Dizzy

Chapter 3

~Dylan~

Hangovers suck. My head is going to explode, my gut aches like I've spent too much time in the car with Paul after he eats Taco Bell, and my mouth feels like there's glue in it. The part that really sucks is it's my fault. I forgot my own rules. I didn't follow the happy-buzz plan, drinking way more than I should have once Hanes left. I mean, who gets that pissed over a white T-shirt? Maybe she has stock in the company. The girl has some serious damage, which gives me something else to add to my suckage list. I'm in bed, feeling like a truck ran over me, yet my mind is on her.

What. The. Hell?

What did I ever do to her? What kind of person comes to a party with an Oscar the Grouch frown, insults the owner of said party and then eyes him up and down like he's something to eat? Yeah, she had her eyes on me. I noticed. What I wish is that I'd been able to take my eyes off her. And it kind of kills me I had that effect on her. The I-couldn't-care-less effect, not the devour-me-with-your-eyes one.

It shouldn't matter because I don't go for girls like her. I'm not into the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing because that leads to the kind of commitment that screwed up my whole family.

Chastity's into me, and she doesn't want more than just to have fun either. I should totally be focusing on her right now. On the way her skin felt beneath my hands, the way her mouth took mine. Granted, with a little too much spit, but still. Chastity is safe for a whole gang of reasons that I'm too foggy-brained to think about right now.

So I don't. Instead I drag my lazy ass out of bed to get the house clean before Dad gets home. Then it's shopping. Can't have enough school clothes. Especially when I go to the hellhole known as Portland Prep—yes, that's really the name. It doesn't even matter that we have a school uniform; It's always a good time for a new wardrobe.

***

"Dylan. Psst," Chastity calls from the next row over and a seat behind me. Mrs. Palm is at the front of the room talking about who the hell knows what. How history can be so interesting I don't understand, but she loses herself in the Ho Chi Minh Trail, rambling on and on, oblivious to what's happening in the classroom.

I turn to her. "Yeah?"

School Chastity looks so different than party Chastity. There's a makeup rule on how much you can wear, and party Chastity would definitely end up spending some time in detention if she showed up here.

"Do you have plans after school? Wanna chill?" she whisper-yells.

It's December, and Chastity and I have "hung out" a few times since the party. It's easy with her. We have fun and then go our separate ways, something that works well for both of us. I hear she's seen Ted Thompson once or twice, too. They're one of those hook-up and break-up couples. For all I know she's using me to make him jealous, but I don't care. It's not hard to avoid caring about Chastity. I don't mean to sound like a jerk. There's nothing wrong with her. I just don't give people ways to have any power over me. It's another one of those Gibson Boys things.

"Yeah. You can come to my house—"

"Mr. Gibson! Is there something you'd like to share with the class?"

Yeah, leave it to me to get caught talking by the teacher who never catches anyone. "No, ma'am. I was just taking notes on your discussion, but I missed that last part. I asked Chastity if she caught it."

I smile and hold up a piece of paper I just started a sketch on. Sketching is way more interesting than history, and I'm better at it, too. I'm always drawing something and tucking it away. I guess you can say it's my thing. Luckily, another well-known fact about Mrs. Palm, she's blind as a bat and won't notice I'm drawing a picture of her rather than taking notes.