Boycotting Blue

15/Lou

Lou

 

Blue didn’t show up to school the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. And when he did show up on Thursday, he ignored me.

    I tried not to get my feelings hurt. Surely he had a reason for ignoring me, right? I mean, it had something to do with that guy who visited. Something about the guy set me on edge, but, at the same time, I wasn’t really afraid of him. Scared of what he’d do, yeah, but not of him. If that made sense.

   Dylan pulled up to my house, glancing over at Juan’s house. Blue was gone—weird, he had been gone every afternoon for the past few days. He usually always beat me here. Sighing, Dylan turned back to me. “Lou…. He means well,” he said, looking thoughtful and secretive.

    I shrugged. “So I assumed,” I replied, lifting up my backpack and searching for my keys to realize they weren’t there. “I don’t care. Blue’s not my property.”

     Dylan frowned. “Lou, don’t—“

     I smiled brightly and fake. “I promise, I’m over it. Blue’ll talk to me when he wants to. He’s goin’ through somethin’ right now an’ needs space.” I opened the door before I started crying. I didn’t want to cry over Blue. I knew it was only a matter of time before he realized he wasn’t getting any from me and left me.

    “Don’t cry,” he stated, looking pitiful. “I don’t do crying girls, Lou.”

    I tried not to smile—I really did. But I couldn’t help myself. I giggled, turning back to see him. “I won’t. I promise.” I threw my arms around him. Dylan had taken me under his wing at school, introduced me to his friends, and kept the girls at cheerleading off my back. Where Blue had stepped down, Dylan had stepped up. He was the best friend a girl could ask for. “Thanks, Dyl.”

    He gave me a good squeeze and pulled half-way away, staring at me with a full-lipped smile. “No problem. Pretty girls are my weakness.”

    Unsure what to say, I just smiled back at him. My face heated up for some odd reason, and I remembered some of the cheerleaders talking about him at school. Dylan is actually really good in bed for a goofy boy. It’s the athlete in him, I guess.

    Suddenly, he looked really cute.

    And I really wanted to find out if it was true.

    I blinked, trying to figure out when I had developed feelings for Dylan. I opened my mouth to say something, but the words didn’t quite reach my mouth, so I just snapped my mouth shut and tried not to be awkward.

     “Lou—I—uh—“ Dylan fumbled, still holding me.

     “Yeah,” I agreed for nothing else to say. I started to let him go, but he held me a bit longer, staring. And then he leaned forward ever so slightly, tilting his head to the side.

      I always thought getting my first kiss would be like in movies—bumbling, awkward, bumping into each other. But, instead, it went as smooth as it could be, I guess. My head tilted automatically, and our lips pressed against each other, soft and warm. I was aware of Dylan—he smelled like cologne and a bit of sweat; he was warm and firm, his arms strong, and his skin was smooth.

    We both pulled away, looking at each other.

    He broke the silence first. “Yeah, uh, that was nice.”

   “Mhm. Nice,” I mumbled, letting him go with a burning face. God, I was probably as red as my jacket right now. “See ya tomorrow!”

     “Yeah. Tomorrow. Eight o’clock. In the morning.”