Darius the Great Deserves Better - Adib Khorram Page 0,35

was dark when the bus pulled back into the student parking lot at Chapel Hill High School.

“Good job today, guys. Get some sleep.”

A row of cars lined the curb, parents picking up their sons. Some of the seniors headed deeper into the lot to pick up their cars and give their friends rides. I grabbed my bag and one of Coach’s and helped her inside.

“Good work today, Darius,” she said.

“Thanks, Coach, but I didn’t do much.”

She smiled.

“You never give yourself enough credit.”

“Well.”

“Your parents waiting for you?”

“I rode my bike.”

“All right. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. See you.”

I grabbed my messenger bag and helmet out of my locker and went out to the bike racks.

Chip Cusumano was there too. He’d unlocked his bike, but it was lying on its side in the grass next to the curb, where he was sitting with his chin in his hands.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.”

I sat down next to him, but with a good foot between us, because I was still feeling weird about getting an erection when I was changing next to him, and the way my skin hummed when he was close to me.

I didn’t like it.

I didn’t like that my body responded to him the same way it did to Landon. Like it didn’t matter who it was I actually liked.

Like it didn’t matter who I wanted.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah. I guess.”

He looked out into the parking lot. Orange cones of light dotted the empty asphalt, catching the misty rain that had begun to fall.

I ran my hands through my hair at the same time Chip did, trying to get the damp bits out of our eyes.

Chip made a popping sound with his lips. “It just sucks.”

“What does?”

“My sister is mad I couldn’t take care of Evie. Like it wasn’t my brother’s night in the first place. And my mom is taking her side.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Right? It’s like, it’s not my job to fix all their messes. But for some reason everyone expects me to be ‘the mature one.’ The one who’s got it all figured out.” He sighed and flopped back, stretching his arms over his head into the wet grass behind him. “I never get to be the one who needs help.”

I leaned back too, using my hoodie to protect the back of my head, and rested my hands on my stomach. The misty rain tickled my eyelashes.

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.” Chip leaned over to look at me. “Whoa.”

“What?”

“You just have really long eyelashes, dude.”

My cheeks burned.

“Oh. It’s a Persian thing.”

“Huh.”

Chip stared upward again.

“Sorin’s always been a mess. And Ana was never really responsible until she had Evie. And Mom’s got her hands full with both of them, and now Evie too.”

Chip ran a hand through his hair again, leaving it even messier than before.

Somehow, it made his whole face look more open.

Vulnerable, even.

“It’s like, they already sucked up all the air in the house. Now there’s Evie too. And I love her, god I love her, but what’s left for me? Nothing.”

“I’m sorry. That really sucks.”

“Yeah. Well. I’m pretty sure I’m Evie’s favorite at least. She can’t even say Sorin’s name.”

“Sorin’s your brother?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s kind of a cool name, though.”

Chip snorted.

“Sorin?”

“Yeah.”

“Better than Cyprian at least.”

“What do you mean? I like Cyprian.”

“No one can spell it.”

“What does it mean?”

“Man from Cyprus.”

“It suits you. I mean, you seem like a Cyprian.”

“Thanks,” Chip said.

And then he said, “Hard to beat being named after a king, though.”

“Technically Darius the Great was an emperor.”

“Yeah, well. Darius suits you too.”

My ears burned. I thought maybe the rain would start steaming off them. “Thanks.”

“And it’s cool you have this, like, connection. With your family back in Iran.”

“I guess. It’s hard sometimes too. I’m still only a Fractional Persian. And sometimes the Persian part is all that matters. And sometimes, the American part is too much of a barrier.”

Chip looked at me for a second.

I blinked away the rain.

“You know what?” he asked.

But before he could finish, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out and held it above his head, typing into it as a grin crept across his face.

He sat back up. “Sorry. That was Trent.”

“Oh.”

I still couldn’t wrap my brain around the idea of Trent Bolger, Soulless Uncle of Orthodoxy.

It seemed to violate some fundamental law of the universe.

I sat up and wiped my palms on my knees.

“I’m gonna go hang out with him. You want to come?”

I stared at Cyprian Cusumano as my brain experienced a cascade failure.

Maybe when you’re a guy like Chip Cusumano, and Trent Bolger has always