The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,283

the bucket by 30, max. So, I’m not gonna get married or have kids. Better not to have people left behind who need me.”

“But…that’s ridiculous,” she sputters.

“Tell that to Selena, Ricky Valens, Tupac, Kurt Cobain, River Phoenix, James Dean.” I counter.

“Are you serious?”

“You look like I just told you I was from Mars.”

She groans. “So, what about Oprah Winfrey, Margaret Thatcher, Vera Wang, Betty White, Viola Davis?”

“Violin who?”

She darts an unimpressed glare in my direction and shakes her head in disappointment.

“I’m going to teach you some women’s history while you’re cleaning. They’re all legends who have lived long after their moment of glory. My dad died young; I know my time could come any day. But that just makes me want to do something worth being remembered for. Your life will have more than one peak, and more than one valley. You might die young and it’s good to live like this might be your last day, because hell. who knows? But you better plan like you’re gonna be here until you’re a hundred and three.”

“And, we’re here,” she announces breezily, oblivious to the seismic shift her words have caused inside me. She pops the trunk before turning to face me. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yup.” I croak and grab the door handle.

“Oooh, I almost forgot. One sec…” She reaches into the back seat, pulls out a white wax lined bakery bag and holds it out to me.

“Scones. In case you get hungry between classes tomorrow.”

I take the bag and hope that she can see the gratitude in my eyes. I’m afraid that if I try to speak, I’ll cry.

I hold the bag with as much delicacy as I can while I walk my bike up to the side entrance. I turn to look back at where she dropped me off, she’s still there watching until she’s sure I’m going to get inside safely, something my own mother has never done. I lift a hand to return her wave goodbye and slip past the gate.

That night, for the first time since my stepfather died, I don’t cry myself to sleep.

Chapter 4

Just My Imagination

Stone

The last four months have been the best of my whole life. Regan gave me more than a place to study; she transformed my whole life. When I walked into class the morning after my first night with her, the ever present ball of dread in my gut wasn’t so heavy.

I’d been afraid to fight back because I didn’t want to get kicked out. But I saw their faces when she reminded them that I’m a Rivers and I know they don’t want trouble either. They only pick on me because I let them.

The next time they cornered me, I swung my backpack at the one whose face was closest and broke his nose.

He bled all over the hallway.

We were both hauled to the principal’s office, and before I could say anything, he announced that I’d hit him accidentally.

They never bothered me again.

It only took me one month to work enough hours to earn the $500 I owed her. When she told me my tab was settled, I kept coming anyway. With my bullies vanquished I didn’t need the space to study anymore. So, I started spending the entire evening with her in the kitchen.

She’s a universe of knowledge and she shares it all with me. From baking to history, politics to Pokémon evolution, she knows everything. And when she’s talking to me, I get the feeling that she’s been waiting to tell someone all the things she’s sharing with me.

Some nights, we just listen to music and work on our own. She plays music I’ve never heard before. Her favorite is “Just my Imagination” by The Temptations. When that comes on, she sings along. Her voice is nice enough. But it’s the smile she wears when she’s singing it that makes it my favorite.

Other times, she brings her laptop and gives me an education on movies shot in Houston. We watched Terms of Endearment, Jason’s Lyric, Armageddon, and Selena. All of them were sad, but Selena is the only one that made her cry.

And on the nights when we get every scone off the cookie sheets, without any of them sticking, she plays this song called “Southside” and makes me dance with her. She smells like those scones she makes: lemon and ginger and vanilla… I could smell it all day, every day, and still never get tired of it.

The loud, long screech of a car horn shakes me