Lily and Dunkin

I jump out of Bob’s branches and land so hard it hurts from my heels up through my knees. But I don’t care. I run, my backpack thumping against my spine.

From a few yards behind him, I call, “Dunkin?”

He turns, and I try to read his face. Pain of some variety flashes across it. His face matches how I feel.

He keeps walking.

“Wait up.” I run the rest of the way to catch up with him. And we walk together, fast, side by side, not saying anything. It’s hard to match his stride because his legs are so long.

“So…,” I say, but the word hangs in the air between us.

I wish he’d say something. Anything.

It feels like he’s trying to walk away from me. I wonder if I should just head back to Bob. But by then we’re at Dunkin’ Donuts, so I go inside with him.

I wait beside him, tapping the counter.

He looks at me, annoyed. Then, something shifts in his eyes. “You want something?” he asks, pulling out a five.

“Sure,” I say. “Boston Kreme?”

He orders two Boston Kremes plus a large iced coffee.

Dunkin pays and drops the change into the tip jar. I consider this a good sign. He’s a perfectly decent human, despite his aberration of sitting with the Neanderthals this week. He’s new to school. I’m sure he just doesn’t know better. Instead of being angry with him, I should help him figure everything out, show him that I would be a way better friend than any of the Neanderthals ever could be.

At our table for two, I watch Dunkin close his eyelids as he takes a loooooong swig of coffee through the orange straw. He blinks a few times, focuses on me and says, “Ah, the elixir. All is well.”

When he picks up his doughnut, I grab mine and touch his in a kind of toast. “To the best kind of doughnut,” I say.

Dunkin grins. “Yeah, this is my favorite, too.”

I nod and take a sweet bite. “Glazed is my second favorite.”

“Me too,” Dunkin says, scarfing down the doughnut. “We have a lot in common.”

“At least with important stuff, like doughnuts,” I say.

Dunkin smiles, making me glad I hopped out of Bob, even though my heels and legs still ache from the long jump down. I want to tell Dunkin about what’s going to happen to Bob in case he didn’t notice the sign, but we talk about doughnuts and school stuff. I watch him relax the more we talk, and realize I’m feeling more relaxed, too. It’s a good feeling starting to make a new friend. Dare’s the best, but it would be great to have another friend, maybe one a little less…busy.

I’m feeling happier than I have this past week…until the door of Dunkin’ Donuts swings opens and the worst possible things walk in. If I could have one superpower right now, I’d wish it were invisibility. I’d use that power because the entire army of Neanderthals—sweaty and loud—stand between me and freedom.

Unfortunately, I don’t have superpowers. I don’t even see an emergency fire alarm I could pull to distract them and run past, into the blazing sunshine. Into the arms of Bob. In fact, it feels like my butt is glued to the hard, plastic seat while I’m helpless to prevent the humiliation that’s about to happen.

Why did I jump out of Bob and join Dunkin on his stupid coffee-and-doughnut quest? Why did I feel such a strong desire to give him another chance and follow him? Sure, it was great getting to know him a little better, but totally not worth dealing with what’s about to go down.

Will I ever learn I’m better off when I stay away from other people?

Even if that means being hollowed out from loneliness.

THE NEANDERTHALS

I can’t believe how much better I feel after sucking down that cup of iced coffee. It clears the fog from my head and takes away the jackhammer pain. I’d buy another one, but I’m out of money. I’m always out of money.

Tim and I talk about school and our love of doughnuts.

“Why did the doughnut go to the dentist?” Tim asks.

I shrug.

“He needed a chocolate filling.”

“Ha.” I shake my head, thinking Phin would appreciate Tim’s stupid sense of humor. Then I realize I shouldn’t be thinking about Phin. I’m here with Tim, and things are going well.

For the first time, I’m glad I ditched basketball.

When he asks, I show Tim the secret behind the disappearing saltshaker trick, and he’s all kinds of impressed. He tries a bunch of times, but can’t quite get it to work right.

“Takes practice,” I say. “You’ll get it.”

Then, like a thunderstorm with dark clouds rolling in, the door to Dunkin’ Donuts swings open, and Vasquez and the guys amble by—like an animal pack—their shirts drenched and their hair soaked with sweat.

Guilt stabs my heart. I should be among them, sweaty and spent. I feel like I played hooky. Then I realize I’m sitting across from Tim. There’s no way to deny that fact.

Why didn’t I go to basketball this morning and get the humiliation over with?

I make eye contact with Vasquez the same moment he notices me…and Tim. And I understand that what’s about to happen is my punishment for ditching them after they’ve been nice to me all week.

I make a lame attempt at a wave. “Hey, guys.” I hate how weak my voice sounds.

Vasquez comes over and stands right near me. Since I’m seated, he seems really tall. I try not to grimace from his vinegary stink.

“Seriously?” He’s facing me with his back to Tim. “You ditched us for her?” He jerks his thumb toward Tim.

My muscles tense.

The cashier looks at Vasquez, and some of the other customers turn to see what’s happening. Maybe they’re wondering if a fight is going to break out. I hope not.

“Your loss,” Vasquez says, and I get this ache because I know exactly what I’m losing. Why did I let Tim come with me to Dunkin’ Donuts? Why didn’t he stay up in his stupid tree?

“Yeah,” one of the guys says. “We had a great bunch of games. You shoulda been there.”

I’m not sure if he’s threatening me or trying to be nice.

Someone pulls on Vasquez’s sweaty jersey, and they conference near the drink cases. Vasquez nods, looks at me, then nods again.

I feel like bolting. I do not want to know what they’re discussing—probably what they’re going to do to me and Tim.

I glance briefly at Tim—long enough to see his blue eyes wide with fear.

Vasquez struts back over and brings the stink with him. He slaps his palms on our table and looks right into my eyes. It’s uncomfortable, but I hold his gaze.

“The guys and I decided,” Vasquez says, looking around at his posse, “if you come out for basketball tryouts in October, all will be forgiven.”

A weight falls off me.

I nod.

Then Vasquez turns to Tim and bends lower so he’s right in his face. “As for you…I can’t even talk to you. I don’t even know what you are.”

The guys crack up.

Vasquez walks to the counter and all the guys follow in a pack. Then Vasquez looks back at me. “You comin’ or not, Dorfman?”

He called me Dorfman. He wants me to join them. I hop up from the table so fast I bang my knee, but I don’t care. My long limbs are always getting in the way.

Glancing back at Tim, I see his face is blotchy red, his blue eyes swimming with hurt and disappointment. I turn from those piercing blue eyes and join Vasquez and the rest of the guys at the counter.

Bobby Birch bumps his shoulder into mine in a friendly way, so I know I’m back in. Forgiven for ditching their basketball practice this morning. Forgiven for the much bigger sin of sitting with Tim, even though I can’t figure out why they hate Tim so much. He really doesn’t seem like a bad guy at all.

I glance at Tim one last time.

He meets my gaze for a second, then rockets up toward the door and pushes it open. His doughnut wrapper is still on the table.

The guys’ cruel laughter fills Tim’s wake, and I know he can hear it.

I don’t know if Tim can tell I’m laughing, too. But I am.

And I hate myself for it.