Dogwood

Chapter 2: First Impressions

Rory wasn't completely sure what he was doing here. One second, he had been at home packing his entire life into cardboard boxes, which was rather premature considering he still had about two months before moving. The next thing he knew, he was at some house party with his buddy, Dylan Garner.

"Wow, North Ridge," Dylan said. His breath reeked of alcohol, and his face was pale with nausea. "You're a prodigy. No one at school would ever dream of getting into North Ridge."

"Thanks, but it's nothing too special," Rory replied, looking down at his cup of Sprite as if it held all the answers. He needed to get out of here. He didn't belong in a place like this. If anything, it just made him uncomfortable and annoyed to be around a bunch of drunk people who had too much ego to admit they shouldn't be drinking.

"Ah, you're just looking for complements. Tryin' to make me feel bad about not getting accepted, aren't ya?"

Rory did in fact feel a pang of guilt for that and tried to drown it with hopeless promises that Dylan would get accepted somewhere if he kept applying. But the sad fact was, Dylan had almost flunked out of high school. Not to mention, he didn't have much ambition for anything other than drinking.

"Don't worry about me," Dylan said to no one in particular. "I'll be okay. I'm gonna do some construction over the summer and start applying again early next year."

"Construction, is that what you want to do?"

"Does anyone really want to do it? It's good money though." He downed his drink in one gulp. "Hey, not all of us can be geniuses. How many scholarships did you apply for again?"

"Too many."

"And how many did you receive?"

"Enough."

Dylan's smile vanished. What remained was bleak and grim. Empty and somber. "Don't ever waste that. Okay? You're lucky to be where you're at. And I'd hate to see you throw it all away."

"Yeah, all right, relax," Rory said. "I won't waste it."

"Good."

The air between them became still with silence as Dylan swirled his drink around inside his cup, watching the oaky brown hurricane spin and spin according to gravity and motion.

He couldn't help but feel slighted at Dylan's comment. It was obvious to him, Dylan's intoxication, but he could recall vividly from his younger days when his father would act the same way. When he'd get drunk and yell at everyone during supper for being ungrateful little leaches. Those were the only moments of honesty that his father ever displayed, save for the day he killed himself and had told Rory: "Blame the player, not the game." Along with some other rather discouraging words that Rory had been far too young to truly understand then.

Now, though, Rory felt as if he had earned his place at North Ridge. He maintained a perfect four point-oh GPA from seventh grade to senior year. He volunteered at a local nursing home almost every summer. That unpaid work, coupled with his obligatory hours at his stepfather's shop left him little time to actually ever study for school or practice animating. And despite his scholarships, he didn't even have enough for campus accommodations. He was stuck rooming with three other guys in a local two-bedroom, two bath townhouse. It wasn't just luck that had graced him with this opportunity, it had also cost work and sacrifice.

Glancing down at his cup, Dylan muttered: "I could use another drink."

"I don't know if you really need one, do yah?"

There was a flash of unadulterated disdain on his face, but he quickly concealed it behind a drunken grin. "C'mon, we're celebrating. We graduated, I'm the first of my siblings to do it."