The Girl Who Wore Jordans

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

      “Are you fucking serious?” I groaned upon seeing Dylan. “Were you stalking me again?”

      “I think the question, Lizzie, is if you were stalking me,” he laughed, dribbling the round object that defined the game most formally known as basketball.

      “Why the hell would I do that?” I demanded, continuing to walk over to him. Why was it that I always met him at the earliest of times in the morning at the park? It was the weirdest thing. Today, it was a Sunday morning, and yet, there was Dylan, screwing around on the court without a care in the world.

      “Simple; you have a secret crush on me,” he smirked, the ball alternating between his hands with the aid of the painted concrete beneath.

      “Well, that’s not it, so let’s think of a more likely answer!” I shot down.

      “How was the date with Egghead Eric?” he inquired bluntly, cringing slightly at the last proper noun in his sentence.

      “Fine,” I said, thinking back to the enjoyable occasion two nights prior. It was nice. A little strained, but just fine. “Wait, how’d you know about it?”

      “News gets around fast, especially when those bitches you call your friends post it as their statuses,” he smirked.

      “Fuck. What’d they do?” I demanded, wondering why anybody truly had a right to know about my life.

      “Lauren wrote a heartfelt status about, and I quote, ‘How thrilled’ she was that ‘Eric and Liz were on a date’,” he laughed.

      “Shit. That girl really needs to figure out what the word ‘boundaries’ means,” I muttered, covering my mouth as I let out a yawn.

      “So, how was it?” he inquired once again.

      “As I said before, fine,” I said, adding a reminiscent smile in an attempt to get a rise out of Dylan.

      He was unfazed by my expression, and continued his inquiry. “Did he take you to a fancy restaurant?”

      “Uh… yeah,” I nodded, wondering how Dylan knew. “In all seriousness, Dylan, were you stalking me?”

      He let out a low laugh, his entire face lighting up as he did so. “Eric’s a cliché. He grew up with money and wanted to make sure you knew, so took you to an expensive place.”

      “Money doesn’t matter to me, though,” I said, always finding it odd how some flaunted their possessions as if it would matter to others around. Some had money, others didn’t. To me, a good layup was much more impressive than green bills made of cotton and paper.

      “You know that and I know that, but Eric clearly missed the memo,” Dylan assessed. “So, after the date, did you guys make out in his car?”

      “How’d you-”

      “I told you, he’s a cliché,” he sighed knowingly.

      “I was going to say how’d you guess something as wrong as that,” I smirked, aware that my words we a bit muddled.

      “So, what happened?”

      “I don’t think I'm going to tell you,” I decided firmly.

      “Oh? You’re not, are you?”

      “Nope.”

      “That’s funny, Liz, really,” he said, not an ounce of humor apparent in his tone.