An excerpt from her science fiction novel

ARIANA BLAUSTEIN

An excerpt from her science fiction novel

I run my fingers along the rusted metal. The chains shudder. This swing-set is tired and stiff. The metal is kindly cool in this Arizona sun. I brush the dirt off the plastic seat and lower myself into the swing. Foreign, I think, to be so grown. My mind wanders thinking of my lanky body and I begin to feel myself lengthening in the low-set swing. Stop, focus, I think, I am swinging. The creaking of chains reminds me of twisted arms, driving to the emergency room. In my ears, I hear chattering nurses, beeping machines, and screaming behind curtains. I clear my throat and the screaming stops, was that me? I drop the swing’s chains, and refocus. Almost lazily, I walk through the backyard. Familiar yellow patches of grass. I am near the house, the peeling red door frame becomes clearer. Now I am in the garden, one foot in ripe tomatoes. The memory hits and I am six again, sobbing, my mother’s red gloves pulled loosely over my tiny hands. I have pulled all of the budding tomatoes instead of the weeds. No, with effort I drag my mind back to the previous scene. I am seventeen again, but the tomatoes beneath my feet are ragged and dead. I look around the rest of the garden. Mainly vegetables, except for her patch of daisies. I hear her in my ears, “there should always be a little beauty among the practical.” Mom’s lilac watering can appears on the cobblestone to my left. Balled water dribbles down the side. My heart flutters, could she be here this time? Loud barking sounds from inside the house, the scrapping of paws against hardwood floors, and Arthur bounds into the garden. He throws himself on top of me the way used to, but now he only reaches my hips. You used to be so big, I think. Instantly, he triples in size. I fall to 94

the ground, struggling to breathe, as he rests on my rib cage. “Fuck,” I squeal, “Off! Arthur, down!” He rolls off of me, belly up, wagging his tail waiting to be pet. “Dean?” A voice rang from inside. My heartbeat quickened and my stomach grew tight. “Is that you?” I slowly rise, leaving Arthur behind, taking careful steps towards the house. I wipe my feet on our welcome mat, “The Rilers Family.” I push open the screen door, it creaks shut behind me. I am inside our little yellow house. Mason jars filled with grains line the counter, sun tea soaks on the windowsill, and grocery lists are stuck along the refrigerator. I feel every chair, wooden surface, and picture frame. She is standing in the corner of the kitchen, holding a mug of coffee close to her chest. I run to her, fall into her arms, breathing in her heartbeat and informal perfume. “Good morning to you too,” she laughs. “When did you get up?” I smile and shrug, and drop out of her arms. “You want eggs?” She asks, walking towards the refrigerator. “Yes, please,” I say. I miss your eggs, I miss you. She is gone, I look wildly around the kitchen. “Mom?” I call out, and she is back beside me, a plate of eggs in front of me. I sigh with relief. “Your dad isn’t up yet.” she says, taking a bite from her own plate. “I expect you to be sleeping in late, not him,” she says with a light laugh. “Dad’s not home, Mom.” I say firmly. I don’t want him here; he doesn’t exist here. “No, hun, he’s upstairs,” she says. I smile and shrug, but I burn with frustration. A business trip, a long car ride, something not in the house; isn’t this my world? “Any plans for today, Dean?” She grabs the salt and shakes it over her eggs. “Not really, I thought we could do something.” “Fine by me,” she smiles, “are you going to eat that?” She points at my untouched plate of eggs. I shake my head, if only, 95

I think. She scoops a forkful from my plate, piling it onto her own. “Hungry?” I ask. “Always,” she says with a big smile. The ends of her lips begin to droop downwards. The walls of the little yellow house melt with her, grocery lists falling to the floor like droplets. The roof of the house caves and I can see the sky dripping above me. I watch as Arizona slips away: the feeling of her arms, the warm breeze, and the screaming of her old teapot which I know is coming from me. “Dean.” His father was standing over him. He was back in his bead, sweat pooling beneath his back. “It’s time for school, bud.” He walked out of his room, leaving Dean twisted in his grey comforter, tears swimming in his eyes. *** After a few rushed moments and the tying and untying of shoes placed on the wrong feet, Dean sat in the kitchen silently on the left side of his father. The two of them never sat at the dining table for breakfast, only on the cold hard chairs tucked beneath the cooking table. This had been his choice, he couldn’t bear the thought of having to sit facing his father during meals. At least looking out the window they could pretend they were in thought, which was a lot less painful than conversation. “What’d you program last night?” His father asked obligatorily. This had become their way–pretending everything was normal and boring while loudly crunching bran flakes. “Same as usual, pretty action based.” Dean mumbled, pushing around the cereal with disinterest. His father nodded approvingly, bringing his spoon to his mouth and slurping the remaining low-fat milk. “What about you?” “Nothing. I just wanted to be peaceful for a night, you know?” He brushed a napkin over his top lip and scooted his chair back from the table. “Do you need a ride to school?” 96

“No thanks, Chasen’s picking me up.” Dean quickly spooned the rest of his cereal into his mouth, taking the cue from his father that breakfast was over. “Ah, a new friend already? You like this kid Chasen?” He walked towards the other room, and Dean could hear him rustling his papers, shoving them into his bag. “Um, sort of. I mean, we just met yesterday. But yeah, he seems nice.” “That’s nice, buddy. It’s good you’re making friends. You’re good like that.” He re-entered the kitchen and stood awkwardly for a moment. He looked too big in their small kitchen and too broad in his tight clothes, his shoulders stretching his shirt so the buttons barely clung to their opposing fabric. “See you for dinner, then?” Dean nodded and his father walked towards the door, the frames creaking noisily as it shut closed behind him. With a small sigh, Dean picked up both of their bowls, bringing them to the sink and let the milk soaked flakes splatter into the drain. He dried his hands, picked up his school bag, and walked outside to the end of the driveway where he had told Chasen to pick him up. They had met in Dean’s first physics class the day before, when Chasen had called him over, looked him up and down. “Who are you?” he asked. Chasen wore long army-green overalls, which accentuated his awkward height. He slouched his head in an attempt to counteract his gawkiness which made his shaggy brown hair brush his shoulders. Dean didn’t take much to rude people but Chasen was intriguing. “I’m new, and I’m, um, Dean . . . Rilers.” Chasen looked at Dean smugly, gave him a smart smile, and took him around the shoulder. Dean could feel his bony elbows digging awkwardly into his back. Chasen smelled strongly of detergent and coconut shampoo. “Hey Sabrina! Check out my new friend Riley!” He an97

chored Dean by the shoulders and turned him to face a pretty girl on the other side of the room. He smiled politely at her, taking in her long brown hair, crooked nose, and freckles lined against her olive skin. “Hi, Riley!” She said cheerfully. She turned back to her friends who had already given Dean the once-over, whispering unkind things about Dean’s thin chest and bold lips. He wondered how he had immediately subjected himself to scrutiny. His plan was to stay out of people’s way and slowly assimilate to normalcy. “Look, they’re already talking about you. Good choice on my part.” He laughed and slapped Dean on the chest, which made Dean uncomfortable. He couldn’t help but feel resentful towards Chasen, who had ruined his quiet plan so suddenly. “My name’s Dean, though.” He said self-consciously. “Yeah but, I feel like I’m knighting you or something. It’s totally fine if you like Dean better, I just think Riley is cooler, more intriguing.” He pauses, “I need your consent, though. I’m not bullying you, I’m like recreating you, get it?” Dean nodded and took the seat next to Chasen. When a group project was assigned Chasen pulled together Sabrina, Dean, and another girl he hadn’t been introduced to yet. Faced with the prospect of being left out, Dean was suddenly glad to have someone. He was sure their friendship wouldn’t last, but he wasn’t in the best place to be picky. At the end of class Chasen had offered to drive Dean to school the next day, so long as he “didn’t live in bum-fuck nowhere” because they would have physics first period together the next day. After minutes of standing in the cold, Dean’s nose had turned pink and his fingers were numb. A car moving a little too quickly for a residential area turned on the end of the street. It was a small green car with decal stickers of bands he didn’t recognize on the back. It honked twice and came to a stop in front of the Rilers’ mailbox. Chasen rolled down the window, “hop in, 98

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Dean!” He walked to the other side and cautiously opened the passenger’s door, and with Chasen’s nod of approval moved a bundle of blankets to the back seat of the car. “What happened to Riley?” he asked, “my recreation?” With his eyes on the road Chasen fidgeted, gripping the wheel. “Yeah, I thought about it a little more and I realized maybe I was being unfair to you. I was gonna apologize for that. I talked it over with my mom–she’s a psychologist–and she thinks it was unfair for me to try to create an identity for you before you’ve even expressed your own.” He laughed, “like, whatever, she’s a bitch, but I’ve decided to call you Dean.” “Fine by me.” Dean looked around the car, taking in the plastic wrappers, dirty clothes, and maps stuffed into the side door. “What’s with the maps?” Dean asked, pulling them out of the compartment and opening them. “I don’t really fuck with automated maps, I feel like I’m being tracked––but I’m also really horrible with directions. I know the route to school from here, but getting to your house was a nightmare.” Dean folded the maps and put them away; nobody used maps anymore. Chasen was wearing a jean jacket with sequins along the seams of the sleeves. He could tell from the shoddy stitches that Chasen had sewn them in himself. “So, Dean, what’s your deal?” Chasen cocked his head towards Dean, his eyes still on the road. “What do you mean?” Dean was horrible at talking about himself. In the eighth grade, his teacher had assigned him a one page memoir and he had panicked and wrote a seven page paper about his dog, Arthur. When Ms. Nulberry confronted him about it, he told her that he thought Arthur was more interesting than he was. His mother had comforted him as he lay in bed that night, stroking his head in that way that she did, tears streaming over his failing grade. “Like what do you do? What kind of music do you like? What are your DREMs like?” Dean could feel Chasen needed him to be interesting. He had chosen Dean, and Chasen was 100

expecting him to be entertaining and worthwhile. He thought Chasen would regret his choice and ultimately ditch Dean; he would never sew sequins into his underwear much less anything people at school could see. “Well, I’m really into computer science. I like jazz––alternative stuff. When I use DREM it’s usually action-based stuff, I guess.” Chasen smiled and murmured ha-ha! clicked a few buttons on his steering wheel, and out of the speakers came smooth jazz, something really old that Dean didn’t recognize but liked. He got the idea that Chasen enjoyed all things retro. Dean smiled and Chasen slapped him on the back and looked at him knowingly. “Nice!” He said. “So tell me about this action stuff. Are you always the hero? Like I don’t wanna be friends with a psycho, but if you wanted to play the villain we could do some epic collaboration––I’ve been looking for an immoral sidekick to add some depth to my plots. Add me on DREM, by the way, my user is ChasenHoes.” Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened up his DREM app, searching Chasen’s user on his communications browser. “Oh, I don’t know, I guess I don’t keep much of a narrative.” Some of Dean’s friends from Arizona had used DREM this way, creating stories, plot lines, and alternative lives. Dean thought this was a total waste. Why spend time twisting memories into new lives when he could change his own? “Nah, dude, that’s the whole point of the app. I’m a huge storyteller, and I like to experiment in DREM. Sometimes when I wake up I’ll write down everything I did and all the new characters I added. I think I’m gonna turn it into a book: Chasen’s Marvelous Adventure,” he looked embarrassed for a moment, “or something like that.” Chasen wasn’t the first person to write about DREM, studies were going on all the time. A couple years ago a speaker had come to Dean’s school to speak about the dangers of DREM. “In 2047, Ted Danfroth gave us something extremely 101

valuable and incredibly dangerous.” The short man whose name Dean could not remember walked away from the podium as if that would make him a better public speaker. As he spoke, groans followed from the crowd, nobody wanted to hear anything against the application they all loved to use and used often. He ignored the groans, “It all seemed perfect. A system which allows you to get the proper amount of REM sleep while living awake inside a dream life you can program. Yet, we as humans need to consider what this means for our brains, our livelihoods, and those around us.” He was writing a compilation of scientific studies which explored DREM and the way that it affects the brain. He had gotten heckled throughout his entire speech, causing an all school assembly on how to treat guest speakers. Dean figured that Chasen’s book would have nothing scientific in it at all.“That’s really cool. How far have you gotten in the book?” Dean asked. “Like eighty-seven pages. I keep falling behind because I have to redo certain dreams because they keep getting messed up.” “Mine are the same, everything always goes wrong, or they end too quickly and I wake up in the middle of the night.” Dean shuddered as he remembered Arthur’s brittle fur and his mother’s sagging eyes. He could empathize with Chasen, it was so hard to get things right on DREM, everything you logged the night before had to be so careful and specific. “No, it’s the same with me. One time I had to program this DREM like seven nights in a row to get it right. It was this sex scene between me and Sabs. It was hard to keep her interested; even DREM Sabs doesn’t like me.” Chasen gripped his hands on the wheel and giggled awkwardly, glancing over at Dean. “Who’s Sabs?” Dean asked. He thought of the tall girl with brown skin and honey lips. “Sabrina. You met her yesterday. I am her unofficial 102

boyfriend. We are in love, she just doesn’t know it yet.” Dean smiled and thought of all the girls who had never liked him. There was Mel, a skinny redhead with freckles that Dean’s eyes would trace and map along a jazz treble clef, giving her face its own theme song. Next came Marissa, the first one to get breasts in the seventh grade. And finally, Antonia. She had loved Dean, but he moved away and she became a distant pin-prick, a person who was no longer a person but a mug of memories he couldn’t bring himself to remember. “Well, I hope she finds out,” Dean said, patting Chasen on the back. Chasen laughed and mouthed “Oh, she will.” *** The two boys walked along the school’s quad. Dean felt a stark contrast between his rural high school in Arizona and this unfamiliar urban Chicago campus. There were certainly less windows, and the ground was concrete rather than the lush grass where Dean used to spend most of his free periods. The steel lettering spelling “Northside College Preparatory High School” seemed cold and eerie, students walking with umbrellas brushed past Dean and Chasen, though some turned to greet Chasen. Entering the hallway, Dean searched the hallway for an interesting face. He liked to watch people. His mother had insisted that he stopped staring so he had become more discreet about it. The kids here seemed different from those in Arizona. Everyone was wearing more expensive clothes, Dean could tell from the way they tucked in their shirts so people could peek at their belts and he pulled his own shirt down a little farther. Most people were walking in clumps and Dean tried to memorize their faces, trying to remember friend groups. Even in Arizona, every friend group had an alpha. He liked to pick them out and figure out how they had been put in charge, why everyone tried to mimic them. A huddle of boys stood by one side of the lockers. They were all gripping their backpacks, jackets still on. “Give me 103

a minute, Chasen, I gotta get my locker.” Dean followed the numbers of the lockers with his eyes until he reached 187. “Dude, nobody uses their lockers,” Chasen said, “except for Amelie, I heard she’s running some kind of drug trade with her old ADHD medication.” Dean gave him a tight smile and pushed towards his locker. Standing in front of it was a boy with shaggy blonde hair and broad shoulders, his facial features melting together to look almost thumb like. He couldn’t tell if he was wildly attractive or brutish and ugly. Chasen cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably behind him. “Hey, uh, excuse me,” Dean said, motioning to his locker. The boy looked over at him and smiled, pausing for a moment before stepping away from his locker. “You’re Dean, right?” said the boy, his friends pausing their conversation. “Oh, yeah,” Dean said confused. “Yeah, I heard we were getting a new kid. You’re from Ohio, right?” “No, um, Arizona,” Dean said with the trace of a smile. “Okay, yeah, same thing, I was close,” the boy laughed, thinking that he and Dean were sharing a joke. “I’m Jasper.” He pulled one of his friends by the strap of his backpack, “This is Connor,” he slapped him across the chest, “literally the dumbest boy you will meet at this school.” Connor laughed and shoved Jasper away from him. Dean couldn’t help but feel jealous of Jasper’s casual manner. “That’s Leo,” he motioned to a boy with a short neck and thick thighs, “biggest ass in the school,” laughing as Leo flipped him off. “And this is–” “Malcolm,” said the tall boy with dark skin, and he reached out to shake Dean’s hand. He accepted it and Malcolm said kindly, “I was new freshman year, don’t worry, the people here are nice.” Jasper laughed and said, “Us especially.” Dean could still feel Chasen fidgeting behind him. “Yeah everyone has been really nice,” he said, shoving his 104

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jacket and bag into his locker and pulling out his physics notes. Really great to meet you guys.” He shut his locker and made to leave with Chasen, when Jasper nudged him on the shoulder. “Hey, Dean–Connor and I are hosting on DREM tonight, you should come.” Jasper smiled and Chasen breathed loudly behind him. Dean smiled, trying to figure out if these boys, who were so very clearly popular, were playing some kind of prank on him. Chasen nudged him, and Dean got the feeling that he had never gotten an invite before either. It was tempting: new school, new parties, new meet-ups. “Yeah, sounds cool. What’s your user?” Dean asked, “I’ll request you.” “No, just give me yours and I’ll pull you in tonight.” Jasper took out his phone and clicked into his DREM app. “Dean underscore Rilers.” Jasper typed the user into his phone and Dean felt the familiar DREM chime in his own pocket with the new notification. “Get excited, Rilers, we’ve got big plans for tonight.” Jasper looked over and smiled, “What’s up, Chase,” he slapped Chasen on the shoulder, and he and his friends walked away, muttering and laughing to each other as they headed to class. Chasen turned towards Dean, straightening his jacket. “Dude, you gotta pull me in tonight. I have to see what they get up to.” The two of them turned to walk down the hallway in the direction of their physics class, opposite from Jasper and his friends. “I can’t, he’s pulling me in–and I don’t even know if I’m gonna go.” Chasen’s eyes widened and he gripped Dean on the shoulder, stopping them in the middle of the hallway. “You’re joking right? You have to go, they invited you. I have been waiting to get an invite, if you go then maybe I can go next time–you just have to ask. And, oh my god, I’m picking you up tomorrow again, and you have to tell me exactly what happens.” They continued walking and Dean could feel himself getting nervous. He would have to prepare for whatever it 106

was–in Arizona when the older boys met in DREM they would always get up to stuff and rumors would spread all over the school. Even in his nervous excitement, Dean could feel a pit forming in his stomach about what he might be walking into. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a bit satisfied with himself. He had been chosen, Jasper had wanted him to come, and Jasper was so clearly the alpha. “Okay, yeah, I’ll go. I’m sure they will just do something stupid,” said Dean. Chasen shook his head, “No way, it’s gonna be crazy man, stupid maybe, but definitely crazy.” Dean twinged, “Whatever, I just hope it doesn’t get back to anyone.” The past year one of Dean’s friends had done some really stupid stuff in DREM and his parents had disconnected him for the rest of the year. They never found out what it was, but there were a lot of really terrifying rumors. A lot of the parents at the school had gotten really angry. They held a protest at town hall and asked the town officials to put child control on the app, but no one could get anything to pass. There were all these complicated sanctions that DREM corp had created––one of the parents consulted a lawyer who said it was unconstitutional to inhibit anything within DREM. “People always talk, but nobody knows exactly what happens. They’re so secretive, it’s all boys and invite only.” Dean shrugged as they reached their classroom, Chasen walking in first and striding towards an empty seat next to Sabrina. Dean took a seat right across them at the table. “Hello!” She said, smiling at Dean and Chasen. She was wearing a paisley jacket with a white t-shirt beneath and a loose pair of blue jeans. Sabrina was undeniably pretty, and Dean had to remind himself of Chasen’s crush before he could think anything more of her. “Cold outside, no?” Dean nodded and Chasen scooted his chair closer to her and slammed his palm on the table. “Cut the small talk, Sabs, we need to get to some real 107

shit here.” He paused dramatically, “Who in God’s name let you out in a paisley hollister jacket?” She shoved him, corners of her mouth twitching. “Oh, right, sorry I didn’t bedazzle, Chasen,” she said, pinching the sequins he had sewn along his sleeves, “not all of us have time for crafts. Try wearing something sensible.” She motioned to Dean. “You’re so smug.” Dean looked down at his navy sweatpants and black t-shirt, feeling bland and out of place. “I guess I didn’t know you were so mainstream.” While Chasen and Sabrina continued to bicker and flirt, another girl walked towards the table and took the seat beside Dean. She had auburn hair and wide hips. After Sabrina pulled her into their group project in the last class, Chasen had whispered something to him about her being on the “outskirts of Sabrina’s friend group.” Dean thought that it was likely that Sabrina had only asked her to join their group so she wouldn’t have to be with only boys and maybe to be a buffer for Chasen. “Hey Lila,” Dean said, talking over Sabrina who was tracing the stitching along Chasen’s jacket. “Dean,” she acknowledged, taking her jacket off and laying it on the back of her chair. She took a pair of headphones out of her pocket and put them on. Dean watched as her thumb pressed down on the volume button, and Dean heard loud music streaming out of her headphones. He put his hands in his pocket and looked up at the clock, five more minutes until class started. It was difficult for him to adjust to Northside. He was lucky to have Chasen, but he was so deeply ingrained in his life at school that it was hard to make space for Dean. As the rest of the class streamed into the room so did their teacher, Dr. Covel, a stout british man who liked to drop large physics books on the ground when students weren’t paying attention. He called, “Please don’t make me call attendance, someone tell me everyone is here.” He walked to the desk in the middle of the room and opened up his laptop. 108

“Jessica is skipping,” a short boy chuckled in the back, the girl beside him shoved him and called out, “No. I’m here!” The two muttered to each other, and Dr. Covel rolled his eyes and began to write on the board. Dean unzipped his backpack and pulled out his physics notebook. “Do this in your groups,” Covel said, gesturing to the projectile motion problem he had written on the whiteboard. “And Jessica and Max, you can separate now.” The giggling pair went silent and reddened, Max snatching his backpack embarrassedly and moving to another table. “Okay,” Dean said, turning to their table, “how should we start this?” Sabrina sucked in her cheeks and Chasen shrugged. He turned to Lila who still had her headphones in, “you?” “Dean, I thought you were the big math kid?” Chasen said taking down the problem with offensively bad handwriting. “Yeah, but more like coding and stuff, I’ve never been great with theorems.” He turned to the front of the class and raised his hand, “Dr. Covel, can we get some help?” “No.” He said boredly, “Try harder, Mr. Rilers, we do things differently in Chicago.” Chasen snickered and Lila removed her headphones. Dean frowned at the comment, he wondered if Covel actually meant that they do things differently in private school. “It’s not hard,” she said, grabbing Dean’s notebook and scratching out some equations, “just take the derivative of the position graph and you’ll get the velocity, then set the time to zero and solve.” Chasen grabbed Dean’s notebook out of her hands and started copying down what Lila had written. “Thanks,” Dean said, mulling over her explanation with very little comprehension. “But how did you get the acceleration–” “So, Dean,” Sabrina said, cutting him off and not caring to open her notebook at all, “how do you like Northside so far?” “It’s been good,” Dean shrugged, taking his notebook 109

back from Chasen and starting the next problem. He made a note to refer back to the problem Lila had solved after class. “People have been nice.” Chasen gasped excitedly and tapped Sabrina furiously on the shoulder. “Sabs, Sabs, Jasper invited Dean to DREM with them.” Sabrina dropped her mouth at Dean. “No way. You’re going right?” She asked excitedly, “You have to go.” “That’s what I said!” Chasen smirked, “we got a man on the inside, Sabs.” “I heard that they did one last week and got in with Parker and his friends!” Sabrina whispered, “and they’re in college . . . I can’t even imagine what they got up to.” “I can,” Lila muttered. She was busy copying the rest of the problems from the board into her notebook, easily gliding through each one, boxing all of her answers. “How would you know?” Chasen asked, “Did your brother tell you?” “Oh no,” she said laughing slightly, boxing her last answer, “Jackson wouldn’t tell me anything.” “So then how would you know?” Sabrina said, a touch of accusation in her voice. “You’re right, I wouldn’t.” She frowned and then raised her hand, twitching her pencil in her other so it clacked against the spiral of her notebook. “No you may not leave, Duvant,” Covel said, “come to me for extra problems.” She made her way to the front of the class, grabbing a sheet of paper from Brelove and walking back slowly. Kiss-ass, the boy called Max coughed from his isolated seat in the corner, Jessica laughed across the room. “That’s enough, Max. That’s an extra problem set for homework–” Chasen snorted which made Covel snap, “for the entire class.” There was a low groan from the class and Sabrina shoved Chasen in the arm with her elbow. Lila sat down again and started working on her second 110

round of problems. “Why aren’t you in the advanced class?” Dean asked her, watching as she continued to box answers. “I hate physics.” She said, looking up and smiling at him. “Anyways, Dean, you have to give us a play-by-play tomorrow.” Sabrina said, “also pull me in if you can, I’ll bring my friends.” She unzipped her backpack and pulled out a bright blue market, grabbed Dean’s wrist and wrote SabSecrets on his hand. “It’s a boys’ club, Sabrina, he can’t pull you anywhere,” he said with a touch of annoyance, “it would have to be me,” he paused and then smirked, cautiously delivering the juiciest detail, “and besides, he can’t–Jasper took his user.” Sabrina made some kind of guttural sound and gaped at Dean. She recollected herself and smiled. “Oh, Deanie, you are in for a treat!” She yelled and Lila scoffed and shook her head, making it clear she was above all of the drama of Jasper’s invitation. Dean thought this was a little obvious of Lila, maybe she was one of those emo girls. Something about her bothered Dean, maybe it was because she was better at physics. Dr. Covel shushed their table and they worked in silence (except for when Lila explained certain topics) until the bell rang signaling the end of class. Dean spent the rest of the school day being shuffled from class to class by Chasen. To his credit, Chasen had done a good job making Dean seem more interesting than he really was. “Arizona is dope, I’ve always wanted to go,” Chasen said casually during lunch, “Lake Powell, Sedona, the Grand Canyons!” Dean nodded and shrugged, taking a moment to swallow the tough ham and cheese sandwich he had slapped together in the cafeteria sandwich table. “Yeah, I guess. Not as busy as Chicago. My friends and I spent most weekends chilling in someone’s basement or backyard.” This wasn’t entirely truthful. Dean hadn’t had very many friends, he had closed everyone off after the incident, and he didn’t spend his weekends doing much of anything besides mulling around his room or program111

ming and coding. “Well, we will take you into town this weekend,” said Carson, who Dean had met during English class. He was another one of Chasen’s friends, a theater geek who sported the “Ceci n’est une pipe” t-shirt. “Do you have a fake ID?” “Oh,” Dean searched his mind for a lie, “yes, but I’m not sure it will work here . . . it’s an Arizona ID.” He didn’t know if this was true or not but he thought it was better than admitting he didn’t have one. “No! That’s great, mine’s from Colorado,” Chasen said, “better to be out of state.” Dean’s face fell, and he could feel himself going red. “We can go this weekend. I’ll text Sabs and see if their group will join us.” He nodded to a group of girls sitting across the cafeteria. Sabrina was sitting off to the side leaning towards the center, eyes darting back and forth between girls she was attempting to please. Even farther from the center was Lila, who was picking at the sandwich she had crafted on her plate. In the center of the table, clearly the alpha, was a blonde girl Dean hadn’t met yet. He cast thoughts of his fakefake ID aside for a moment and nudged Chasen. “Who’s that?” He asked, pointing to the blonde girl with freckles and hazel eyes. “Oy, men, he’s spotted her.” Chasen laughed and thumped his fists on the table causing a mess of laughter from the table of boys which included Carson and Max from Physics. He spoke in a grave and dramatic tone, “A long time ago within the walls of Ms. Cheshire’s seventh grade class, a girl became a woman, and that woman,” he paused and scanned the table, “became the beast.” The boys began to drum their hands quietly along the table, “Ladies and Dean,” Chasen continued, “I present, the celibate, the untamed: Sky.” The other boys at the table began to woot, thumping their chests and then dispersed into stifled giggles and many in the cafeteria began to turn and look at their table. Dean blushed at the attention from their classmates but smiled to himself as he became a part of the 112

joke. After their laughter had subsided, Max patted Dean on the back and put in, “Good luck, man. That’s Sky. She’s hot as fuck.” Dean glanced over at Sky again and caught her eye, then turned back embarrassedly. “Careful, Max, I’ll tell Jessica.” Chasen joked, and Max reached across the table to give him a shove on the shoulder. “I keep telling her we’re not together,” Max said, looking over at Jessica who sat on the left side of Sabrina, stroking her split ends and giggling at the girls’ conversation. Dean could tell by the way Max looked at her that he was certainly not the one saying they weren’t together. Chasen murmured a sarcastic agreement and leaned over to whisper to Dean, “Max is obsessed.”

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