Secrets Come With lies

CHAPTER SEVEN

Manhattan, New York City

One month ago...

Leah

"I want to watch Jumanji again," a six-year-old Zoey squealed.

I was babysitting her again because her parents had some emergency meeting with their son, Joshua's, teacher. I wasn't supposed to be babysitting but the Fosters offered to pay extra and allowed me to let Dylan come over.

Zoey was in her bumblebee striped tights, a periwinkle ballerina tutu, a lime green camisole and bottle green baby heels. I don't even know what style she was going for, but I just let her wear what she wanted to.

Besides, it was that time of the week when she was allowed to have stuff from her sugar pile.

After two packs of sour patch kids, she was already a complete mess. Her blonde hair was like really bad bed hair and she couldn't stop dancing around the living room.

"Is she always like this?"Dylan asked as he watched her bounce from one end of the room to the other.

"Just Thursdays, because today is her sugar day, "I explained.

He looked over at me with an amused expression plastered across his face. "Sugar day?"

I nodded. "She's not allowed to have sugar every day because of how she gets. Only Thursdays."

"Lee! I want to watch the Rock now!" Zoey complained.

I sighed and got up to put the Jumanji on for her, before plopping down next to Dylan on the couch again.

"How many times have you guys watched this?" he asked.

"Countless. But it gets her settled."

And I was right. Zoey was sitting on the large armchair. Her attention was on the Rock, who she was secretly crushing on, and she had her tiny fingers in her mouth.

"You're good at this," he whispered.

I watched as Zoey relaxed her head against the pillows and her eyes began to close.

"They're not really hard to look after. They're better than most grown-ups," I said.

"But I have a feeling that you're especially good at this." Dylan kicked his sneakers off to reveal two oddly coloured pairs of green and blue socks, before laying his head against my lap.

His green eyes studied mine and I could see him trying to figure out how mad I was with him. On a scale of one to ten, my anger level was just on a six right then.

We hadn't talked about the night before when he'd told me to go home after making me meet up at his college. We hadn't talked about how he didn't answer his phone and how I was sick to my stomach with anxiety. I could feel the same fear rising in my throat and it just wouldn't go back down.

As if he could sense what I was thinking, he reached up and grabbed a loose strand on my hair, before whispering, "I'm sorry."

"Did you know the people back at the pool? Why did you get scared?" I asked.

He sighed heavily. "I wasn't scared. It's just that they- I didn't want to see them. They're just not the sort of people you'd like."

"And you like them?"

He shook his head. "Not necessarily. But I'm a part of them now."

My annoyance level was rising. "What does that even mean? That doesn't seem like the kind of people you'd hang out with. That's not you."

Suddenly his phone vibrated. He sat up and pulled out his phone, completely ignoring me. "I have to go. I'm sorry," he said and squeezed my hand with his.

"As your best friend, I'm asking you not to go," I whispered, pleadingly.

He stood up and let go of my hand. "I'm a different person. And I'm sorry that I'm not who you thought I was. I have to go. I'll see you soon."

That stung. It was like a good slap across the face and go to hell.

I looked away and stared at the ground. "You know what, don't bother, Dylan. I don't want to inconvenience you."

"That's not what I-"

"Go," I said firmly. "Just go."

Without anything else further to say, he turned away from me and left the apartment like I'd asked him to.

I turned back to Jumanji and watched the rest of the movie as the evening arrived. I wasn't going to look out for someone that clearly didn't want looking out for.