Dear Rockstar by Emme Rollins

dinner at Panda Express in the mall food court. One was larger than life, on screen and everywhere, all the time. The other was in my life, here, with me, and looked at me in a way I hardly could believe was real.
    He was looking that way at me as he made his way back to our table, putting down the tray and giving me a once over as I leaned back in my chair, smiling at him. I saw him glance at the expanse of skin above the waistband of my jeans and below the far too-tight and too-small end of the Black Diamond t-shirt I was wearing. It felt good to know he both appreciated the way I looked, and at the same time, wanted to keep it to himself, as evidenced by the jacket he had put around my shoulders before he left.
    “I got you a Coke.” Dale sat, not across from me, but next to me, unpacking the food, sliding a Styrofoam tray of orange chicken and noodles in front of me. My stomach growled its thanks, and I grabbed a plastic fork, digging in happily. I hadn’t eaten like this in a long time. Not that any of it, the pizza and the fries and the Coke and Panda Express, were good for me, or anyone for that matter. It’s just that we never ate out. There was just no money for it. Not even McDonald’s. Food like this was exotic and painfully delicious to my palate, all the salt and sugar and fat concentrated in every bite. This stuff was like a party in my mouth when I was used to granola bars and peanut butter and jelly and dry cereal because the milk had run out and we didn’t have the money to buy more.
    Most importantly, my body seemed to know it was Dale who was feeding me and rejoiced with every bite, was like it was turning this junk food into fuel for the fire I already had  burning in my belly for him.
    “So Aimee’s at the academy because she was in treatment last year?” Dale picked up our conversation where we’d left off, spooning fried rice into his mouth at a dizzying pace.
    “Yeah.” I frowned, remembering. “Our friendship almost ended over it. I was the one who told her mom. Aimee forgave me… eventually.”
    Dale nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “You did the right thing. She’s obviously better now.”
    “Better, yes.” I shrugged. “Not completely, maybe not ever. She still has her issues with food and dieting and stuff. But she’s not eighty pounds anymore.”
    He gave a low whistle. “That’s emaciated.”
    “She was pretty sick,” I agreed. I didn’t like to think about it. She’d fooled everyone for so long, wearing big clothes to hide it. If I hadn’t walked in on her in the bathroom one morning after a sleepover—she’d locked the door, but it hadn’t closed all the way and had just pushed open—she might have ended up in the cemetery instead of a treatment center.
    “So how did you end up at the academy?”
    I couldn’t tell him even though I wanted to. He wasn’t asking because it was perfunctory. This wasn’t just making casual conversation. He was genuinely interested in me. He just wanted to know. But I still couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t reveal something so dark, so sinister. Not to this bright, dazzling, amazing guy sitting across from me. What would he think of me then? It would ruin everything.
    Some part of me said, “Go ahead. Tell him.” That part of me wanted to sabotage the fragile bud beginning to bloom between us. If I told him now, he’d never talk to me again. Then I would be free once more to pursue my crazy but persistent obsession with Tyler Vincent. I could move to Maine and go to college there without any guilt or remorse. Telling him would force him to reject me. I knew it’s what I should do. It’s what my head told me was the smartest, most logical thing in the world I could do.
    “You tell me first,” I said through a mouthful of noodles, grabbing my Coke and taking a long sip.
    “I dropped out in my senior year. Three years ago.” Dale sipped his Coke too, looking at me over the rim. He had a way of seeing into me that was