Dirty Dreams novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Pass the Syrup

Breakfast with both parents and four boys who cannot look at her; she reads their group chat and sees they plan to come back tonight.

At breakfast my mother made pancakes for seven.

I came down the stairs at nine in my robe with the note folded small in the pocket.

My legs still felt used.

Every one of them was already at the table.

Dylan's dad was reading the paper at the head, and my mother stood at the stove with the spatula, humming.

The four boys sat in a row on the far bench with their plates in front of them and nobody touching their food.

"There she is," my mother said. "Dead to the world. I came in at eight to open your blinds and you didn't move."

Wyatt dropped his fork.

It rang on the plate and he picked it up and set it down and wouldn't look anywhere near me.

"I sleep hard," I said. "You know I do."

"A fire alarm," Dylan's dad said, from behind the paper. "I tell everybody."

Dylan said nothing at all.

He kept his eyes on his coffee.

I took the chair at the corner of the table, across from Brody, and my mother set a stack in front of me.

"You look flushed, honey," she said. "Are you coming down with something?"

Brody started coughing into his juice.

"I'm fine," I said. "It's warm up there."

"I'll get a fan."

"Thank you."

I cut a piece of pancake and put it in my mouth, and under the table something touched my bare foot.

I went still.

It was a socked toe, nudging the side of my ankle.

It slid over the bone and up my calf, and I looked up.

Brody was smiling at his plate.

He had the sandy hair and the swimmer's shoulders and a gleam in his eye that said he knew exactly what he had done.

I put my free hand under the table, found his ankle, and pinched it as hard as I could.

He yelped.

"Brody?" my mother said.

"Cramp," he said. "Sorry. Swimmer thing."

I ate another bite and kept my face blank.

In the next chair, Tate was the only one who looked normal.

He was buttering his toast in careful lines and he looked up once, and met my eyes, and held them a beat too long.

"Sleep okay?" he asked.

It was the first thing he'd said all morning.

"Like the dead," I said.

"Good," Tate said.

He went back to his toast.

I felt that look in my stomach for a long time after.

"Did you hear anything last night?" my mother asked the table. "I woke up around two and thought I heard talking."

The room went so quiet I could hear the clock in the hall.

"Video games," Dylan said at last. His voice was rough. "Sorry. We kept it down."

"You boys and your games."

She went back to the stove.

I looked at Dylan, and he finally looked at me.

His eyes were red from not sleeping, and he looked away first.

Wyatt got up so quickly his bench scraped.

"Gotta go home and mow the lawn," he said. "Thanks for the pancakes."

He left the kitchen red to the ears.

I looked after him, and I felt something that surprised me.

I didn't want to tease him.

I wanted to tell him it was all right.

I ate half the stack and then took my plate to the counter.

Dylan's phone was lying next to the toaster, face up, and it buzzed.

I don't snoop.

But it was inches from my hand, and the screen lit up with a group chat called "the wall."

BRODY: tonight again?

DYLAN: if she stays out

BRODY: she was OUT. u saw her

WYATT: no. we stop

TATE: we don't decide that for her

Under that, Brody and Dylan had each added a thumbs-up.

The screen dimmed and went dark.

My mouth was dry.

I rinsed my plate and set it in the rack.

Behind me, Dylan said, "Kenna?"

"Yeah?"

He'd come up close, in his basketball shorts and old t-shirt, and for a second his gaze went over my face, slowly, and stopped at my mouth.

"Nothing," he said. "You want a ride to the pool?"

I thought of the note in my pocket and the chat on the counter.

Four boys, a locked door, and a girl they thought was asleep.

I thought: I'm going to let them.

"Sure," I said.

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