The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,282

her.

“Well…I’m made of sterner stuff than some old saint. Besides, you’re like me…a giver. And I’ve heard it said somewhere, that when two givers get together, it’s like…alchemy.” Her eyes twinkle and this body that's always felt too small for the soul inside it, relaxes and I draw in a deep lungful of air. And then she says the words that, later on, I’ll recall as the ones that made my heart hers forever. “I water you, you water me. Together, we’re going to grow.”

“You did good. Cleaning up my colossal messes just might be your calling.” It’s a few minutes past midnight and Regan just locked up the store.

“As if it takes any talent to wash dishes,” I grumble, glad the dark is hiding the blush that blooms at her praise.

She nudges my shoulder as we make our way down the main street of Rivers Wilde. “I don’t know if it takes talent, but it certainly takes determination to scrub every last burned-on crumb off those cookie sheets. I used to think spotless baking pans were the sign of a dispassionate baker. Now, I’ll think of them as fruits of a committed dishwasher’s labor.”

We walk in silence the rest of the way to her blue Mustang and she pops the trunk for me to drop my BMX inside the surprisingly roomy compartment. When she starts the car, music blares from the speakers so loud that it rattles the windows. She winces and turns the volume down to just above audible.

“Sorry, I listen to it like that when I’m alone.”

“It’s cool,” I shrug and stare out into the night, still lost in my thoughts as we make our way toward the exit of Rivers Wilde.

She didn’t go easy on me tonight. She gave me all the work she would have done if I wasn’t there. And I loved every minute of it.

I’d never washed a dish in my life before – I’ve been missing out. It feels good to see that sparkling, empty sink after it was with dirty whisks, mixing bowls and measuring spoons.

In fact, the whole night was nice. Everyone else treats my enjoyment of hard work as a flaw. “Chill, kid,” or some variation of that sentiment is a common refrain from my brothers, parents and teachers.

“I failed second grade.” Her unexpected statement draws my eyes to her. She’s got her eyes on the road, but her jaw flexes in sync with her hands’ grip on the steering wheel.

“Why?” I ask.

She shrugs, but her jaw is still tense.

“I failed math, social studies, and science.”

“Yeah but, why?”

“According to my report card, I didn’t grasp the material.” She glances at me again; her expression has gone from embarrassed to assessing.

“But that can’t be why,” I press because I can’t believe she’s ever failed to grasp anything.

She shakes her head and chuckles. “You're the first person to ever say that. So, I’ll tell you why, but you have to swear that you’re not some sort of spy for your family.”

Family. How I wish. Longing twists like a hook in my heart. “Hayes and my little brothers are my only family and they can’t afford to hire me yet. So, don’t worry. Your secrets are safe with me.”

She exhales the way my mother does when she’s trying to calm her nerves. “I didn’t want to be in the same class with my twin brother for the rest of my life.”

That’s the last thing I expected her to say. “Didn’t you have to live together, too?”

“I didn’t hate him. It was everyone else. He’s great at everything. He’s charming, and funny, and smart. They couldn’t help but compare us, and I was never anyone’s favorite.” She says it like it doesn’t matter, and maybe it doesn’t, anymore. But, if she failed a grade and added an entire year to school to get away from him, it must have mattered a whole lot. “I’m sorry,” I say and hate how dumb it sounds.

“Don’t be. It was one year, and I've recovered nicely. I know it must make you twitchy seeing how you’re in a rush and all.”

That hook twists tighter “Not by choice. I have to take care of my brothers. I’ll peak early and then, I’ll do an Aaliyah or a Biggie, and that’ll be it.”.

“What?” she chuckles.

“They all peaked early and died early. I’m ten, and five years ahead in school. Figure I’ll finish college by the time I’m 18, and then I’ll get a job, kick butt and then kick