Young Writers Society

He was fifteen minutes late.

I don't know what I was more shocked by. The fact that I was expecting anything less or the fact that he showed up at all. Whatever the factor, I was just glad I was finally going to have my way with things, so I decided it wasn't in my best interest to complain about his lack of punctuality.

"Alright, so what's your current grade in the class?" Was my first initial question.

"As of now, D." He answered, leaning back in his chair.

"Ah, bringing you to a C is gonna be easy peasy." I waved my hand, pulling out a few sheets of paper and a pencil. "Okay, first, flip to page 324 in the textbook. We'll start from last week's chapter."

Dasher gave me a look as I placed the heavy, blue textbook in front of him. Sighing, he flipped it open.

"Whatever you say."

After labeling my papers, I slid the book back over to me.

"First things first: knowing your graphs. So, we'll start by defining the different types of graphs and then I'll show you how to use them properly."

"Great." He huffed.

****

"Are you serious? This has to be the God damn stupidest thing to get wrong on a quiz." Dasher shoved another handful of Goldfish in his mouth, despite having been told by the librarian several times that there was no food permitted in the library.

"Yet, somehow, you still managed to mix the concepts more than once." I said, laughing a bit.

"So that's the weighted mean... shit. That damn Rugby must have changed the answers on my test or something, I swear."

It was amusing to see Dasher begin to grasp the concepts, and he turned out to be more cooperative than I would've initially thought. Weird it was indeed, and I feared there would be some sort of catch for his obedience. It made sense to me at least. I was used to Rachel doing it all the time when she was little. She would agree to be on her best behavior... if there was something she received in return. Usually a shiny new toy, or even when she got older, some sort of makeup item.

So what was it Dasher wanted?

"Alright, so you owe me an explanation."

And I may have been right.

"What do you mean?" I asked. I glanced at the clock above the librarian's counter. It was almost six. I didn't even realize we had been at it that long.

"You know what I mean. You gotta tell me why I'm doing this." There it was.

"Oh? I 'gotta'?" I arched a brow inquiringly. He didn't answer, just gave me a look. "Well, it'd be quite unfair if I were to share my desperate measures and not hear yours too."

"That was never part of the deal."

"I wasn't aware there was ever any 'deal' present."

Again, he said nothing. I had to admit, I was absolutely loving the way I was able to fluster him like I had for... I think the third time now. Or perhaps, it wasn't flustering, but merely not allowing another smart remark to escape that foul mouth of his, which was in fact, a great achievement.

"Then I guess neither of us are getting what we want now, are we?"

His lips puffed out in a childish pout, and I stifled a laugh. I sighed.

"I want to prove something to a certain someone. That's really all it is."

"Is it really that huge a deal? Who exactly are you trying to impress - or 'prove wrong'?"

I screwed my lips to the side before answering. "My lovely princess of a sister." The amount of sarcasm and venom in my tone made it seem like I absolutely despised her. In the moment, I did.

"What's so great about her?" He popped another goldfish into his mouth.

"Oh, I dunno. She's just perfect and manages to outweigh my achievements in any way possible."

"And what are you trying to prove exactly?"

I rolled my eyes, making it obvious the subject was beginning to irk me. "You sure ask a lot of questions, don't you?"

"There was a deal somewhere in this spiel." A cheesy grin spread across his face, probably in amusement over the unintentional rhyme he had just created.

"Well... she's got this outrageous notion that I'm the same little girl I was ten years ago. That I'm immature and bratty and... most of all that I can't talk to people and take initiative."

Dasher gave me a questioning look. "So, what does fake dating me have to do with being mature?"

It was in that moment that even I had begun to question my own strategy. What did fake dating Dasher have to do with proving my maturity? Things had made a load more sense in my head. Dating someone was something you did when you grew up, right? Though I began to wonder. My desperate attempts to be right over Rachel had consumed me so much, that me feeling such a strong obligation to it made me seem even less mature than I had hoped. In a sense, Dasher had just made me realize something without intending to.

"I... I dunno." I admitted. "I feel like me having a boyfriend will bring some sort of 'Hey, I'm not such a loser after all!' kind of statement to the table."

Dasher rolled his eyes, a fine habit of his. "Who the hell cares if you're a loser?"

"Gee, thanks," I said, defeated at the fact that he had basically agreed to affirming my 'loser' status.

"What I mean is," His voice lowered, and a more sincere tone overtook it. "Why does her opinion matter so much to you? You know who you are. Loser or not, you're you and no one else can dictate that. Trying to be someone you're not ends up way worse than if you were just doing you and being real. Not everyone is going to like you, not everyone is going to agree with what you do or how you think. Honestly, who the fuck cares? And if they try to tell you otherwise, there's this thing called the middle finger, and I vote you raise it right up to their smug ass face."

It would have been an odd thing for Dasher to use a brighter vocabulary. His words stuck to my brain like glue, giving me a feeling of inquiry and a newfound thought process. This boy was the realest someone could get to "real". I could only hope to have a backbone as big as his.

"That's just the thing though," I began to tear at the corners of our scratch paper. "I don't know who I am most of the time."

"Then find out."

"I'm getting there." The tiny pieces of paper fell to the ground, one by one like flurries of snow.

"Well, you're not moving with much effort. The first step is just getting over yourself. Maybe your sister is right about a few things. You say you're not stubborn, though even right now, me being a person who barely knows a damn thing about you, even I can tell you're just full of excuses."

I took a sharp intake of breath. He was already beginning to sound like every other person. Telling me things I just didn't want to hear. "You're absolutely right. You don't know a thing about me. So, excuse me, sir, but I'm not sure you have the right to tell me what I'm full of and what I'm not." My annoyance was becoming evident in my tone again.

"I have as many rights as the average American. You're stubborn, you're in denial, and you hate being told you're wrong." Once again, he had leaned in to my proximity. Even while sitting I still felt that same deprecating emotion, where it felt as if I was an ant and he was a giant continually growing. "Just take advice from people, dude. Not everyone are retards."

"I don't think people are retards I just need some sort of independence in my life." I didn't recall ever admitting that to someone out loud. It sounded bizarre.

"Then why don't you just-"

"Look, I'm trying, okay?" 

"Are you?"

I looked up at him, his face full of question and curiosity. I would have replied, though I felt extremely and uncomfortably vulnerable. His stare bored into me, with his crystal blue eyes criticizing the thoughts I had. The room had turned to ice.

Quickly, I averted my eyes and sat up straight. He knew, and I knew, I had lost this battle.

"I think that's enough studying for the day." I closed the text book and began to gather my pencils. 

Dasher didn't say another word, and I didn't want to think anymore. I was upset again.

When we exited the library and made way to the school's entrance, the sun was nearing the end of its shift for our valley. There were little to no words spoken between us. The silence was more than awkward and nearly suffocating despite the beautiful wind blowing through us. I was the first to speak.

"Well," I looked at my feet as we stopped by the metal bike racks. "See you tomorrow?"

"Sure." He said. He appeared himself again, bored and slightly impatient.

Reaching into my pocket for the key to my bike lock, Dasher continued to stand still, watching me as I maneuvered.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"Getting on my bike...?" I replied with the same quizical wall.

"You're going to ride your bike home? By yourself? At this time of day?"

I wanted to laugh. His apparent concern was far more amusing than any other side I had the privilege of seeing in him tonight. But I still held my ground. I was upset with him, wasn't I?

"I'm quite capable of riding a bike by myself. I'm a big girl." Before I could continue my actions, the small silver key was snatched out of my hand.

"Yeah, no." He put the key in the pocket of his hoodie as I stood there baffled. This boy had some nerve.

"Hey!" Attempting to reach into his pocket, he stepped back quickly. I was now a child reaching for a toy that had been taken away by a parent, and I was not happy. "Dasher, honestly! You're being so immature. I have to get home!"

"Oh, and you will. Come on." He waved his hand motioning me to follow him. I crossed my arms.

"Would you rather I walk?"

"I didn't say anything about walking. We live in an age where there's automobiles and things that can get you places faster, so I really don't get why you would kill yourself by biking everwhere."

I followed him down the entrance sidewalk to the student parking lot. "Maybe because it keeps you healthy?" I said, looking back at my bike.

He was silent, shaking his head as he lead me to a fairly tattered pick up truck, the color of the day sky (if the sky had been smeared with ink and mud). In all honesty, I found it to be more aesthetic than any other shiny, clean sports cars I saw the preppy kids driving. This truck was dirty, it was wild, it was real. It characterized Dasher perfectly and - in a sense - characterized what I wanted to be.

I guess I had been gazing at it for quite some time,  as Dasher mistook my stares as a sign of disgust, saying "I know, it looks like shit in a bag but she runs so smooth, you wouldn't believe."

"No," I spoke. "I like it."

I looked up as he was opening the driver's door. There was a momentary pause in his movements, but he seemed to have snapped out of his thoughts quickly. He got in and reached over to pull the lock up on my side. With an inch of hesitation, I opened the passenger's side and hopped in, seatinf myself on the cotton seat.

The inside of his domain smelled of smokes, alcohol, and something sweet, like chocolate. It wasn't exactly pleasant, nor was it pungeant. It was distinct, and the air was warm, even as he rolled the windows down before pulling out of the parking spot.

"So, your Prissiness, where do you lie during these fortnights?" He asked, as we exited the school premises.

"Wingset Avenue. The neighborhoods across from Baylor Bakery."

That seemed to be enough for him, and he began in the direction that lead to my abode.

There wasn't much to discus after that point, and I decided to avert my attention to the passing cars and town lights that lay beyond the open window on my side. I began to think, of nothing in particular. This time of day was my thought processing time where the gears in my head would slow and I'd be able to slowly but surely situate the files in my brain. However, that was interrupted shortly by the loud and vigorous sound of beats and rhythmed rapping coming from the car speakers.

I looked at Dasher as he turned up the car radio volume, mouthing along to the crude words of whatever rap song was blasting. Annoyed, I shouted over the music. "Must you wake the whole town?"

He glanced at me, shouting equally, "What's that?" He then proceeded to speed up the car, fighting anxiously to make a yellow light. The car made a loud 'vroooom' noise, startling me.

I squealed, as he had gone well over the designated speed limit. "You are the most obnoxious human being!"

"And you are petty as fuck!" He almost laughed, but didn't.

Involuntarily, I lifted my hand and smacked him on the arm, causing him to drop his phone as he tried to change the song. This time, he did laugh, loud enough to be heard over the music. Though I struggled to hold it in, I began to laugh as well.

"What even is this music?" I yelled.

"It's called therapy!" Was his retort. Again, he mouthed the words, creating facial expressions and doing hand gestures like any mainstream rapper would do in a music video. I caught myself grinning at his dorkiness. In all odd aspects, it was humorously cute to see him in such a goofy state.

Pause. Did that thought actually come to my mind? Dasher? Cute? What?

I looked away from him, chuckling to myself while he continued to play gangster in the driver's seat. The sun was setting faster now, and the wind was a tad colder than it had been. But it felt nice. The breeze felt nice, and the sky looked nice, and the scent of his car was almost comforting. Even in the loud and uncalm state and atmosphere from the music and his speeding, I found it was simple to think. It was... comfortable. Gratifying.

"Hey!" The music was turned down and Dasher was looking at me. We were pulled over at the side of my neighborhood entrance. "Which way?" He said, sounding irritated with my lack of attention.

I explained the detour and we arrived at the front of my home shortly after. I looked at our driveway and groaned. "She's back already?" I muttered. Rachel's Mini Cooper was still parked in the same spot, and I dreaded going inside. 

"That your sister's?" Dasher asked, looking towards the same direction. I didn't answer, just picked up my bag from the floor and opened the door. I stopped myself before completely leaving the vehicle and turned to Dasher.

"Thank you," I said. It wasn't sarcastic, wasn't in a cynnical tone. It was genuine.

He didn't smile, didn't look at me either. Just nodded. "See you around."

I got out then and shut the door behind me. He didn't give me another look before speeding away, the sound of loud, heavy rap music getting fainter and fainter as his dirty, blue truck faded from view.

Making my way inside, I wilted past my mom and Rachel, busy chatting away and sipping wine in our dining room. I went to my room, shutting the door behind me and then readied myself for bed.

It had been a strange day, with many estranged thoughts and emotions swirling around me at once. For one, I was more than 98% sure that the reason I disliked Dasher was because he was a blunt asshole, saying things that no one wanted to hear. But it made me wonder; Am I annoyed with Dasher, or annoyed with the fact that he tells things like they are, and doesn't filter himself for the sake of others? It could have easily been both, but as much as I hated admitting it, he was right about... a lot of things. Too many things.

As if on cue, a sharp 'ping' from my phone alerted me. I looked at, seeing it was a text from Dasher. I opened it and smiled to myself, the text reading:

Dasher: Fuck i have ur bike key

I replied:

Aubrey: You also left it at school. How am I gonna get to school now??

Inserting the angry face emoticon. He replied within seconds.

Dasher: Guess ur stuck driving w me again

Aubrey: You're a moron.

Dasher: And ur still petty :p

Aubrey: I leave at 7. Be here before then.

Dasher: will do ur prissiness <3

I didn't reply. The smile on my face was growing far too big. I feared the worst.

And the worst was unmentionable.