The Dorm Guard 36 Chapter Thirty-Six: Golf Course Inciden

A few days had pa.s.sed since the track tryouts. It was easier to get into the groove of the second term.

I sat at the dining table reading through some homework when Mia sat across from me. It was only recently that she could finally look at me without laughing or smirking like an idiot. She placed her books and pencil case in front of her with her usual blank expression, only offering me a glance of acknowledgement, before diving into her own work.

A few minutes later, the twins wandered into the kitchen, either mid-conversation or argument.

"It's not a big deal," Amia said sitting at the counter.

"It is to me…" Amada snapped going to the fridge.

Mia and I didn't enjoy the sudden noise. "Something wrong?" I asked, hoping to extinguish the fight so I could finish my homework.

"Amada refuses to look at the track team results," Amia informed, "Isaac told me he checked this morning and got in the team. He thought I was Amada and asked me." She gave her brother a sharp glare, "And someone refuses to look."

"I don't want to know," Amada informed stabbing a juice box with its straw.

"What was the point of anything we just did then?" I asked opening my laptop and going to the school page. "You gotta know how you did."

Amada made a quick dash for my laptop and nearly crushed my fingertips when he closed it. "What are you worried about?" I asked, flexing my fingers, "That you didn't get in?"

"No, that I did," he countered sitting down.

Even Mia gave him a quizzical look. "Why wouldn't you want to know if you got in?" I asked.

"The people from the team last term are going to be on the team this term. A lot of those people scare the c.r.a.p out of me," he informed, "You've seen the Delinquents! Got a taste of what they've already done to me!" He started biting down on the straw.

Amia punched him in the shoulder. "They did what?"

"Why do you think I refuse to go into the showers? What if they're in there?" He sounded paranoid but having been on the receiving end of that hazing, I could understand why he was scared.

"Remember what I told you though, Amada," Amia tried putting a hand on his shoulder. He rolled his eyes at her statement, but didn't object to it, he just nervously sucked in the rest of his juice box. That nervous tick reminded me of Mia's, and upon looking over to her, I saw she was copying Amada with her own water bottle.

I sighed, "Amada, calm down. You're making Mia nervous."

Amada rolled his eyes, "Yeah because everything is about Mia."

"Don't be such a girl," Amia crossed her arms.

"Shut up!"

"Guys!" I cut through their harsh words. "Amada, whether or not you look at the results doesn't change the result. If you made it, you should go, and if you didn't then, you have an obligation to your teammates to show up to the training."

"Coach Morrison said that if I didn't want to, I didn't have to," Amada reminded.

"Amada, if the only reason you won't even consider the track team anymore is because of some good-for-nothing bullies, I won't accept that," I said firmly. "Remember when we started training? What you told me? Where's that determination gone? That desire to change and do well?"

Amada's eye dropped to the tablecloth, his fingers running over the strange patterns in its fabric.

I bit down on my lips and sighed, "Okay, you know what?" I closed my books and stacked everything into a pile so I could carry them. "I'm going to go fix this, and if by the time I return you haven't looked at the results I will check myself and tell you. I'm not gonna let you give up on this because of such a silly reason."

I marched for the doorway, and barely made it down the hallway when I heard Amada say, "It's not silly to me."

*

"Do you know where he might be?" I asked.

Alexis was lying on her bed, papers and books open all around her. She groaned, pressing an arm against her eyes. "Landon, I've got a headache. Unless you're here to do something other than talk, stop having such a loud presence."

I rolled my eyes, "Alexis, please, this is important."

She sat up, her head hanging like a puppet as she rubbed her eyes. "Fine. What're you asking me?"

"Dylan. Do you know where I can find him?"

Alexis blew a raspberry in thought, clicking her tongue as she pulled a face. "Maybe at the golf course…" she made a final click of the tongue, "He spends a lot of time there. His Foster Dad is one of the managers, so he gets in there free."

The golf course was on the other side of town. Since this place was like an oversized vacation or retirement village, there were many clubs and activities namely for adults. "Do you have his number or something?" I asked, "I don't want to trek all the way out there and not find him." I sat down on the edge of her bed as she rubbed the skin on her face.

"I can call him for you if you'd like. He barely checks his phone though, so I doubt he'll even see it," Alexis informed.

"That would be a good start."

"Why do you want to see him?" she asked, rubbing her eye again.

"He and his friends are on the track team, and Amada doesn't want to do it because of that. I just want to ask Dylan to maybe back off or give Amada break for a while, just so he's comfortable at least."

Alexis nodded, "Understandable."

"Also screw you," I added.

She blinked, "Give me a second but sure."

I scoffed. "You said that Dylan and his Delinquent friends weren't bad kids."

She shrugged, "They aren't. Why?"

"Surprised you didn't hear about it. They basically hazed me in the boy's showers," I informed, "Took my clothes and towel and everything."

Alexis covered her smile with her hand but couldn't stop her chuckle. "Oh dear…" her words were laced with laughter, "Why didn't you tell me about that?"

"It's embarra.s.sing, and Mia had to come into the boy's bathroom to save me," I informed.

Alexis started laughing louder. "Oh my G.o.d, how hasn't anyone told me?" her amus.e.m.e.nt was short lived however as she pressed a hand to her head in a wince.

"You okay?" I shuffled closer to her.

"Just a bad headache," she informed.

She didn't object to my touching her forehead. My fingers brushed against her temple where I could feel her head throbbing with a headache. "Feels like a bad one," I commented.

My little sister suffered from terrible migraines. It was awful when we were younger. She would wake in the middle of the night wailing at the top of her lungs because to quote her, 'her brain felt like it was swelling.'

"Kiss it better?" Alexis cooed with a sweet smile.

I brushed my thumbs against her temples and placed a kiss on her forehead, "Gotta go."

*

I had been to my fair share of golf courses in my life, a lot of my Father's friends enjoyed a good game of golf between excavations. This golf course was remarkably better maintained than some of the dirt patches I had played in in the past.

The gra.s.s was greener then Opal Park or White Winter Prep's fields and seemed to stretch on for kilometres with trees, sandbanks, bushland and ponds. The whole golf course was surrounded by a tall white fence to keep animals and non-players out. Unlike the grounds of the golf course, the walls hadn't been as meticulously maintained, as after a few minutes of wandering I found a loose fence panel I could slip in through. I left my bike outside the gate by a tree as I walked through a small patch of 'wild' bushland, which was made up of six pine trees and hip-high bushes.

When I emerged, I saw small figures in the distance playing holes. From where I stood though, it was funny to watch them swing their clubs and hit seemingly nothing.

I pocketed my hands and wandered around the golf course for twenty minutes before I found any trace of Dylan.

That trace being Dylan.

As he was sitting on a log overlooking one of the ponds.

The log allowed him to sit a few feet above the ground, a red golf bag on the ground beneath him, but in his hands, he held a club. As I approached, he lazily swung it around.

"Afternoon newbie," he greeted.

"Been looking for you," I replied unpocketing my hands.

He raised a brow, "That sounds ominous." He did a quick trick with his club. "Well you found me," he pulled up his legs and crossed them, "This isn't some revenge plot for the other day, is it? Cause live and learn, dude."

I shook my head. "I've let that go. I just want to talk to you about something."

"Good man," Dylan said, he petted a spot next to him on the log, "Have a seat. Let's talk."

I hoisted myself up on the log and sat beside him, the two of us sitting in silence as we looked out to the pond together. I was going to ask why of all places he decided to sit here, but an amusing answer soon revealed itself. One of the men had hit their golf ball into the water and had to retrieve it. It was a funny sight watching a pair of men argue about it before trying to walk into the water with rolled up pant legs. We both started laughing when he fell over and soaked his white clothes.

"People are hopeless sometimes," Dylan mused standing up. "So, question, what's it like living in a house full of girls?" he asked swinging his club back and forth. I nearly fell off the log trying to stand up. "I know Amada lives there as well, but still."

I blinked, "Uhh, not very exciting, if that's what you're getting at."

He scoffed, "Surely something happens. I mean, most boys in our school would kill for a house of girls to themselves," he stated.

"Well I guess I've some self-control," I replied.

He gave me a quick glance over his shoulder. "Don't tell me your gay. I mean it's cool if you are, I'm just gonna feel like an idiot."

I was taken aback. "No. I'm not gay," I informed, "I'm actually dating someone."

Dylan whistled. "Good job, newbie. Who's the unlucky lady?" he asked. He leapt off the log and landed gracefully on the short gra.s.s, looking up to me for an answer.

"Alexis actually," I informed.

I had expected turmoil, maybe a body language shift or for him to become slightly irritated since he was an ex, but he was remarkably coolheaded about it. "Rusty finally snagged you?" he sounded amused.

"You're not mad?" I asked climbing down.

He shook his head, "No. Why would I be mad?" he asked, "She's done nothing but gush about you for the past few weeks." He picked up his golf bag and balanced it on his shoulder as he continued walking across the gra.s.s. "Maybe now she'll finally shut up about it."

I felt my cheeks warm up at the mention of that. I hadn't considered Alexis would've talked to other people about me. I haven't told anyone about it, and not gushed to an ex-boyfriend about her.

My thoughts were interrupted when he asked, "Hey, wanna have some fun?"

I paused, looking around for something other than his golf clubs. Despite my Father having played the sport, I didn't enjoy it as much. At seeing my uncertainty, Dylan grabbed my arm and pulled me towards a different section of the bushland patch. Hidden amongst some of the debris was a white golf cart.

"Whoa…" I beamed approaching the vehicle and looking at its interior. The seats were dark red velvet and appeared very s.p.a.cious. There were two seats in the front, another two in the back and a place for ball boys or golf club bags in the back.

Dylan nodded, "Sweet, huh? Do you have a license?" he asked.

I shook my head, "Not for around here."

"Me neither," he hopped on the hood of the cart and slipped through the windowless front, sitting in the driver's seat and tossing his things in the back. "But I don't need one to drive this, and it can go up to sixty miles an hour. Get in." The way he smiled seemed foreign to me. It was a weird childish glee I had seen in his friends, not in himself. His eyes had this hint of mischief I hadn't seen in him since I met him, his usual calm, collected, methodical looking self, was nowhere to be seen.

I wanted to say no since I could tell he either wasn't allowed to have this cart or at least shouldn't be driving it, but something about him, and equally about the idea of driving a golf cart at full speed, was appealing. I managed to say, "Are we allowed to?" Despite this, I had placed myself in the pa.s.senger's seat.

"It'll be fun," he replied putting the cart in gear, "Brace yourself!"

The cart came to life and just like that we were off. I clutched onto the side of the vehicle as we got shot across the golf course with quick speed. I felt the wind in my hair, against my face, flowing through my clothes, the experience was exhilarating, paralleling the feeling I got when I rode my bike before my accident. I leaned out of the cart, allowing my arm to flow freely with the wind.

We flew across the field, whenever there was a small hill or a lump in the gra.s.s we became airborne and landed with a bounce to the wheels. We shared a laugh, Dylan whooping at the top of his lungs as we crossed the course, narrowly missing other golfers. Dylan lost control of the cart, and we drove into a sandbank; the lack of solid ground sinking the golf cart and send the both of us head over heels out the front. I landed on my back on the land, Dylan hung off the front bonnet, still laughing.

Adrenaline pumped through my veins, out of habit my hand pressed against my neck to find my heartbeat, but it throbbed on the surface of my skin, so I knew it was still beating. My hand trembled as I sat up, panting slowly as I caught myself. Dylan was still laughing as he slipped off the front, landing on his back with his legs against the cart. "That was awesome."

"That was terrifying…" I countered.

"You had fun, newbie," he replied, forcing his legs over and rolling to his feet. As if in response, something popped in the cart and smoke started billowing out of the bonnet. Dylan's laughter fell silent as his eyes grew wide with worry.

I gulped, "Not having fun anymore." I gestured behind him, in time to see two broad-shouldered security guards standing either side of our beached cart. Their eyes were hidden behind tinted sungla.s.ses, but even I could tell they were not impressed.

*

I wondered if this would lead to an arrest, a criminal record. Maybe I could join the Delinquents now, I mused, Dylan and I would be the legit ones.

The security guards had left us in a detainment room at first, telling us to wait here, and telling Dylan they were going to get Gerald, who I a.s.sumed to be Dylan's Foster Father. Dylan soon after had been led out. That was over ten minutes ago.

I twiddled my thumbs as I took in the boringly plain room. The walls an ugly yellow, no windows, and about eight green chairs pushed against the walls facing each other. There was nothing to focus on, and sitting in there made me sleepy. I glanced at my watch and sighed, wishing I had finished my homework before I had come here with how late it was getting.

Just as I started nodding off, the door opened again. A man I didn't recognise walked in, wearing a pompous white and gold suit and matching hat. Everything about him, from his reflective sungla.s.ses to his stupid looking fedora, screamed elitist. "You, up."

His voice had such a commanding tone that I obeyed. "You're banned from this golf course and the club, understand?" I nodded. "If I see you anywhere on the grounds, I will not hesitate to call the police and make sure you're prosecuted." His voice made my heart tremble, causing a domino effect that made me feel sick.

I didn't know how successful I was at hiding it as I nodded, "I understand sir."

The man cleared his throat, "Look, you seem like a good enough kid. I've heard marvellous things from the school and other parents," he stated, confusing me, "So I know for a fact, you can do better than Dylan. I suggest you stay away from him. Okay?"

His intimidating nature was overshadowed by the overwhelming feeling I had to swear at him. But I kept my mouth shut and offered no response as he tilted his fedora and allowed me to leave the room.

I wasn't allowed to leave the club on my own. I was guided out with my own security team, one for each arm, as I was almost telepathically pushed out the door. I turned to face them, to glare at them through the gla.s.s doors, but they had already turned around and headed back. I nearly gave them the bird, but out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a security camera.

I sighed and went to leave but sitting on the club sign out the front was Dylan, pressing a hand to his face. I approached him, "You okay?" I asked walking around the sign to face him. I was taken aback by the condition of his face; there was a split cut under his eye as if he had been struck, and his nose had been bleeding. He pressed a hand against his nose and sniffed.

"Yeah, I'll be right." He hopped off the sign and ignored the obvious pain he was in, as evidenced by the occasional twitching that prompted a tearful expression from him. "What about you? I know getting detained can be rattling."

"I got banned for life," I informed distractedly, I was too focused on how fresh the wounds were. "Did that fedora guy do that to you?"

Dylan laughed, "I call him Foster Douche, but Fedora Guy sounds nicer." He wiped his nose on the back of his hand and stretched out his face. "I'll be right. And don't worry about the ban. He just gives those out to my friends to scare them."

"Are you sure you're okay?" I asked when he winced again.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said matter-of-factly, forcing his hands by his side so he wouldn't touch it. "Umm… You had wanted to come see me for a reason. I kinda distracted you from that. What did you want?"

I bit the inside of my cheek but respected his wishes to not talk about it; however I couldn't help but stare at the redness coming out. "It's about track. Amada is terrified to even look at the results because he knows you and your friends are on the team." I didn't know what I was going to exactly ask him to do, but I tried, "I just wanted to ask you guys to lay off picking on Amada, you know? He's having a tough time with stuff like this and would appreciate if you could just… give him a break."

Dylan considered my words and nodded, "Fair request." He looked around the parking lot of the club, "It's getting dark. How did you get here?"

"I rode my bike. It's around the side against one of the fences," I informed.

He started towards the fencing. "It's getting dark. I'll walk with you."

When we started walking, he answered my question. "Honestly, good on Amada for trying to get out there a little. Alexis has told me he's been a bit nervous," he commented, "But I honestly don't think I can help you, Landon."

I sighed, pocketing my hands. "Why not? You're like the leader of the Delinquents, they listen to you."

He made a one-off laugh. "Leader? Landon, buddy, I don't control my friends as much as everyone likes to believe. If you want them to stop picking on Amada, you need to give them a reason, my word can only go so far with them."

"Can't you put in a good word at least?" I pleaded, "I mean, the poor kid's terrified."

Dylan sighed. "I'll ask them to lay off a bit. But like I said, we're a weird group to people. You want them to stop hara.s.sing you've got to give us a reason not to."

I rolled my eyes, "Can't just be simple."

"People aren't simple, dude," he countered, "Especially my group of friends."

I saw an opening, and I took it. "Alright, what makes your group so complex?" I quizzed. I was wafted with a strange scent of pine and plastic, although I had no clue where the plastic was coming from.

"We're a group of individual outsiders with one thing in common: we were all bullied within an inch of our lives." He adopted the usual cobra stance at the mention of this, arching his eyeline to the sky as he leaned on his hands, "White Winter Prep, whether the school admits it or not, is a breeding ground for bullies and psychopaths. You think they're bad? They learnt from the best." Dylan sighed as he dropped his hands. "When I came to the school I didn't want to make any friends. I wasn't interested in anything anyone had to offer, certainly not the rich, privileged idiots that we're surrounded by."

Dylan scratched at his face, grimacing when he scratched at his sore. "The Delinquents never formally became my friends. They just hung around me, and I didn't think they were complete airheads. Connor, behind his weird mask of arrogance, is quite smart in his own way. Peter and William are too. They all are, but they're too scared to be anything other than The Delinquents." Dylan stopped walking, pausing to think as if recalling what prompted this conversation. He added, "No one took pity on us when we needed help, so the motto is; give us a reason to pity you. Amada isn't an outsider, he has friends and family and isn't picked on as much as he thinks he is. That kid is a bundle of anxiety, not a bully target."

"What do you call what you do to random students in the playground? That kid you hara.s.sed after school when I met you?" I asked.

Dylan shrugged. "We recognise what we do is just as bad as what people did to us. Perhaps we're worse in some instances. But we don't discriminate is the fun thing. I would just as quickly dropkick Eric Mandolin as I would Kendal Crouch, but nine times out of ten, it's not unprovoked." He crossed his arms as he seemed to reminisce on something. "You ask certain kids throughout the school, we're absolute saints."

Despite his ominous statements, I smiled. "Clearly."

He considered me for a moment, eventually mimicking my smile. "You think it's silly."

I shrugged, "A little, yeah. But I get it."

He seemed shocked. "You do?"

I nodded. "Not first-hand experience, but I know what its like to go to school after school and not make any friends, or at least not long-term ones," I told him about my Father's at times unpredictable occupation. How my parents were never formally together, how I at times didn't see my sister for months at a time. I told him about the time I almost got arrested in London because I was so desperate to be friends with one group of people, I shoplifted a video game they wanted. "Probably… the school I was in before this one was when I kinda gave up on friends," I informed, "People would try I suppose. I mean, I have the advantage of being that kid who travelled, who's parents had cool jobs that take them out of school for weird excursions. But, unlike you, I never got into a group, and I became lonely. The only friend I kind of made was a guy that reminds me a lot of you."

Dylan was intrigued by my words, so I continued, "Javi Fumacore. He was a kid who got into fights and a lot of ugly stuff. Tried to pick a fight with me even because I was the new craze at my school. He failed, of course, but then stuck with me like a duckling for my remaining time there." I hadn't spoken about Javi Fumacore, not once, not ever. I didn't quite understand why I felt comfortable even mentioning him to Dylan, but I somehow continued, "He was a cool enough guy, but, like you said, was probably bullied to an inch of his life. At some point, he had decided to be that try-hard intimidating kid was better than being the loner, wimp that everyone could pick on." I found myself rocking on my heels, unfortunate memories coming to mind that I quickly suppressed. "He would get into trouble, but he was always cool-headed about it. I almost envied him for that."

I puffed out my cheeks, not wanting to ramble on too much, "I can't fully relate to your situation, but I guess I can… understand it better than most people." Dylan made an awkward smile, his eyes unable to rest on me anymore. "It means I also know you aren't bad people. I know you don't control the others, but I'm almost begging you, Dylan. Don't let Amada turn into what we both could've been."

Dylan puffed out his cheeks. "I can see why Rusty likes you," he stated after a while of silence. Eventually, he nodded and said, "Alright. Fine. I'll talk to my friends. I'll make sure Amada doesn't have to worry about it," he a.s.sured, quite suddenly he held out his hand to shake, "For a friend."

The way he said that last part caused a ping in my heart. It was almost a question, like some sort of desperate clarification. I took his hand in mine and firmly shook it, "Friend," I a.s.sured.

Dylan hid it well, but I saw the remnants of relief twitch on his bruising face, "Wonderful." He peered over my shoulder, "That your bike?"

I took back my hand and saw my bike where I left it leaning on the fence. I had half-expected someone to break it or for it to get stolen. I approached my bike and rested it against my hip. "Are you gonna be okay?" I asked looking back to him, "You need somewhere to stay the night?" My offer was met with a scoff.

"I'll be right," he a.s.sured with a smile, "This isn't serious."

"If you're sure," I replied mounting my bike. I paused for a moment before adding, "Just for the record, I can understand why uhh… Rusty likes you too. Sings your praises."

Dylan laughed, "All lies I'm sure."

"See you later," I said as I started riding. I made it a meter before stopping, an idea coming to mind. "Actually," I faced Dylan, "Can I ask a huge favour of you?"

He blinked, "Sure…?"