Eight Letters. Three Words.

Eight Letters. Three Words - Ch. 21

Chapter Twenty-One

The Warning

During the following weeks I found myself developing a pattern. I went to school, tried to learn, hang out with Ethan and Leela, and spend the rest of the time with Dylan. I would then go to the care center, where my community and service had changed from watching over kids, to sneaking inside the broom closet for a quick make out.

I did this day after day, and soon I would wake up in the mornings and find a guy’s sweater lying on a chair, or several pens and notebooks that didn’t belong to resting on the desk. He was everywhere. It was intoxicating; everywhere I went it smelled of lemons and spice.

                                                                          *

“Have you seen Leela?”

I was changing my books, emptying my school bag and gathering some notebooks to make my free period useful when Ethan appeared unexpectedly, his voice sounding impatient. I shook my head in answer to his question.

“Any idea where she might be?” Again, I shook my head.

I was to meet Dylan in the library to work on our essays. Mr. Arkwood had insisted on giving us tons of work over the past weeks, and chemistry or any other subject which requires thinking is not my forte.

“If you see her, tell her I was looking for her,” I nodded, and smiled as he ruffled my hair and walked away.

Woody Guthrie was crackling softly on the folk radio station. The computer keys typed, typed, typed. Two flies buzzed against the window pane. A student’s pen scratched on paper. Someone whispered, another someone laughed.

This, I thought, was one of the quiet moments in the library.

Dylan was sitting at the far edge of the room, his back was pressed against a shelf of old, yellow books whose pages would fall apart the moment they were opened. He didn’t raise his head as I sat next to him, nor did he react when I kissed his temple. He turned a page, and slid his arm around my waist as I began writing.

Creative writing, I’m not that good with it. It takes effort to find words that sound fancy enough to convince the teacher that I am taking her work seriously. After the third proof read, I realized it wouldn’t get any better even if I went over it again.I preferred struggling with Math than having to translate the crazy thoughts inside my head onto paper.

I leaned over Dylan’s arm looking at the words he read, “What are you reading?”

A smile appeared across his face; he turned around setting the book aside and pulled me into his arms. He rested his chin on my shoulder. “Documents about the Spanish Civil War,”

“I tried writing something for English. Tried being the operative word,” he chuckled.

“You gave up?”

“I got distracted.”

I could imagine a wicked grin making its way across his face as his lips grazed my cheek.

I turned, and kissed him. Dylan’s lips were chapped and a little dry, but they warmed up as they met mine. With a lick of my tongue I caused for a groan to work it's way uo his throat. All studying plans were forgotten. His hands tighten on my waist, picked me up and moved backward until I felt the hard wood shelf against my shoulders. Then he set about really kissing me—deep, sweet, hot, and intent. I felt myself getting lost, drifting happilly, until he finally came up for air. The look in his grey eyes was focused and dreaming at the same time, and this time his smile was... dangerous.