
“I have friends coming over to study.”
“You can eat a plate of food before they get here,” he said. “You could invite Dylan to meet your friends.”
Before I could disagree, Dylan said it. “I don’t think so, sir. I have my own homework.”
My father eyed us then shrugged. “Okay. Do you need a computer? I think we have an older laptop laying around here somewhere. Where is that, Taylor?”
“It’s in the den, Daddy.”
I put some stew on my plate. I had snacks in the basement. My father made sure there was food down there, much to the chagrin of my mother. He would rather me have friends over where he could keep an eye on us. He was sure I was going to get into some kind of trouble.
Whatevs. Not like there weren’t many other hours in a day that I could get up to trouble. They didn’t really know when cheerleading practice ended. Not that I really got up to anything.
I had a beer at a party once and I had wanted to throw up. I waited until I felt normal again before I drove home. No one was the wiser, but it scared me.
So, I didn’t drink.
Not worth it. I’d bet Dylan partied every night. What would my Dad think of that?
“Dylan, you said you and Taylor are in the same math class?”
“Yes, sir.”
He put down his fork. I could see another tattoo on his other arm. How many did he have? Did they hurt? I didn’t want to ask. Dylan and I didn’t travel in the same social circles. I doubted that we even knew the same people.
“How are you doing in it?”
“Well, sir. I’m good at math.”
He looked like he was good at math, but I thought, but kept quiet and chewed. I braced for what my father was going to say next.
“Could you help Taylor with it?”
Dylan looked at her as if he was afraid she would bite. “Uh, if she wants me to.”
“Not tonight, Daddy. I have friends coming,” I said.
I didn’t want Dylan around me. Really, I didn’t. What had Daddy been thinking bringing him home? Weren’t there shelters for people like him?
“Okay, sweetheart, but it sounds like Dylan could help you get your grade up.”
I didn’t frown, but I wanted to. “Sure, Daddy. We can get together this weekend.”
Dylan nodded, then went back to his food. I escaped not long after. I set up snacks in a few bowls along with some chocolate – just the study food we needed.
The basement had its own entrance so my mother didn’t have to be bothered by people. Helena Charney, my best friend, arrived first.
“Hey, girl.”
We hugged. She was different from most of our friends. She wasn’t that into fashion, just enough that my other friends didn’t bug me about her – because they would. I once wore last year’s style to school and I never heard the end of it. I almost called my mother to come get me.
When I told her, she took me shopping that afternoon.
I’ve never worn last year’s clothing again.
Helena had put a purple streak in her brunette hair, and I worried that no one else would like it. “Why did you do that?”
She shrugged. “Just felt like it.”
“You look like a goth.”
“Hardly. It’s one streak of purple, Taylor.”
I kept quiet, opening my books to study. I had a report due the next day and would type it when everyone left.
Next into the basement came the B girls. Bailey and Barb
ie were twins and everyone just called them the B girls because it was tough to tell them apart. I could. Bailey was nicer than Barbie. Her hair was also a little darker than Barbie’s.
“Cheers, bitches,” Bailey said. “I have a report and I need a lot of help.”
Helena rolled her eyes. Bailey needed help all of the time. I often wondered what she was going to do in college when we weren’t there. The B girls dropped onto the couch while Helena grabbed some chips.
When I heard footsteps on the stairs, I expected to see my dad. He’d come down if my mother wasn’t there so he could steal some junk food. Instead, it was Dylan.
The B girls gasped. Bailey mouthed, “Is that Dylan Cabot?”
I nodded. “Can I help you, Dylan?”
“Your dad sent me down for a bag of chips,” he said.
He glanced at all of the girls, but his face showed nothing.
“The chips are in the closet,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t linger since he was coming across a little creepy.
He grabbed a bag. “Thanks.”
He trudged back up the stairs. Barbie squealed. “What is he doing in your house? He’s like a burnout or a druggy or something.”
“My father brought him home. You know how he is with strays,” I said.
That was really the only explanation.
“I think he’s kind of hot,” Bailey said.
“Hot? He’s bad news. He was caught stealing from the dollar store. The dollar store. I mean, really,” Barbie said.
I had heard many stories about Dylan and wondered if I should share them with Daddy. He should know who he invited into our house. “I think it’s for a few days while his mother is in the hospital.”
“Still, he has the bad boy mystique. Do you really think he’s had sex with as many girls as I’ve heard?” Barbie said. She shivered a little, but I could tell she was thinking it might be a good idea.
“Who told you he had sex with a lot of girls?” I asked. I was curious, okay?
Barbie shrugged. “I heard some girls talking in the bathroom. He picks the uggos, from what I can tell. Guess they’re more desperate.”
“I think he could get any girl he wanted,” Bailey said.
Oh, crap. Bailey crushed on anything with a penis. The last thing I needed was her inventing reasons to be here because of Dylan. “He’ll be gone in a few days, so we really don’t need to talk about him.”