The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 2)

“Kid, for real?”

“My name is Kyle.”

“Fine. Kyle. What do you want to do then? Ride bikes? Skateboard? ’Cause I’m telling you right now, I’m not going to be the one dreaming up shit for us to do.”

“Skateboarding and riding bikes? Those are things you do at the park, and I just told you I hate it here.”

“I don’t have other ideas. Sorry.”

Kyle fidgets with the zipper of his threadbare jacket. “Don’t you have any cool friends we can hang out with?”

My mind immediately strays to Violet and Summer, who are probably doing something fun right now.

I shrug off the notion, aggravated that he can’t just be happy swinging on the swings and climbing on the picnic tables and crap like a normal kid.

Why does he need to be entertained?

“Maybe next time, we’ll see.” Then, “Do you mind if I check the time, oh Keeper of the Rules?”

Kyle scoffs. “Whatever.”

Ninety-seven more minutes with this kid. One hundred twenty-seven more until wrestling practice. Two hundred sixty-two minutes until I can slam my bedroom door on this shit day.

“We only have to tolerate each other for the next hour and thirty-seven minutes. Can you live with that?”

The kid stares me down, large brown eyes framed in a skinny face with pasty skin. A smattering of dark freckles across the bridge of his nose looks like dirt. His hair, unkempt and sticking up in different directions, gives him a wild air.

He inhales a breath. “You…” Lets it out. “Suck.”

Violet

Zeke hasn’t come back to the library in days. Not to study. Not for tutoring. Not for anything.

I can’t say I’m surprised.

I can’t say I’m disappointed.

I’m relieved; the whole week has been riddled with tension. Every time that door to the library swung open, I literally held my breath to see if Zeke Daniels was going to be standing there.

I know he’s not done with his paper—not even close—so I can’t imagine why he hasn’t been back.

Unless he couldn’t stand studying with me.

I wonder about it as little Summer and I walk toward a picnic area, hand in hand on our Thursday afternoon together. We easily find a table, and I set about the task of unzipping our backpacks, removing the books, paper, and craft supplies I brought along.

“How’s your mom doing?” I ask, taking out a spiral drawing pad, holding it down when the wind kicks up.

“Good. She’s tired but she only has one…what’s that called when you go to school?”

“Semester?”

“Yeah. One of those left. We’re getting an apartment with Daddy or something so we can move out of Grandma and Grandpa’s house when she graduates.”

“An apartment! That’s exciting!” I give her shoulders a squeeze. “Will you have your own room?”

She squeezes her tiny eyes shut. They pop open a second later, excited. “I think so!”

“Aw, that’s great!”

And it is. Summer’s Dad, Erick, just completed his degree and is interning at one of the huge corporations in the city, one of the largest employers in the county. He’s thriving, Summer’s mom Jennifer is on her way to graduating, and their little family is finally going to be together.

“Hey,” Summer interrupts my thoughts, poking me in the forearm with her pencil. “There’s that boy.”

I raise my head.

Give it a shake, fully expecting to see an actual little boy, but instead see Zeke Daniels and a child.

“W-what the heck is he doing here?” I wonder out loud apprehensively, tension growing in the pit of my stomach.

“Playing?” Summer suggests hopefully.

Except he’s not.

Zeke strolls forward across the grass, brows furrowed toward the rambunctious kid literally running circles around him. His nose is in his cell phone.

“Would you knock that shit off?” I hear him loudly complain. “You’re driving me insane.”

“You’re the crabbiest human alive!” the kid shouts, climbing on a rock and jumping off, jabbing at the air ninja style. “You suck!”

When his feet hit the ground, the kid takes off running, shoes kicking up pieces of sand surrounding the slide.

“Grow up!” Zeke yells after him.

It’s almost comical, and I bite back a laugh.

He halts in his tracks when he spots Summer and me at the picnic table, his eye roll visible from here.

“I am not following you,” he says cantankerously, approaching the picnic table. I busy myself with rearranging the contents of Summer’s tiny Barbie backpack so I don’t have to look at him directly.

I hand her glittery princess stickers and a half-empty container of orange flavored Tic Tacs.

“I-I didn’t think you were following me.” I shoot him a wan, almost patronizing smile. “I’m hardly the kind of girl that inspires a guy like you to follow her around.”

Oh god, what on earth possessed me to blurt that out?

Thank god Summer interrupts, pulling on my shirt sleeve.

“Vi, can I go play with that boy?” Summer asks, already half off the bench and on her way to little Zeke Junior, who’s angrily stalking around the jungle gym.

Wow. The two of them are a fine match, and I have to wonder how Zeke Daniels was chosen when Big Brothers was reviewing their volunteer applications. Organizations like Big Brothers don’t just take anyone. They have standards. Expectations.