The Serpent King(73)

She thumbed around on her phone. “Okay…this way.” She pointed. “Let’s go see where the music recording nerds like future-you hang out.”

They strolled the short distance to the mass communication building. It was dark and cool inside. Plaques, awards, and photos covered the walls. The sheer amount of glittering visual information overwhelmed Dill. Everywhere there were groups of the sort of people who probably weren’t popular in high school. My kind of people.

“This place looks really fun, Dill. I’m actually a little jealous.”

He gave her hand a quick squeeze, rules be damned. “You could probably get in here.” Worth a try.

“Don’t get carried away.”

They explored the building before getting hungry. As they left to head toward the student union and grab a bite, they passed a pretty girl in sunglasses with shaggy blond hair, a nose ring, and sleeve tattoos. She sat cross-legged on a low brick wall with her flip-flops on the ground in front of her. She glanced up from her phone and made brief eye contact with Dill. She smiled, looked down, and smoothed her hair. Dill smiled back. Lydia saw the exchange. He might have imagined it, but he could have sworn that Lydia gave the girl a subtle “step off” look. That’s new. Never seen that before.

Then the girl looked back up. “Hey, excuse me. Not to be a weirdo, but I recognize you.”

“Oh, yeah, I run a—” Lydia started to say.

“Sorry, no, I meant you.” The girl pointed at Dill. “Do you play music?”

A beat passed before Dill realized the girl was talking to him. “Uh…yeah.”

“Okay, are you Dearly?”

“Yeah.”

“So, one of my friends posted one of your videos the other day. It was awesome. You have an amazing voice.” The girl smoothed her hair again, twisting a lock of it.

“Oh…wow. Thanks. Tell your friend thanks.”

“So what are you doing here? Just hanging out?”

“Sort of, yeah. I’m going here next year.”

“Awesome! I hope I see you around.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Are you going to be playing shows around town?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it.”

The girl flipped her hair. “You should. My friends and I would totally come. Your video had a lot of good comments on it.”

“Oh, right on—”

“Anyway,” Lydia said loudly. “We better keep going on the tour. It was nice to meet you…”

“Marissa.”

“Nice to meet you, Marissa. I’m Lydia, Dearly’s manager. Say goodbye, Dearly.”

“Bye.”

Once they walked out of earshot of Marissa, Dill turned to Lydia, glowing. “That girl totally recognized me.”

“Yeah, I noticed. I’m not surprised, dude. Your videos keep getting passed around. They have a lot of views. You’re really good.”

“Maybe when I get to college, that’s all people will know about me—that I do music.”

“Your life is going to be better in so many ways.” Lydia stopped. “Speaking of, there’s something else we need to talk about.”

“Okay.” Dill’s heart abruptly switched from racing over being treated like a small celebrity to racing in its much more familiar “there’s something we need to talk about” way.

Lydia pondered for a moment. “So, not that high school taught you this—and don’t get a big head—but you’re weirdly handsome in this brooding, dark, intense way that a certain type of girl finds very intriguing. Plus, you sing and play guitar like the incarnation of Orpheus, as you just saw.”

“Thanks, that’s—”

“Hush. I’m not giving you compliments; I’m stating facts. And I wasn’t finished. This ‘certain type of girl’ is often nuts. What I’m telling you is you’ll have lots of opportunities to hook up with nutty girls in college, but you’ll regret it.”

Dill smirked. “Maybe I could have a special huge flyswatter made for me for swatting all the crazy girls away.”

Lydia grabbed his arm. “Dill, I’m serious.”

“Okay.” Lydia was usually emphatic in getting her way, but Dill had rarely seen her this emphatic. Or territorial.

“I hate the thought of you hooking up with anyone, nutty or otherwise.” Lydia maintained her grip on Dill’s arm and gave the stink eye to a guy who glanced over as he walked past.

Dill looked her in the eyes. “You can call yourself whatever you want. But I call myself your boyfriend. And as such, I don’t intend to be hooking up with anyone. Nutty or otherwise. Okay?”

“Okay. Just FYI, I don’t intend to hook up with any dumb, gross boys either.”

“That makes me very happy.”

“Or even nondumb, nongross boys.”

“Good.”

Lydia seemed immersed in thought for the rest of the walk to the student union. For as far as they could see, there were huge 1950s-era buildings surrounded by tall trees. The aroma of warm cut grass, woodchips, and grilling hamburgers hung in the air.

And then, out of nowhere, as if it were the most normal thing imaginable, Lydia reached out and took Dill’s hand. And there they were, walking down the sidewalk, holding hands. In public.