Father Knows Best by Lynda Sandoval Read Free Book Online

street mall, the horse-drawn carriages, the street kids and old guys playing chess together right in the middle of everything.
    It was fun, but it would have been a million times better if my dad and Chloe weren’t there trying so hard to bond with Dylan and me. I mean, dude, bond is the beginning of bondage —need I say more? It felt like they were throwing their relationship in my face. Sigh! On the shuttle, I did my best to ignore them and focus on Dylan, as Caressa had suggested, and it was working at first. But at the Larimer Square stop, a lady lugged her double stroller filled with identical twins onto the bus, and my ever-active (or should that be over-active) imagination kicked into high gear.
    Like, what if my dad and Chloe Sebring had a baby sometime down the road? He or she would be my half-sibling and Dylan’s half-sibling, too.
    Is it just me, or does that seem insurmountably weird?
    How could we continue to date if that happened without appearing…creepy? Almost—I hated to say the word, but there it was—incestuous. And, you know, if you worry about this kind of thing long enough, it starts to feel totally real. Almost like you’re thinking it into existence.
    In any case, by the time I slid behind the wheel of my brand-new car, the whole potential twin siblings thing had me thoroughly freaked out. I was more than ready to be as far away from the parentals as humanly possible.
    The first several miles I concentrated on getting used to the car and the controls and the road—just driving. Dylan kept me company by reading to me from the owner’s manual. Dude! Ever read one of those suckers? I couldn’t believe it, but that fat ol’ book is chock-full of valuable information, and some of it isn’t even boring. Who’da thunk?
    When we hit the highway Dylan put the manual back into the glove compartment, then slid in a CD. He’d thought to bring a few because radio reception can be spotty at places in the mountains—isn’t that sweet? Music filled the car, and we settled in for the rest of the drive.
    As the highway became more twisty, and vast, pine tree-filled valleys overtook the vista, my tension started to ease. I blew out this big, noisy breath and laid my noggin back against the headrest. “God, I’m glad that’s over.”
    Dylan peered over at me. “Searching for a car?”
    “No. Hanging out with our googly-eyed parents.” I scoffed. “I mean, how uncomfortable can you get?”
    Dylan didn’t say anything. He stared at the side of my face for a minute, then focused his attention out the passenger window. Silent.
    After the current song ended, I reached over and squeezed his leg, which, incidentally, is totally muscular from being on the ski team. Yum. I’m such a dork. Don’t tell anyone.
    “Are you okay?” I asked, breaking rule-number-one I read in one of the current teen magazines. It said (with authority) you should never ask a guy that question, because it “shuts him down.” Well, Dylan was already shut down, so I risked it. What did I have to lose?
    At first I thought he hadn’t heard me over the music, because he didn’t move or react or, most especially, answer. Just as I was about to ask again, he shocked the hell out of me by saying, “No. I’m not okay, Lila,” in this cold, stony voice that gave me the sneaking suspicion I might’ve somehow pissed him off. He lifted my hand off of his leg and sort of threw it back toward me. Uh, yeah. Suspicion confirmed.
    Dylan? Totally pissed.
    Fear wavered in my vision like gasoline evaporating off of hot pavement, but (be proud, Dad), I kept my focus on the road anyway. Still, my throat dried up and my thoughts raced as I placed the dissed hand back at the “two” position on the wheel. “W-what’s wrong?”
    “Like you really want to know,” Dylan said, derisively.
    Dang, he really was upset. My heart pounded out a funeral dirge in my chest. We’d never fought before. Not even close! I didn’t know quite how it was