The Serpent King(45)

Lydia was horrified to find herself calling after her, “Hey, Mom. I’m…working on a blog post. Did you ever have a friend who you were sure would always just be a friend, but then you started developing feelings for said friend?”

Her mom came back, set down the laundry basket she was carrying, leaned against the doorjamb, and folded her arms with a sly smile. “Yes, as a matter of fact. I have some experience with that.”

“What happened?”

“One night, we were hanging out at this burger place near the college, and we were eating ice cream cones and sitting on one of the picnic tables outside, and the moonlight caught his face in just the right way and he was the most beautiful thing in the world. And I wasn’t ever able to go back to seeing him as anything but.”

“Who was he?”

“Denton Blankenship.”

“Oh. Right. This would’ve been a pretty awkward moment otherwise, I guess.”

“Yep.” Her mom picked up her laundry basket and left.

Once her mom was out of earshot, Lydia watched Dill’s videos again.




“No, I’m not playing the Forrestville High School talent competition. Are you high?”

“Hear me out,” Lydia said.

“Talent competitions are dumb.”

“Yes, they are. But listen.”

“Class is about to start.” Dill stood up from where he sat on Lydia’s bumper. He blew on his hands and rubbed them together. “Plus, it’s freezing out here.”

“Stop. Hear me out. What would be the sweetest feeling in the world? What would be the biggest middle finger in the faces of people who have done their best to make your life miserable? To stand in front of them and sing. That would be so badass, because you’re so good. And what if you won? Fifty bucks. That’s like a million dollars in adjusted Dill dollars.”

“Why should I do it?” Dill sat back down.

“Besides every reason I just gave? Because we should do things we’re afraid of. It makes it easier every time we do it.” And if I can get you to do this, maybe I’ll be able to get you to do other stuff you’re afraid to do, like leave this town and go to college. Maybe we just need to break through your comfort zone this once.

“I don’t want to get laughed at.”

Trump card time. “Even if you get laughed at, I happen to know for a fact that you aren’t laughable in general. And I have proof.” Lydia opened her laptop. She pulled up one of Dill’s videos. It had 9,227 views and forty-nine comments. All positive.

Chills.

This song is amazing.

OMG loved this, thank you. And so on.

Dill looked stunned. “How—Didn’t you barely post this? Maybe last night?”

Lydia closed her laptop and gave him a smug pat on the head. “I tweeted it out last night. I didn’t say you were my friend. If I had, it would have looked nepotistic. So I didn’t use your name. I called you Dearly. Get it? D. Early?”

“People really liked it.”

“Do this for me,” Lydia said. “For all the times I’ve stuck up for you.”

They heard the bell ring. They were late.

“I’ve never performed one of my nonhymn songs in public before. Much less at the high school Christmas talent competition in front of six hundred people, most of whom hate me.”

“You’ve performed plenty of times in front of venomous creatures. You’ll be right at home.”





Practicing for the talent show gave him focus. It took his mind off Lydia leaving. It took his mind off his upcoming visit with his father. Still, in the intervening month or so between promising Lydia he’d do it and the show’s date, he’d had plenty of time to lose his nerve. Every time he waffled, though, Lydia would whip out her phone or her laptop and show him the steadily increasing number of views, comments, and likes “Dearly” had. She bought him a new set of guitar strings. She called it an early Christmas present.

But then, in the final days before the competition, Dill stopped being afraid and started being excited. He kept thinking about the fifty dollars and how much he wanted it. He was going to spend it on Lydia. Take her to dinner. Buy her something. Anything but throw it down the black hole of the Early family debt.

The day came slowly, but it came.

Dill was nauseated that morning. He couldn’t eat breakfast. He and Lydia didn’t speak at all on the way to school. He couldn’t pay attention in class. The talent show assembly was after lunch. He trembled as he filed into the auditorium, guitar case in hand, Lydia and Travis flanking him—a gladiator heading to a fight for his life.

“Hey,” Lydia said. “Breathe. You’ll do great. Remember: you have fans and you have friends. Nobody here can do anything to you or take anything from you.”

“Why did I let you talk me into this?”

“Because I’m awesome and you’re awesome and you’re going to do something brave.”

“It’s cool you’re doing this,” Travis said. “I watched your videos again the other night, and they really are amazing.”

Dill said nothing but nodded and gripped his armrest. Every nerve in his body hummed as he sat through the introduction of the three judges (all teachers—not fellow students, fortunately), interminable lip-syncing and dance routines, corny comedy sketches, duck and turkey calls, and awful karaoke. Until finally his turn came.