He’s fine. He’s just sick or something.
After class I try and remember where he lives, but my sixth-grade brain has no idea. I drive around his neighborhood for about ten minutes before giving up and Googling his name. His dad has that ice cream shop, Tasty’s. The last time I was there was—no. I shake my head to erase the memory of my last day there, of what happened the day after, of what I would do differently if I could have those twenty-four hours back. I’ve tried to forget everything about that place, but I need to make sure Dean is okay. If he’s okay, then I’m okay, and everyone’s okay. I type Dean’s name into the search bar and the address to Tasty’s shows up.
Are you really going to stalk him? He doesn’t want anything to do with you. I close the browser and toss my phone into the passenger seat like it will burn my fingers, like somehow Dean will know what I’m doing.
What’s wrong with you?
I start to drive home instead of to the ice cream shop. What the hell would I say to him? Why weren’t you at class this week? Why should I care? Before I know what I’m doing I’m in front of Tasty’s, staring at the scoop of ice cream on the roof.
I’m just making sure he’s okay. That’s it.
I stroll up to the store and open the door. A scent that can only be described as cold wafts over to me as the bell above the door rings. I immediately see Dean’s dad. He looks exactly the same as sixth-grade dad. Long face, dark brown hair that’s pulled back in a ponytail, and the same deep green eyes as his son. His face lights up behind the glass doors that house a thousand flavors.
“Is that Ellery Stevens? I haven’t seen you since . . . .” He scratches his head.
“Last year.”
His eyes get that glossed-over sheen to them like he’s remembering a memory. “Yes. It’s been a year? Wow. Time flies.”
“It sure does,” I say, trying to make my fake tone sound real.
Dean sneaks in behind his dad and I heave a sigh of relief. His shoulders are slumped as he scoops an older lady’s ice cream. She looks like one of those grandmas who has extra candy in her purse and tissues shoved into the sleeves of her pink sweater. I smile at her as she retrieves her ice cream from Dean. She grins as she walks by me out the door, causing the bell to ring again.
“Strawberry Cheesecake with chocolate chips and sprinkles, right?” Dean’s dad says, causing Dean to look up at me.
Dean’s gaze centers on me for a second before he looks away quickly.
“I’m glad you’re back.” He turns to his son. “Dean, get Ellery anything she wants. I need to make some Rocky Road in the back.” He slaps Dean on the back, and Dean cringes and drops the ice cream scoop.
He starts to scoop the Strawberry Cheesecake. “Rainbow sprinkles, right?” he says, glaring at me.
“Right.” I drum my fingers on the glass and he gives me an annoyed look. “Sorry,” I say. “Hey, you haven’t been at school.”
He grunts as he goes for the last scoop, holding the cup in his other hand. “You noticed.”
“Of course, I noticed.”
He snorts. “Right.”
“You don’t believe me? I’m here, aren’t I?”
He finishes scooping my ice cream and tosses chocolate chips on the top. “Ellery, we haven’t talked since . . . what? Sixth grade? If this is about your show-and-tell the other day, then I’ll save you time. I’m still here.” He finishes with the sprinkles and shoves the cup in my hand.
I dig in my pocket for a few bucks and hand it to him. “I just want to make sure you’re . . . okay. I guess.”
Why am I trying to talk to him?
He gives me the annoyed look again. “I’m fine,” he says, then quickly adds, “You can leave now.”
I start to go but turn around to finish what I came to do. “Listen. I know we’re not close, but I thought that since . . . I don’t know. I want you to know you’re not alone. I want to do it, too.” I have no idea why I’m talking to him about this. I know I sound like a crazy stalker. But knowing he’s in the same boat as me makes me want to be around him. I don’t want to stop him. I just want to join him, I guess.
He darts out from behind the counter and confronts me, getting inches from my face. His eyelids are creased and his glare makes it obvious I hit a nerve. “Stay out of it,” he growls. He shoves me out the door and follows behind.
A car goes by and the tires screech a little as it makes a turn. My hand is freezing from holding the ice cream. “I don’t want to.”
He pushes me farther away from the door and my ice cream slips from my hand. I watch it fall to the ground in a pink and white heap. “Thanks for that.”
“I’m sorry about your ice cream, but . . . .” He sighs loudly. “You don’t know me anymore.”
“I know.” I have no idea why I care. I mean, we were friends once. “I just think if we—”
“There is no we,” he says in a dark tone. “It’s not going to matter soon anyway,” he says under his breath as he walks away.