Stand-Off (24 page)

It got really quiet. Except for scorpion-curry dude on TV.

“If I asked you
what
, Sam?”

“I feel sad for you, Ryan Dean. Something bad happened to you, didn't it?”

Quiet again.

“Yeah. Something pretty bad.”

“Well, there's nothing wrong with asking someone for help, you know.”

“You're twelve years old. You can't help me, but thanks.”

“I wasn't talking about
me
, Ryan Dean. I was talking about Mrs. Dvorak, the school psychologist,” Sam said.

“Did Annie say something to you about me?”

“Um . . . I don't know,” the Abernathy said. “Would that be breaking the boyfriend code if she did?”

“Just talking to your roommate's girlfriend is a violation of the roommate code, Sam.”

“Oh. Sorry. Well, I go and talk to Mrs. Dvorak about once a week.”

“You? Why?”

Now scorpion-curry foodie dude was drinking beer, at sunrise, and eating something brothy in a bowl. And there was an actual chicken head in the bowl. Gross.

“You know, Ryan Dean. I told you. It's because I feel like I don't belong here with all you older guys, and my claustrophobia, and how embarrassed I am about everything.”

Someone like the Abernathy could keep a psychologist gainfully employed for a long time, I thought. And then I found myself wondering if the Abernathy also told her about the no-hair-around-his-wiener thing, and then I really wanted to slap myself because the Abernathy's wiener was something I
never
wanted to think about again, even though—since it was the Abernathy—I was certain he did tell her exactly that.

And he continued, “Anyway, I think Mrs. Dvorak is nice. She's helped me a lot.”

I yawned. “Okay. Whatever. Sam? If my thing happens again tonight . . . well, I'm sorry in advance if it does.”

“Don't be scared, Ryan Dean. I'll be here. And you know what?”

“What?”

“I would have never gotten out of that well when I was four if people didn't come to help me.”

No. Do not say something smart now, Sam. You're only twelve; therefore, you are not allowed to make such observations to me.

“Good night, Sam.”

“Good night, Ryan Dean. Thanks again for the comic, and for being my friend.”

Also, no. I could not be friends with Sam Abernathy.

Right?

I shut my eyes and went to sleep. I dreamed about being with Annie Altman by the creek in the woods. The dream was a solid five out of five yapping Pomeranians on the Ryan Dean West Scale of Things That Keep Copilot Two Up All Night Long.

But Copilot One slept like a comatose sloth.

And
my thing
did not happen.

I GAVE A NOTE FOR
Sam to pass on to Coach M, explaining that I'd be late to practice.

I also wrote a note to Annie, which I gave her at breakfast. And breakfast was awfully weird and quiet. I hated it.

I think Annie and I were both embarrassed and weirded out by what we did the day before. Also, I couldn't quite figure out if she was mad at me, if I did something wrong, or what was going on. And the whole thing was even weirder because Spotted John Nygaard sat right beside me (and he
accidentally
touched my knee, the douche), while Seanie Flaherty sat right next to Annie, which, all things considered, created a Jupiter-size planet of weirdness around our little breakfast group. And Copilot Two took the opportunity to make an announcement from the flight deck that he was taking over the controls of Ryan Dean West Airlines for a while and wanted to let me know that the best way for Annie and me to get over the weirdness we felt would be for us to do it again, but this time with condoms, which—as weird as it made me feel—I thought was a pretty awesome idea, considering it came from Copilot Two, who usually only had terrible ideas.

So, that's a lot of weird. And it was only breakfast.

Dear Annie,

How are you? I am fine. Well, kind of. I hope you are not too weirded out by what we did yesterday, because I am just a little weirded out, but not so much that I wouldn't do it again in, like, a second. Well, I'm pretty sure I would. I hope you're not mad at me about yesterday, Annie. That would kill me.

Can I tell you one thing?

(Ryan Dean West waits for an answer, which I am assuming will be a yes.)

Okay, it is this: I love you more than anything or anyone in the world, Annie. Just saying it (well, writing it) makes me feel happy inside.

But you know, there are other things going on in the Ryan Dean West interior that are making me not very happy, and I really don't know what to do about them, so I am going to take your (and Sam Abernathy's—God help me!) advice. I made an appointment to see Mrs. Dvorak today at twelve thirty, which, as you know, is during lunch, so I will not be able to spend the whole hour with you.

It is okay with me if you hang with Sam Abernathy, as long as you keep telling him to stop talking, which is something he needs to be reminded of almost constantly.

Maybe you could write me a note, so I can read it while I'm waiting outside Mrs. Dvorak's office, which I am already getting nervous about, just thinking about being there. And maybe your note will tell me that you aren't mad at me, and that I didn't do anything bad or clumsy with you yesterday.

I really want to kiss you so bad right now.

I also totally wouldn't mind “going for a run” too. (Ha ha)

Sometimes I really hate this school.

Love,

Ryan Dean West

PS—Remind me to ask you two questions (not about you or me), about Isabel and Seanie. And you better spill what you know, girl.

I'll be honest: I did not want to go see Mrs. Dvorak.

But I wanted Annie to be happy with me, so I figured if the Abernathy had the balls to spill the intimate details of his hairless wiener to a school psychologist, then maybe I could do it too. Well, not the hairless-wiener part. But you know what I mean.

I seriously have to never think about that again.

Anyway, like I said, I had to
force myself
to get better. You can do that, right?

I mean, I hadn't skipped any meals in over a day, and I even grabbed two sandwiches from the lunch cart where I met Annie, so
I could take them with me and eat one before my
therapy session
, and then one more before rugby practice.

Annie understood when I told her I didn't want her to come with me to Mrs. Dvorak's. She had a softer, more relaxed look in her eyes that told me things were okay and maybe we should just get over ourselves and stop being so freaked out about the fact that we'd had real, one-on-one, mutually pleasing sexual contact. Because as far as Copilot Two and I were concerned, it was something that needed to happen again—and soon. And that was probably the biggest reason why I took Annie's advice about speaking to Mrs. Dvorak. I had to show Annie that I would do anything for her, in case there was ever any doubt.

So I sat in the waiting area outside Mrs. Dvorak's office, worrying about everything she might want to dig into, and wondering if maybe I had a disgusting piece of sandwich lettuce stuck to my front teeth. I gave them a quick index-finger brush, then unfolded the note Annie had handed me before I left.

Her note was written on the back of one of Annie's British Literature assignments—a paragraph about some dude tearing the arm off some monster named Grendel.

Dear Ryan Dean,

Thank you for the note today. Do you realize you wrote it on the back of your Health class
homework paragraph? So, you actually did your TSE in the bathroom while Sam was on the other side of the door doing the same thing on himself???

Boys are sooooooo weird.

Really. Really. Weird.

Anyway, in response to your first question, I am fine, thank you. Also, I am not “weirded out” about what we did yesterday. I think you are beautiful.

I'm happy.

I'm happy because I love you so much, and I'm proud of you for being brave and open with me, and for having the courage to talk to Mrs. Dvorak. This will be good, Ryan Dean. You will see. You need to be happy again. I love seeing you when you're just your normal, extremely goofy self, because it makes everything so much brighter.

I was a little bit mad at you last night because you wouldn't consider talking to someone about what's going on, but mostly it made me sad because there was nothing I could do about it if you insisted on being stubborn, which is something you're
very good at. I wonder what happened to change your mind? Did Sam talk you into it?

I like hanging out with Sam Abernathy, by the way, and I don't think he talks too much. He really likes you, Ryan Dean. You're his hero, do you know that? You know what he said to me? He told me he wishes he could be like Ryan Dean West. You should really try to be nice to him once in a while.

As for the last part—I really want to kiss you right now too, Ryan Dean. And, you know . . . next time we “go for a run,” we should find somewhere nice and indoors.

Love,

Annie Altman xxoo

First off, it was not actually my Health homework that I'd written my note on—it was just a
draft
. I thought Annie would appreciate it. At least I didn't write it on a page where someone is tearing someone else's arm off. And, second, the Abernathy could be more careful of what he wishes for. He already was
exactly
like me, which is a completely pathetic confession to make. But, more important, Annie said “next time,” and that made me feel all tingly
and conspiratorial about finding some indoor place where we could be alone. Copilot Two was definitely enthusiastic about the idea, which was probably not good timing, because just then Mrs. Dvorak came out of her office and smiled at me.

“Are you Ryan Dean?”

Gardening. Risotto. Baseball. Sam Abernathy. Please go away, Copilot Two!

I desperately wished there were some effective means by which I could deny being me, so I could remain seated for, like, ten more minutes.

“Uh. Uh. Yes. Yes, I am.”

I am really stupid sometimes.

Most of the time.

“Nice to meet you. I'm Mrs. Dvorak.”

She put her hand out to shake, which meant I
had
to stand up. I wasn't raised by wolves, after all.

I pretended to “drop” (picture me using air quotes) my book bag so I could momentarily avoid the handshake, bend down, and try to get Copilot Two parked at the gate.

Did it.

The seat belt sign came off. I stood up and shook Mrs. Dvorak's cool, soft hand.

Okay, so, I had never seen Mrs. Dvorak before, but just hearing the name caused me to conjure a mental image of an old hunchbacked
woman in a lab coat, when, in fact, Mrs. Dvorak was a piping hot five out of five bowls of Ethiopian Doro Wat on the Ryan Dean West Totally-Hot-Things-Whose-Names-Make-No-Sense-to-Me Scale.

What was wrong with me?

Mrs. Dvorak said, “You don't need to feel nervous, Ryan Dean. We're just going to talk about whatever you're comfortable talking about. Relax.”

Tell that to Copilot Two,
I thought.

MRS. DVORAK:
So. You're in twelfth grade, and fifteen years old?

RYAN DEAN WEST:
Yes, ma'am.

MRS. DVORAK:
You must be very smart.

RYAN DEAN WEST:
(
Blushes. Yes, I do that too sometimes.
) Oh. Thank you.

MRS. DVORAK:
Can you tell me a little bit about yourself?

RYAN DEAN WEST:
Like what?

MRS. DVORAK:
Oh, just like where you're from, what your family is like, your friends, the things you do here at school, and maybe the kinds of things you enjoy doing when you're on your own.

Side note: I am a fifteen-year-old boy. If she thinks I'm going to tell her everything I do during—air quotes—
alone time,
she's out of her mind.