What on earth is that guy’s problem? Why does he hate me so much? Why did he have to embarrass me in front of the whole literary magazine? He called me a zombie! I’m not a zombie! He’s just mad that I don’t remember his last name. But I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for that. I’m sure Other Me had good reason not to remember him. Maybe she’s been so busy cramming all sorts of useful knowledge and information into her brain, she doesn’t have any room for names. Maybe she was mad at him and only pretended to forget his name. Maybe he did something horrible to Sequoia and they got in a huge fight and now Other Me is siding with her best friend. As best friends should do.
“So what’s with that Dylan Parker guy?” I ask Sequoia casually as we walk through the parking lot toward her car at the end of the day. Despite being what feels like decades behind in my homework, I somehow managed to survive six class periods and two more club meetings relatively intact, thanks to my excellent improvising skills and a few extensions from teachers.
As it turned out, I was supposed to be in the Investment Club during Activity Hour today. And I’m the president. Apparently, in my haste to get there, I barged into the wrong room. A mistake I certainly won’t make again.
Sequoia is barely listening to me. She’s scrolling through her SnipPic app, reading the countless comments she received on our selfie this morning. “Good call on that tree.” She looks up long enough to point to a black sedan parked in our original space that’s now covered in leaves and dirt.
I flash a perfunctory smile and return to the matter at hand. “So what’s his deal anyway?”
“Whose deal?” she asks, as though she didn’t even hear my first question.
“Dylan Parker,” I repeat. I looked him up on the Windsor Achiever app during my second Student Mastery Hour. I was surprised, actually, to see that he’s ranked in the top twenty of the class. I assumed, judging by the way he dresses and his general opinion of the school, that he’d be at the bottom.
Sequoia unlocks the car. “I don’t know anyone named Dylan Parker. Is he a freshman?”
I open the passenger-side door. “No, he’s a senior.”
Sequoia drops into the driver’s seat. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”
So Sequoia doesn’t know him either? Well, now I don’t feel as bad. But seriously, what is with this guy? Is he a ghost?
“He runs the literary magazine.” I make one last effort to prompt her as I buckle my seat belt.
“We have a literary magazine?”
I laugh. “Yes. It’s called Writer’s Block.”
She pushes the start engine button. “Oh, right. The weird-looking guy?”
“Is he weird-looking?” I ask. “I don’t think he’s that bad.”
She shrugs. “I guess he’d be all right, you know, if he actually gave a crap about his appearance or his education.”
“He’s ranked number 19,” I put in, even though I have no idea why I’m defending him. He was horrible to me.
“I don’t know how,” Sequoia says. “He never participates in class.”
I suddenly remember what he said to me outside the dean’s office yesterday. About how he thought this school sucked out your soul and turned you into a lifeless zombie. I instantly feel myself getting flustered again. He’s probably some spoiled rich kid who’s been given everything he’s ever wanted in life and has never had to work for anything. He probably doesn’t even have to try. He probably already has acceptance letters to every single Ivy League college in the country.
He has no idea how lucky he is to go here. There are so many people who would kill to be here. If he hates it so much, why doesn’t he just leave?
“Wasn’t that the guy you went on a date with?” Sequoia asks suddenly, like the memory just popped into her head.
“A date?” I screech.
With that guy?
“Yeah.” She backs out of the parking spot and maneuvers through the lot. “In ninth grade. It was right before we became friends. Remember?”
My mind is spinning. Other Me went out with him in the ninth grade? Is that why he was so nasty to me? Did Other Me break his heart or something?
And isn’t it kind of weird—and a little insensitive—that she wouldn’t remember his last name after they went on a date?
It must not have been that memorable an experience.
“Uh,” I falter. “Vaguely. Remind me?”
Sequoia pulls up to the Windsor Academy gates and waits for them to open. She scrunches up her face like the effort of trying to heave this memory out of her brain is almost painful. “I remember you going on one date with someone—I think it was that Dylan guy—then you met me and I showed you the error of your ways.” She turns and flashes me a beaming smile.
I force a laugh. “The error of my ways. Right. You mean, because he’s so…” I search for the right word.
Reprehensible?
Obnoxious?
Rude?
“Undatable?” I finish.
She flips on her signal and turns left onto the main road. “No,” she says, flashing me a strange look. “Because dating is a huge waste of time.”
“Oh,” I say lamely. “Right.”
“That’s why we made the Boycott Pact. No boys until college.”
My mouth falls open. Is she being serious? Has Other Me really never dated anyone since ninth grade? No wonder she has so much time for all of those clubs.
“You know, you owe that first place ranking to me,” Sequoia brags. “Imagine if you’d continued dating that loser. You’d never have been able to accomplish everything that you have. You’d be too busy worrying about your stupid relationship.”
“Yeah,” I agree. Even though, in reality, I don’t have to imagine it. I already know what that choice looks like. I’ve lived it.
Although, for some reason, I find myself wondering what that one date with Dylan Parker was like. Did we have fun? Was he sweet and romantic? Did we kiss?
The thought sends a tremor of disgust through me.
Eew. I can’t imagine kissing that guy. His lips are probably all chapped and gross and he probably smells from his obvious aversion to bathing.
Well, whatever happened on that one date, Other Me was smart to listen to Sequoia and steer clear of boy-related drama. I made that mistake when I chose Austin and look how well that turned out. She’s right. Boys are a huge waste of time.
“How crazy was that Civil War debate in history today?” Sequoia asks, changing subjects and lanes at the same time. It’s like she’s already forgotten about our previous conversation. As though she’s barely given Dylan Parker a second thought.
And that’s exactly what I intend to do.
Not give him a second thought.