Changing Tyler-Chapter Five

When I reached the library, Dylan was sitting at a petite table near the back of the room, legs stretched underneath, feet planted on the seat of the chair across from him. this chab was looking down, picking at his nails, obviously bored out of his mind. There were no books, no pencils, and no paper anywhere in sight.

“Hi,” I said, standing awkwardly in front of the table. I wasn’t sure where to sit. My first inclination was to sit across from him, but that would mean having to dump his feet off the chair, and I just didn’t have the nerve to do that. Should I drag a chair over and sit next to him? I’d at no time be able to concentrate with him being that close. No, I decided, his feet were going to have to go. I moved to the chair, setting my backpack on the table in front of it, hoping he’d acquire the hint.

“Hey,” Dylan answered. God, that guy had a great voice. Deep, rumbling, just a little bit gravelly.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said. this chab moved his feet and I sat down. I busied myself digging out Grayle’s tutor packet, our English IV textbook, a pad of lined paper, and a pen. I slid the paper and pen toward Dylan. “For notes,” I told when this guy looked at me questioningly.

this guy picked up the pen and immediately began clicking it, his thumb repeatedly depressing the button at the top of the pen until it sounded like a cricket on a crack. Sheesh. You’d think this guy was nervous or smth. I shook the odd thought out of my head and opened the packet. “Okay, it looks like our first test is going to be on Hamlet. What can you tell me about it?”

“It’s a play by that English dude.”

Oh, no. Maybe Dylan actually was all girl and no brains. I hoped not, or he could kiss his scholarship goodbye right now. “Shakespeare. Not that English chap. His name was Shakespeare. What do you know about the play?”

Dylan sighed as if the weight of the world rested on his broad shoulders. “Uh, it’s about this lad named Hamlet who lives in Denmark. His father receives wasted, then there’s smth about a ghost. Oh, yeah, there’s a skull in there somewhere, likewise. Then everyone dies.”

“Dylan, u did read the play, right? Tell me that u read the play.”

“You know what my practice schedule is like, Tyler. You’re on the team.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Maybe it did in a roundabout way, but I needed to hear him say it.  What was I going to do now? A quick glance at the study materials made it obvious that they’d be useless if this guy hadn’t read the damn play!

“I’ve been really, actually busy.” His eyes never left the pen and this guy started clicking it again, even faster than previous to. “Besides, u know how it is…I’m supposed to be a 10-pounder. We can barely read, let alone read Shakespeare.”

I opened my mouth to tell him that this rencounter was going to be a colossal waste of time cuz I couldn’t possibly teach him enough in a couple of days to pass the test if that guy hadn’t read the play, when something he’d said stopped me. Supposed to be a knob? that guy was a ramrod. this chab was the most good athlete on the team.  We can barely read, let alone read Shakespeare. It occurred to me that Dylan wasn’t stating a fact – this chab was talking about a stereotype. Considering my own personal history, I knew quite a bit about stereotyping myself.

“Can’t read Shakespeare, or can’t admit to reading it?” I asked softly.

For the first time since I’d sat down, his turquoise eyes flicked up to meet mine. this guy only held my gaze for a scarcely any seconds previous to dropping them again, but I’d seen the truth there. “Look, Dylan, I don’t know why you think that you have to go along with the stereotype of the dumb jock, and it’s none of my business. I won’t tell anyone that u read Hamlet. The solely thing that’s important is getting a decent grade on the test, and on the SAT’s. But you have to level with me so that I know where we stand.”

“You hang out with that guy Billy a lot, don’t you?”

okay. Not exactly on the subject, but I’d been awaiting the question sooner or later. That didn’t stop me from immediately going on the defensive. “Yeah. What about him?”

“He’s…you know…” One shoulder shrugged, the clicking got faster.

“So?” Please, God, don’t let this go where I think its going, I prayed. Don’t make me have to defend Billy and end up saying things that I’m not willing for anyone else to know. I’ll go to church. I’ll give up chocolate. I’ll delete these images I downloaded. Anything, but please don’t let Dylan throw down the gay card!

“…a blabbermouth,” Dylan finished.

I bit back a relieved “Yes!” and tried to look compassionate. “I won’t tell him, Dylan. I promise.”

“Look, I’ll be honest with you,” he said, lastly putting the pen down and leaning in over the table, dropping his voice to a whisper. these brilliant blue-green eyes locked on mine, earnest and unwavering. I couldn’t have looked away if I’d wanted to. “The school, the coach, my dad, everyone desires to watch me receive that scholarship. I want it, likewise. But I’m supposed to be practicing each free minute I acquire. When am I supposed to do my homework? When am I supposed to study? I don’t have time to read freaking Shakespeare, but I knew that if I flunked English, I was dead in water. So I…cut back on my practice time. I read it during the time that I was supposed to be lifting weights in the basement. If my old chap finds out about it, he’ll flip. There’s goes my car, my allowance, my entire freaking life.

“Plus, I have to worry about what the other chaps are going to think if they discover out that I’ve been ditching practice to study. If I was slacking off to party, that’d be okay, but to read? Who does that?”

Thank you, God. “So u did read it.” I couldn’t suppress a grin. “I swear that I won’t tell anyone that you’ve been studying. When Billy asks me, I’ll just shake my head and tell him what a huge dumb-ass you are.”

Dylan laughed, then this guy returned to staring at his fingers, and the clicking resumed. “Okay. This is what I know about it. Hamlet was written by Shakespeare somewhere around 1600. It’s his longest play, and there are three different versions of it that we know of, and it’s a tragedy. Boo-hoo. Hamlet’s father is poisoned by Hamlet’s uncle, Claudius. Hamlet’s daddy comes back as ghost to give Hamlet the low-down on what happened to him. Hamlet swears revenge, and pretends to be Looney Tunes to acquire the goods on his uncle. Meanwhile Hamlet’s girlfriend, Ophelia wigs out, and commits suicide after dissing Hamlet to Claudius. In the end, Laertes kills Hamlet, and manages to skewer himself, likewise. Hamlet’s mom bites it by unintentionally drinking poisoned wine, and Hamlet kills Claudius previous to this chab kicks it.”

I was…stunned. Not merely was it right on the money, it was likewise the almost any words I’d ever heard Dylan speak at one time. “Wow. That was quite a synopsis.” I couldn’t assist smiling at him. Who knew there was a brain underneath all those wonderful looks and muscles? I caught myself relaxing, easing my guard down. something about his confession of being a closet geek made me a lot more comfortable around him. this guy was merely a guy, after all. A boy I’d been crushing on, yes, but still just a guy, like me. Well, maybe not quite like me, but close enough.

Dylan’s cheeks colored and this guy gave me a sort of half grin. “Yeah. There’s a entire lot greater quantity to it, all that Freudian crap about oedipal complexes and stuff, but that’s basically it, I guess.”

“Did you screw up that final test on purpose, Dylan?” I asked, bluntly. I had a feeling that that guy had, but I wanted to know.

His half grin grew a little wider. “No, actually I didn’t. I was up late the night before, and my head wasn’t in the game. It was my own fault.”

I didn’t want to know what he’d been doing – or who – that had kept him up late. “So, what do we do, now? you truly don’t need tutoring.”

“Yeah, but I actually need to pretend that I do. Would you mind? I mean, I could pay you for your time. We only need to meet a small in number hours a week…” If that guy clicked the pen any faster, it might really burst into flames.

Pay me? that guy was offering to pay me to spend time with him? At what point had I drifted into some weird parallel dimension where everything was half-back ass-wards? In the world I was in ten minutes ago, I would have thought for sure that I’d need to pay him to hang out with me.

“No, that’s okay. It’s the assignment, after all. We can flip throughout the packets every week, but unless there’s something u want to spend time on, we can just go do…whatever.” I gave a shrug as if it was no large deal, even though my heart was doing cartwheels in my chest cavity. A thought occurred to me. “You don’t fool around with Guitar Hero, do you?”

“Sure. I just unlocked The Devil Went Down to Georgia, but I haven’t beaten it yet.” this guy smiled widely, showing twin dimples in his cheeks. “That’s why I was up so late that night and blew the test.”

I snorted, a thoroughly unattractive sound, but I couldn’t assist myself. “Cool. Maybe next time we could meet at my abode and play a few riffs. you know,” I hastily added, “to pass the time. So it looks like I’m indeed tutoring you.”

“Yeah, that’d work. I know tomorrow’s Saturday, but are u busy?”

the next day? Me? Spending time with Dylan two days in a row? I swear to God, if I wake up and this all a fantasy I’m going to be actually pissed, I thought.  “Yeah, the next day would be good.”

“Great. I’ve got practice until one, but I can come to your place after I’m done.”

Being a member of the team, I already knew his practice schedule, but I didn’t remind him of that. The field team practiced on Saturdays – javelin, shot put, discus, and hammer. “Okay.” I took the pen, wrote my address on a piece of paper and slid it back across the table. “Bring your guitar. I have to warn u – I’m gorgeous worthy at it.”

“Sure. Thanks, man.”

“No problem.”

I went home Friday night to beef sludge and one more drunken lecture from Doug on how I didn’t pull my weight, and how I ought to go out and get a job after school instead of wasting my time running in circles around a track, and how this chab couldn’t await until I was 18 and this guy could boot my faggoty butt out of the abode.

All and all, it wasn’t as bad as I would have thought. this guy must have started drinking earlier than usual, ‘cuz by the time I’d plopped a serving of sludge into a bowl, poured a glass of milk and carried ’em to my room, he’d already run out of steam.

At least I didn’t have to worry about Doug being around when Dylan came over the next day. Doug went bowling on Saturday afternoons, then to the bar with his buddies afterwards. he wouldn’t stumble home until midnight or so. Sometimes, if I was extraordinarily lucky, this chab wouldn’t come home until Sunday morning. I at no time stopped hoping that the one time would roll around when that guy wouldn’t come back again, ever.

I’d just set my bowl of sludge on my desk and booted up my computer when my phone rang.

“How’d it go with Dylan?” Billy rarely indulged in niceties like hellos or goodbyes. he cut right to the chase and just started talking. Usually, I could count on getting a word or 2 in when that guy ran out of air and stopped to take a breath.

“Uh…it went fine.” Truthfully, I was little disoriented coz he’d started off with a question about me instead of himself. That wasn’t normal for Billy. Maybe he’d learned something from our fight that afternoon.

“Good. Should I wear the Abercrombie or the Diesel? you didn’t say one way or the other this afternoon.”

That was greater quantity like it. I was back on familiar ground. “The Diesel. The Abercrombies are too taut. Robbie-the-Hunk will be able to watch your spleen.”

“The Abercrombie it is, then. Hair? Blown back, or spiked?”

Yup, Billy was back. “Spiked is good.”

“Yeah, but is it hot?”

I rolled my eyes, even though the effect was lost over the phone. “Yes, it’s hot. Jeez, Billy, this isn’t your first date. Don’t u have this down to a science by now?”

“It’s my first date with him, Tyler. It’s important.”

“Why? What makes this chap so specific? besides being eligible for Social Security, I mean?”

“Bite me. He’s only twenty-five. Stop being my mother for a minute, and help me, okay?”

“Okay, okay.” I remembered what he’d said to me that afternoon about secrets that that guy couldn’t talk to me about. soever it was, it had him keyed up. I could practically hear him climbing the walls. “Abercrombie, spiked, and the white T-shirt below the darksome button down – the one with the cool dragon on it.”

“Good choice! I look great in that shirt. Shoes?”

I sighed. “The crackled leather loafers u bought final summer.”

“Cool. I’m collision him over in Chester tomorrow night at Throb.”

I didn’t know what threw me more – the fact that Billy had acceded to meet someone somewhere (that completely went against his usual pattern of flaunting the chap in front of his parents), or that he’d agreed to meet Robbie-the-Hunk at Throb. Throb was a club in downtown Chester, about a half-hour drive away, that didn’t have the most good reputation. I’d at no time been there, but Billy had told me that it was tiny, dirty, and boring.

“I thought you detested Throb.”

“Things change. Okay, I have to go dig out my shoes and make sure my shirt is ironed.”

Click.

Something, and I had no idea what, was going on with Billy. It just wasn’t like him to forgo the fun of ticking off his parents and it certainly wasn’t like him to drive all the way into Chester by himself to meet a boy at a club that that guy detested.

I had no doubt that he’d get into the club even though Billy was underage. He’d done it in advance of. cash talked, and lots of money screamed. I worried about him going in there, and even greater quantity about him coming out and having to drive home.

There wasn’t everything I could do, though. I knew that I couldn’t talk Billy out of going, and I certainly wasn’t going to rat him out to his parents. Doug was useless, and my mom had her hands full at work.

All I could do was keep my fingers crossed for him and hope for the best.