“Get a load of what Jackie Harrison’s wearing. She looks like a pink blancmange,” Sam observed cattily.

“It’s called a ra-ra skirt, and they’re all the rage for your information.”

“Come on, it’s a glorified tutu, and we both know it.”

I smirked. “Maybe.”

“Hold the boat,” Sam exclaimed, hand whipping out and landing flat against my sternum. A whoosh of air fled my lungs at the impact. “Do my eyes deceive me or did Dylan, Conor, and Amy just walk in?”

“Your eyes aren’t deceiving you. That’s definitely them.”

“Well fuck me slowly with a chainsaw. In all these years, I’ve never once seen any of them attend a school function.”

“Conor wanted to come. He blackmailed Dylan and Amy into it, apparently.”

“Now it makes sense.”

I was momentarily taken aback by how hot Dylan looked. Well, hotter than usual. His hair was styled, and he was wearing a fitted shirt with formal slacks. The outfit made him look older, a lot older, and it was doing all sorts of things to me.

Things, I tell you.

“Dylan looks sexy, Amy’s got her camcorder glued to her face, and Conor looks nerdy. I guess, all is right with the world,” said Sam and I shook my head at him as my eyes found Dylan’s across the crowded assembly hall. For tonight it had been cleared out to form a dance floor, with chairs around the outskirts and a DJ on the stage. Right now, he was playing “Buttons” by Pussycat Dolls.

“Okay, I can’t resist those Pussycats. Let’s go dance,” Sam declared, surprising the hell out of me. He never danced in public, and I meant never.

“Has hell frozen over?” I asked, and he rolled his eyes.

“Just shut up and dance with me.”

On the other side of the room, Shane Huntley was surrounded by his gang of stupids. I called them that because anybody who looked up to someone with an IQ of less than ninety had to be dumb as fuck. There was a weird moment when his attention fixed on Sam, his eyes narrowing, while Sam straightened his posture and shot him a look that was pure defiance.

Okay.

My friend was taking a stand.

I wore a floral skater dress that went to mid-thigh, black tights and a pair of cheap cowboy boots. They were totally in fashion right now, but I couldn’t afford the real leather ones. My hair hung long and wavy down my back as I moved to the beat. Sam gave it his all, pulling his best moves like he hadn’t a care in the world. When the song changed to “My Humps” we got giddy and couldn’t stop laughing. It was one of The Black Eyed Peas’s newer singles, and Sam and I found it hilarious. In fact, we sang it to each other at random all the time.

Nobody really knew what a hump was.

I mean, they thought they did, but did they really?

It was a question for the ages.

As I danced, I noticed Dylan, Amy, and Conor sitting only a few yards away. Amy and Conor were talking, but Dylan was watching Sam and me.

And smiling.

His smile was the facial equivalent of a hot water bottle, or a cup of warm cocoa.

Heated yet affectionate.

I started to smile back, when suddenly we were crowded. Shane and his stupids had come to join us, but they weren’t being friendly. Shane glared at Sam, getting in his space and saying something to him over the music. Sam’s expression hardened as he shot off a reply I couldn’t hear. When Shane grabbed Sam by his shirt, I intervened, taking hold of Shane’s shoulder and pulling him away from my friend.

“Don’t touch him,” I yelled and Shane swung around, punching me right across the face. My vision went dark for a second, and when I opened my eyes Dylan was there. He punched Shane hard, then pushed him to the floor before Amy and Conor came and pulled him away.

“I’m gonna fuck you up, O’Dea,” Shane shouted angrily, holding on to his jaw.

I realised Sam had his arms around me when he gasped, “Oh my goodness.”

“You make a habit of hitting girls, you piece of shite?” Dylan fumed. Conor and Amy almost had him out the door, but he was doing his best to fight them off.

“I didn’t know it was her,” Shane retorted, while Sam hustled me to the exit as well. We definitely needed to get out of there before any teachers got involved. As soon as I stepped out the door, Dylan was on me. His hands cupped my face as he studied me for injuries. He looked frantic. Angry.

“I’ll kill him,” he breathed, then swore under his breath. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

“He didn’t know it was Ev,” Sam said, and I frowned past the pain in my face. It didn’t feel like I was going to have a black eye, but it was sore. Kind of like when someone slaps you really hard.

“Why are you defending him? He’s a scumbag.”

“I’m not,” Sam protested. “I’m just saying, I was his target, not you.”

“That still doesn’t make it okay.”

“He’s a bully,” Conor said. “I doubt he cares whether it’s boys or girls he hurts. Something needs to be done about him.”

“When is anything ever done about bullies at this school? Teachers hear me being called a dyke every day of the week and they do nothing. And I’m not even gay, not that it matters,” Amy put in, tucking her camcorder into her bag. I wondered if she’d caught any of the fight on tape, but then remembered she’d been talking to Conor when it happened. That was probably a good thing. I didn’t want Dylan getting suspended, even though he was only defending me.

“We should get out of here. Yvonne’s working tonight, so we can go back to my place,” I suggested, wanting to get away from the school before anything else happened.

“Good idea.” Sam nodded his enthusiasm. He wanted to leave the dance as much as I did. “We could try get some booze in the offo on the way.”

“No off-licence is going to serve you,” Amy scoffed. “You look about twelve.”

She was right. Sam was five-four, blond, blue-eyed and skinny as a rake.

“It’s a good job you three are eighteen then, isn’t it?” Sam shot back with an arched brow.

“The booze is on me,” Dylan said. “Come on. If I stay here any longer I’m in danger of going back in there.” His tone was quietly firm, with an underlayer of anger, and I could tell he really hated Shane, maybe even more than the rest of us. Dylan struck me as the type to hate fiercely, but also to love just as fiercely. He felt all of life’s emotions with everything he had in him, and there was a captivating sort of appeal about that.

The walk to the flats was mostly quiet, all of us stuck in our own thoughts. Dylan walked close beside me, his fingers touching mine every so often as though to check that I was all right. I wasn’t, not really, but I could put up a good front. I’d never been punched before, and I was suffering from some aftershock.

It was like in the movies, when people got shot or bitten by a shark. It happened so quickly, there was a few moments where they didn’t realise it had happened yet. The same went for being punched. It was so unexpected my brain was like, Um . . . did I just get punched in the face?

When we got to the off-licence, Dylan silently walked through the door, emerging a few minutes later with a bag. I kind of wanted to get drunk tonight. It’d help me forget how horribly wrong the dance had gone.

I slotted my key in the door and led everyone inside before I noticed Yvonne sitting on an armchair watching the telly, a glass of wine in hand. She had her hair up in a messy bun, make-up removed, and was wearing her comfy fleece pyjamas. My stomach dropped as a curious smile claimed her mouth.

“Well, hello everyone.”

“Yvonne I, um . . .”

“You thought I’d be at work and came back to do some underage drinking in my flat. Yeah, I got that, Ev.”

“I’m really sorry. It’s just, the dance was horrible and—”

She waved away my explanation. “Oh, hush and come in. Introduce me to your friends.”

Sam stepped forward and daintily offered his hand. “Samuel Kennedy the fifth, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Yvonne cast her eyes to the ceiling at Sam’s antics and playfully shoved him aside. “I think we’ve already met, Samuel,” she said. As she turned, a warm smile fell on Conor. “And I know Conor, too. He’s our neighbour.”

“Hi, Yvonne,” he said, awkward and shy. I’d think it was adorable if I wasn’t so embarrassed at being caught out.

“This is Dylan. He lives a few floors down. And Amy lives at the other end of the Villas,” I said.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” said Yvonne, still smiling.

“So, how come you’re not at work?” I asked. My aunt rarely missed a shift.

She gave a little sigh then gestured to her hand, which I now saw was wrapped in a bandage. “Right. I’m such a klutz. I dropped a glass at the bar, then cut myself when I tried to pick up the pieces. They sent me home for the night with a bandage and a few paracetamol, though they don’t do much to help the pain.”

“You should try codeine,” Amy suggested. “Actually, Feminax works the best. You know, for period pain. When I want a nice, peaceful night’s sleep I take two of those bad boys and I’m out cold.”

“Oh, I might . . . try that. Thanks,” said Yvonne, brow slightly arched.

“Are you going to be okay?” Conor asked, concerned.

“I’ll be fine, hon. Nothing a glass of wine and some shuteye won’t fix,” she replied and took a sip.

“Do you mind if we drink these?” Dylan asked, gesturing to the bag of cans.

“You three, not at all. But these two,” Yvonne replied, gesturing to Sam and me, “are underage, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, Yvonne. Come on, let me and Ev have one drink. It’s been a stressful night,” Sam pleaded.

Yvonne frowned, her mothering instincts kicking in. “How has it been stressful? What happened?”

I flopped down onto the couch beside Sam and emitted a tired sigh. Dylan took the seat beside me, while Conor and Amy shared an armchair. “You know Shane Huntley? The boy who likes to give Sam a hard time at school?” Yvonne nodded. “Well, we were dancing and he came up and started picking on Sam, threatening him. I tried to intervene, and he swung around and punched me in the face.”

“He what?” Yvonne exclaimed, a mix of anger and shock. She immediately rose from her seat and checked the damage. “I don’t see any bruising, but we should ice it just in case. Sam, go grab the bag of frozen peas from the freezer.” Sam hopped up right away, returning a moment later.

“He didn’t realise it was me,” I was quick to add, sucking in a harsh breath as Yvonne pressed the cold bag to my face.

“Yeah, and Dylan gave him a few jabs in Ev’s defence,” Sam added.

Yvonne’s brows shot right up as she looked to Dylan. “You did?”

“I’d do it for anyone. No man should hit a woman,” Dylan replied firmly.

“No, no man ever should,” Yvonne agreed, looking from me and then to Dylan, coming to some sort of conclusion. She was dead wrong, of course. Dylan and I were just friends. Still, I knew what she was thinking when I saw the hint of a smirk on her face. “And what are your intentions towards my niece?”

I could’ve murdered her. “Yvonne!”

“What? He obviously has intentions. I’d just like to know what they are.”

“We’re friends. Leave it alone,” I hissed.

“I think your niece is wonderful,” Dylan blurted, and I could hardly contain my surprise. A blush claimed my cheeks.

Yvonne looked to me, clearly trying to hold back a grin. “And what you do think of him, Evelyn?”

“I think you need to shut your mouth,” I responded, mortified.

“Well, that’s no way to talk to your kind and lovely aunt, now is it?”

“It is when she’s trying her best to embarrass me,” I argued and turned to Dylan. “Don’t mind her.”

“Let’s crack open these beers, shall we?” said Sam, doing me a solid. I shot him a look of thanks.

“You’re not cracking open anything,” Yvonne warned. “Not for another six months when it’s your birthday.”

Sam pouted. “Spoilsport.”

“No underage drinking is allowed in this flat, and that’s final.”

Sam gave a huff and folded his arms, while I couldn’t stop replaying Dylan’s words in my head.

I think your niece is wonderful.

Never mind butterflies, there was a flock of sparrows in my chest, beating their persistent wings. I cast him a quick, speculative glance out the side of my eye and saw he was already studying my profile. I quickly looked away, bashful at being caught even though he was looking at me, too.

“So, you lot missed out on your dance. That’s disappointing.” Yvonne made a sad face. “I bet you were really looking forward to it and all.”

Amy gave a mild scoff. “Eh, no. Dylan and I only went because Conor blackmailed us into it.”

“I had to. You two are so anti-social. You never want to go to any of the dances.”

“Oh, you like dancing?” Yvonne asked, turning to Conor.

I swore I could actually see the scarlet that coloured his caramel complexion. He glanced down shyly. “I know I don’t look like the type, but yes.”

“Not at all. You’ve got the look of a young Phil Lynott about you, and one of his most famous songs was ‘Dancing in the Moonlight’, so there you go.”

“I’m not sure that makes sense, Vonny,” Sam chuckled.

“’Course it does.”

“No, he’s right,” Conor said, self-deprecating. “Nobody wants to see someone like me dancing.”

“You can cut that sort of talk out right now,” Yvonne chided. “Ev and I don’t allow negativity in our flat, isn’t that right?”

“Yep,” I said, giving Conor a warm smile. “Plus, you’ve got that crazy cool afro.” He seemed like he needed a pep talk. I wondered if he had his hopes set on becoming a social butterfly at the dance. Maybe kiss a girl for the first time. And then I had to go and ruin it by getting punched in the face by a homophobe.

“Girls don’t like afros,” he replied.

“Of course, they do. Ole Phil Lynott fought off the ladies, and you’re the spitting image of him,” Yvonne continued.

“That’s because he was a rock star.” Conor gave a soft sigh, though he seemed pleased by Yvonne’s attention.

“And maybe you’ll be a rock star one day. Do you play any instruments?”

Conor shook his head.

“Sing?”

He shook his head again. “I’m musically inept. All I’m good at is numbers. Dad wants me to become an accountant.”

“Well, an accountant is a good job, and there’s nothing women like more than a man with a good, stable income,” Yvonne said.

“Do you like a man with a good, stable income, Vonny?” Sam asked cheekily, and Conor shot him a hard frown.

“’Course, I do,” she replied. “Who doesn’t?”

“Just wondering,” Sam went on with a smirk.

“Well, anyway, I was just about to settle in and watch When Harry Met Sally if you lot want to join me.”

“Oh, good Christ, not again,” Sam groaned, while I reached out and gave his arm a light slap. “What?” he exclaimed. “She’s seen it at least a dozen times.”

“I’ve never seen it,” said Dylan.

“Me neither,” Conor added.

“Really?” Yvonne enthused. “Well then, you’re in for a real treat.”

“Yvonne is obsessed with this film,” Sam told the others. “She’s saving up to move to New York because of it.”

“It’s not all down to the movie,” Yvonne corrected. “The city has always spoken to me. The iconography makes me feel like I could achieve anything I want there. That’s why I’m going.”

“When will you go?” Conor asked, brows drawn.

Yvonne blew out a slow breath. “On my salary? It’ll take me another three years to save, I reckon. But at least Ev will be finished with school by then and making her own way in the world.” She smiled warmly at me.

It was moments like these that I realised how lucky I was. There wasn’t much less validating in life than your mam leaving you without a backwards glance. Yet somehow, Yvonne slipped into the role of carer, and I believed I thrived because of it. Sometimes I wondered how she could love me so much when I wasn’t her own daughter. But she just did. I was lucky. She was aunt, confidant, friend, and my strongest cheerleader. As much as I wanted her to achieve her dream to move to New York, I wasn’t looking forward to being separated.

Conor also appeared saddened by this news, but Yvonne didn’t seem to notice. Instead she hit play on the DVD and the opening credits rolled.

“Billy Crystal, now there’s a man with a questionable hairdo, and old Meggie Ryan is still interested,” said Sam to Conor.

Conor shrugged, obviously still not convinced.

“Hush, or they’ll miss the opening scene,” Yvonne scolded, and he shut his mouth.

About thirty minutes into the film, while Meg Ryan was being particularly adorable with her shaggy nineties curls, and everyone was absorbed in the story, I got up to change into some PJs. I didn’t notice Dylan followed me until I turned around and there he was in the doorway.

“Mind if I come in?” he asked, voice quiet.

I lifted a shoulder. “I’ve seen your room. I guess it’s only fair that you see mine.”

Dylan grimaced. “Sorry again, by the way, for being a prick.”

“It’s water under the bridge.”

He stepped inside and sat on my bed, looking around with interest. I went to pull my pyjamas from the dresser. All I could think about was the fact that there was a boy sitting on my bed. A handsome, interesting, and slightly mysterious boy. His gaze traced the few trinkets on my shelf, lingering on the small vase of jasmine on my bedside table.

“Have you decided if you’re going to go yet?”

I frowned at him. “Go where?”

“To New York, with Yvonne.”

I let out a small sigh. “I can’t. Not with my grandma living at the care home. If I went she’d have no one, and Yvonne deserves to finally pursue her dreams. She’s spent the last four years of her life taking care of a teenager who isn’t even hers.”

Dylan studied me, his expression pensive. “So, you’re just going to stay here at the Villas forever?”

I gave a soft chuckle. “You make it sound like a death sentence.”

He was dead serious when he replied, “But it is.”

“Oh, come on, this place might not be the Ritz, but it’s hardly so bad. I’ve got a roof over my head, a garden to care for. Life doesn’t always have to include some big, glamorous dream like it does for Yvonne.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

I looked at him, fresh PJs hanging over my arm and said, “Okay, tell me how I’m wrong.”

He chewed his lip, a deep frown marring his features. “Someone like you shouldn’t stay in a place like this. If you do, you’ll harden. Your attitude will sour. I hate it here. Every day I think about leaving. The only reason I stay is for Dad and to finish school.”

The passionate way he spoke surprised me. I didn’t think Dylan loved living here, no one did, but I hadn’t realised he hated it so much either.

“Someone like me?” I whispered.

His reply was emphatic. “You’re sunshine, Evelyn, and there’s nothing but clouds around here.”

I didn’t know what to say, then Dylan continued, “I mean, do you ever think there’ll come a day when you don’t smell like this place? It seeps into all your clothes, all your stuff. Sometimes, when I meet new people, I worry they’ll know where I come from just because of how I smell. Did you know I work weekends at a fragrance counter in Arnotts? It’s where people with money go to shop, and some days I’m terrified they’re going to figure it out. They’re going to smell this place on me and know exactly where I come from. That I’m not one of them and I never will be.”

I didn’t know about Dylan’s job, but he definitely had the looks to sell cologne to rich people. I still wasn’t quite sure how to respond. I mean, what do you say to a speech like that?

“I just want to feel clean for one day in my life. I can never feel clean here.”

“You are clean, Dylan. You’re just overthinking it. You know, like how you say your dad does sometimes?”

“We both know I’m not. You and Yvonne might only allow positivity in your lives, but there’s gonna come a time when you figure out it’s all bullshit. The world is not a positive place, at least not when St. Mary’s fucking Villas is your home.”

My throat tightened, because now he was being mean. “That’s not true,” I whispered.

“What about your gran then? That’s what we all have to look forward to. Getting old and having to face the indignity of not being able to go to the bathroom on our own.”

“My gran is only fifty-nine,” I told him, angrily. “She has MS. It’s a degenerative illness. That’s why she lives in a care home. Yvonne wanted to care for her here, but it just wasn’t possible as her condition worsened. The lift is always out of order and we’re six stories up. So please, get your facts straight before you talk about other people’s situations.”

Dylan stared at me, shamefaced, then looked down and wearily ran his hands down his face. “Fuck. I’m sorry. When I get started on these rants I just can’t seem to stop sometimes.”

I took a moment to calm down. Dylan hadn’t intended to hurt me. In fact, it was clear he’d needed to vent his frustration. “You have a lot of anger in you.”

His eyes rose to mine and he looked so tired, “I know.”

“You’re too young to be so angry.”

He shook his head. “Anger can get you at any age, Ev, believe me.”

I studied him a moment and wondered if it was because he lost his mam, if that was where his unhappiness stemmed from. Or maybe it was a product of growing up here, where a hundred small injustices built to a giant ball of dissatisfaction.

“So, what will you do after school?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Not sure yet.”

“Really? You talk like you have some grand plan.”

That got the tiniest hint of a smile out of him. “My grand plan is to get out of here. I’ll figure out the rest when the time comes.”

“Well, I think you’ve got worrying down pat. Perhaps you could become a professional misery merchant to people who have too much happiness in their lives. That is, when you’re not hocking overpriced cologne and perfume to men and women who think they can spruce up their lives with a new scent.”

He appeared interested by this last bit. “You think that’s so absurd?”

“Not absurd. I just don’t believe the latest fragrance from Calvin Klein is going to turn men into George Clooney, or women into Eva Longoria for that matter.”

He huffed a breath of frustration. “Another thing we disagree on then.”

I eyed him, incredulous. “You do believe that?” Dylan O’Dea was the last person I thought could be fooled by clever marketing ploys.

When he looked at me, his features transformed, like he was thinking of his absolute favourite place in the world. Or his favourite person. “I think scent can transform anything,” he said, eyes aglow. “Take the Villas for example. If they didn’t smell so bad, they wouldn’t feel half as depressing. If they smelled like a field of wild lavender, or a grove of orange trees, I actually might not mind living here. If you ended up smelling sweaty and dirty after a shower, nobody would wash. Smelling nice makes people feel nice. It makes them feel ready to take on the day. I’ll grant you, no, a fragrance can’t turn a man into George Clooney, but it can make him feel like George Clooney, and that’s why he’s willing to pay so much for it.”

As I listened to him speak, my heart started to beat faster. The way he spoke made me feel a sense of urgency, like I was watching a person race somewhere far beyond the horizon. I could try to follow, but I’d never be fast enough. Maybe that was the allure of Dylan O’Dea. He wasn’t meant for a place like this, and he wouldn’t be here long. I could feel it in my bones.

“I think I see how you got the job at Arnotts now,” I said, my irritation fading as intrigue took its place. This boy revealed something new and interesting every time we spoke, even if his negativity frustrated me.

“If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s convincing people that smells are important.”

“Makes sense, what with your nasal superpowers and all,” I said, smiling.

We stared at one another for a moment. Dylan’s gaze traced the waves of my hair that fell over my shoulders, the tight lines of my dress where it hugged my hips then flared out over my thighs. An unknown feeling swept over me, like I was burning up from the inside.

A buzz filled my tiny room and Dylan reached down to pull his phone out. He glanced at the screen then lifted it to answer.

“Dad, hey.”

I watched as his brows formed a straight, furious line. “Right. I’ll be there in a minute.”

When he hung up he looked me dead in the eye, and I felt a chill at his expression. “Someone just spray-painted my fucking front door,” he said, voice near a growl.

Without another word, he stalked out of my room and through the living room, where the others were still watching the movie.

“Hey, where are you going?” Amy asked, perplexed.

Dylan didn’t answer but kept going until the front door slammed shut behind him.

“Someone spray-painted outside his flat,” I explained, before hurrying after him.

Amy swore while Conor got up to follow me. Two minutes later all five of us were at Dylan’s. A coil twisted in my gut when I saw the red letters on his door spelling out two words: dead man. Sam let out a gasp while I was the first to walk inside.

The scene I found struck a pang in my chest. Dylan knelt in front of the armchair where his dad sat, his arms tight around his neck as he hugged him. Tommy was obviously very shaken as Dylan whispered reassurances to try and calm him down.

“Whatever little shits did this deserve locking up,” said Yvonne when she saw the state Tommy was in. She still wore her pyjamas, but she didn’t appear to care right then. She walked over to Dylan and his dad, kneeling, too.

“Tommy, I’m Yvonne Flynn, Evelyn’s aunt. Would you like me to call the Gardaí?”

Dylan’s dad shook his head. “No, please don’t. I don’t want any trouble.”

“They can’t help anyway,” said Dylan. “I’ll sort this. You should all go home.”

“We’re not going home. And you’re not sorting this on your own,” Amy argued.

Something about her tone must’ve set him off, because he turned to her, furious. “If I say I’ll sort it, I’ll fucking sort it.” A pause before his voice grew louder, sterner. “Now you all need to leave.”

“But Dylan, we just want to—”

“I said LEAVE,” he shouted, and I jumped in fright.

“Come on. Dylan’s right,” Yvonne said, the voice of reason. “We should give him and his dad some privacy.”

I didn’t want to go, but I also didn’t want to contend with Dylan’s rage. I think everyone was feeling the same way, because a moment later we were out, heading back to our flat.

“Do you think it was Shane?” I asked Conor as we walked. I could tell he was just as worried about Dylan as I was.

“I have no idea. It could’ve been some of the lads from the McCarthy gang. You know they’ve been trying to recruit him?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I saw the black eye he got for resisting.”

Conor blew out a long breath. “They want him because of his size. They prefer lads like Dylan in their crew because he looks intimating to other gangs. Sometimes I’m glad to be skinny and half blind.”

“You’ll fill out,” Sam said. “And there’s always laser eye surgery. Also, I’m pretty sure this wasn’t Shane. He’s all talk and no teeth.”

“He had some teeth when he was punching my niece in the face,” Yvonne put in. “I’ll be having a word with his mother the next time I see her.”

“His ma’s on crack,” said Amy. “She could give a shit about what her son does.”

Yvonne’s mouth firmed, a small line forming between her eyebrows. “She’ll give a shit when I’m finished with her.”

“Go, Yvonne,” Sam hooted. “You’re our hero. I should get you a Wonder Woman costume for Halloween.”

Conor’s expression turned shy, like he was embarrassed for enjoying the idea of my aunt in costume. I think I was the only one who noticed though.

When we reached the flat, Yvonne pressed play on the movie, but I couldn’t get into it. My mind was elsewhere. I couldn’t stop thinking about Dylan and those horrible words on his door. His anger suddenly made sense. I couldn’t imagine what it must be like having scumbags constantly taunting you, trying to wear you down. Only Dylan didn’t strike me as the type to be worn down, and he seemed determined to drill the message home, whatever that entailed. My stomach felt tight and queasy as I imagined him digging an even bigger hole for himself.

What was he going to do? And more importantly, who exactly was he going to do it to?