chapter Thirty - seven
Baron found a hammer in the janitor's closet, and after several whacks the lock on the chained exit surrendered, and we were free. I took Sybil back to my house, where 1 was surprised to find Dirk still in my living room, in front of the TV. My parents had already gone to bed. Dirk sat alone, staring at an infomercial featuring a ladder that could do more tricks than a trained seal.
The night had been a disaster with one bright spot--Baron and Milton were safe, and they had the antidote.... Okay, three bright spots.
I limped into the kitchen, dumped an ice tray into a Baggie, and made an ice pack for my throbbing ankle. Then I joined Dirk on the couch. I looked at him staring at the TV and realized 1 was about to do something I had never thought I was capable of.
"Umm, Dirk. We need to talk," I said softly.
Slowly his eyes moved to me. His head cocked to one side.
"These past couple of months have been wonderful. Really wonderful I've learned so much about myself, about boyfriends,
and friendship, and honesty. I couldn't have done any of it without you."
"Mmmmm." A low moan purred deep in his chest.
"But Dirk, I have to break up with you. I thought having a cool boyfriend would make me special. It didn't. If anything, it made me a bigger jerk than I already was. Hey, don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't want a boyfriend. I'm still a healthy sixteen-year-old--of course I do. And I have just the person in mind--someone who isn't into cliques, or being at the top of the social food chain, someone who appreciates me for me, which most of the time isn't all that good, but I'm working on it. Anyway, sorry, but we're through. I hope you understand."
I leaned in and kissed him on his crumbly green cheek. Dirk looked at me, and I thought I saw something finally register on his face--recognition, understanding. I thought that I had cut through the thick zombie fog in his mind, and he knew exactly what I was saying ... until he tried to bite my face off.
Swat!
"Yeeee!"
I turned and looked at Sybil, who sat silently waiting, her breath coming in gravelly gasps, her dark eyes staring into the future. Since the eighth grade, Sybil had been the best friend a girl could have. She'd dealt with all my snarkiness, my desire to be like Amanda Culpepper, and my stupid manifesto. And despite what a lousy friend I'd been, she'd saved my life. Now it was my turn.
"In a little while the boys will bring the antidote over," I told Sybil. "I'll give it to you on a snickerdoodle--your favorite. Then well go to my room like we always do. I'll put on some Tom Jones music, get out the nail polish. And we'll sit on my bed, and plan out the rest of our fabulous high school careers."