Free 7 Souls by Barnabas Miller, Jordan Orlando Page B

front of her. She could see a pair of scuffed Puma running shoes and the cuffs of some worn-out jeans without moving her eyes. Somebody telling me to move , Mary thought dully. I’m in somebody’s way, again. Somebody has to unlock their bike or something .
    “Mary? Hey. You all right?”
    I won’t look up , Mary thought. It’s not worth it. I don’t even know who’s talking to me, and I don’t care. I refuse to find out .
    The Pumas didn’t move. Whoever this person was, he wasn’t going anywhere.
    “I’m fine,” she said.
    “You sure?” Mary realized that she had been wrong: there was something familiar about the voice. “You don’t look fine.”
    Slowly Mary raised her head.
    It was Dylan. Ellen’s friend Dylan, from the roof.
    “Are you looking for Ellen?”
    Dylan shook his head, brushing his hair back from his forehead and giving her a clear look at his face—which wasn’t bad, surprisingly. She hadn’t seen what he looked like up close: it was the effect of his olive complexion, his thick stubble, and his messed-up hair. He looked like an Indie Rock version of one of those French poets on the covers of Ellen’s old books.
    “No, I’m not looking for Ellen. I’m actually looking for you.”
    What?
    Mary pushed herself away from the gate and stood upright, bringing herself closer to Scruffy Dylan, who, apparently, was looking for her. At this point in the day, she figured she was ready for whatever dismal surprises were still to come. After a birthday like this, what else could go wrong? She didn’t know, but she had a hunch she was about to find out.
    “Why are you—why are you looking for me?”
    “Yeah … well …” Dylan rocked on his feet, staring down at the ground, his hands jammed in his jeans pockets. As she waited he took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. “Okay, no more beating around the bush. It’s like this: how’d you like to have dinner with me tonight?”
    Mary had thought she’d had some idea what to expect—but she had not been prepared for this. She was so startled, so surprised, that she couldn’t speak; she just stared at him, waiting while he slowly raised his eyes to meet hers.
    “Okay, bad idea,” Dylan said quickly. “Bad—bad idea; I get it. Never mind; forget I asked. It was stupid of me to—”
    “No, wait,” Mary said, shaking her head. “Wait, I’m just surprised, that’s all. You want … you’re asking me out to dinner?”
    “Yeah.” Dylan nodded calmly. “I’m asking you out to dinner. I thought”—he paused, looking at her, tilting his head while he fumbled for words—“you’re obviously having a bad day and I’ve been wanting to ask you out, so here I am.” He smiled in a way that seemed to say, My fate is in your hands . “Don’t be too mean—before you cut me down to size, let me just, um, diffidently point out that it takes a little bit of courage to do this.”
    “But—” Mary was at sea. “You mean tonight? This evening? You want to go to dinner tonight.”
    “That’s right. Do you have other plans?”
    He’s got to be kidding , Mary thought. Right? This is a joke .
    But she could see that he wasn’t kidding. It was obvious, looking at his face.
    “No,” she said finally. “I guess I don’t. Have any other plans, I mean.”
    “Okay.” Dylan nodded. His eyes were uncommonly green, she noticed. “Look, please—go ahead and shoot me down quickly, because the longer that takes, the less pleasant it will be.”
    “But you don’t even know me.”
    “Not entirely accurate,” Dylan said. “Ellen never shuts up about you, and she’s, like, my sister.”
    “Which makes us related,” Mary told him, smiling. Behind her, the school doors had begun banging open more often as the school day came to a close. “I’m not sure that’s—”
    “Right, right; forget I said that.” Dylan shook his head and his hair flipped back and forth across his deep-set eyes. “She’s not my sister and neither are you;