Glitter and Hate

Rough Start

Two weeks had passed and Caleb still hadn't started his history assignment. Sure he had until after the break, but he was going with Adrian and his parents to their vacation home for the week and he wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.

He laid on his bed and looked up at the glow in the dark stars among the holes on his ceiling from the pencils that he and Dyson had shot up there using rubber bands as bows. Dyson; why couldn't Caleb get him off his mind? They hadn't seen each other since they were in the hallway and yet Caleb felt him all around.

He was supposed to be at practice but he had claimed that he was sick. The coach believed him because he hadn't even gone to school. He had skipped more school in the last week then he had all year. His parents were busy selling houses and condos so they didn't seem to care. Ruth, his sister, was busy enough with her first year of college and had learned to just leave him alone.

Everyone left him alone; just like he wanted. He hated it. He pushed everyone away and still he hoped in the pit of his heart that someone would sit him down and force everything out of him. He waited for someone to make him admit that nothing was okay. He was broken and needed someone else to fix him.

He hated being alone. The silence was deafening and he knew that he wouldn't last much longer if he continued living like that. What Mr. Mason had said hit him again. He was right; Caleb needed to grow up. He rolled off his bed flipping his foot to the side to catch himself and stood up. He picked up his phone and dialed the only number he knew by heart; a number he wished he could forget. A number that he knew he would never lose.

"Caleb?" Dyson asked so shocked by the call that he had almost dropped his phone.

"Yeah. I-I-I need-"

"I knew it. Caleb, I'm so happy that you called. I've been thinking about us too. It's been so long. I-"

"Stop!" Caleb's cold voice stabbed Dyson in the gut, it would have hit his heart but it was already shattered into pieces too small to hurt. "Dy-" No. Caleb stopped himself. He couldn't say his name. He took a breath and continued. "I need your help on this stupid history assignment that we got partnered on."

"Oh, right. Mr. Mason gave it to me today." Dyson bit his lip. When was he going to realize that Caleb was never going to let him back into his life?

"Meet me in the kitchen. It shouldn't take more than twenty minutes." Caleb hung up, responded to a text Adrian had sent with a generic answer, and went downstairs. He unlocked the door and had to force himself to not grab an orange soda for Dyson like he used to. Even though none of them drank the stuff he knew there were two cans in the back of the fridge because he couldn't get himself to throw them out.

"Hello?" Dyson called into the house. It felt weird because the house looked exactly the same and yet it was completely different. Instead of feeling happy and at home he felt like an unwelcome guest, which to be fair, he kind of was.

"I'm in the kitchen like I said I was," Caleb yelled back. Why did Dyson have to make it so hard to hate him? Caleb wondered as Dyson walked into the kitchen wearing one of Caleb's favorite shirts that had never come back to him. It was black and had the words "Back off" with a hand holding up the middle finger instead of the letter a.

"That's my shirt." Caleb's voice was staler than the six-year-old crackers in the pantry.

"Do you want me to take it off?" Dyson asked matching his tone.

"No." Caleb let out a breath and turned on his laptop.

"Where should we start?" Dyson asked taking a seat next to Caleb and wrapping his arm around the back of his chair out of habit. Caleb scooted away.

"I'll ask my questions and you can go," Caleb said without looking at him.

"What about the questions I need to ask you?" Dyson asked him.

Caleb snorted. "You haven't been to class in three months."

"Fair enough." Dyson nodded. "Well go ahead and ask your questions."

"What's your full name?" Caleb asked as if he were asking the cost of eggs.

"Dyson Fucking O'Keefe." Dyson chuckled.

"Dyson no middle name O'Keefe," Caleb said as he typed.

"You're no fun." Dyson teased.

"Stop!" Caleb turned to Dyson after slamming his laptop closed. "When are you going to get it? This," he motioned between them, "is never going to be the same! We're never going to laugh about things, go running. Not even smile in the hallway. It's been months! You need to stop doing this! I need to forget about you and move on with my fucking life! And your damn jokes and winks are making it impossible! You need to leave me alone!" Caleb was standing over him, his finger in Dyson's face by the time he had finished.

Dyson had to swallow the lump in his throat before he could absorb everything Caleb had said. Then, after a breath, he stood up forcing Caleb to lean back and look up at him. He wasn't much taller than Caleb, but the few inches were enough.