"Slow down." He turned his head to glance at me, saw I was struggling for breath. He slowed down. His shoelaces were dirty and untied. The backpack he was carrying was peppered with badges and pinback buttons from the bands he liked, but the bottom was fraying and the zipper on the front was broken. He'd used a pin to keep it closed. My heart hurt at the sight. "Just go back, Kar. I don't want to hear it." His voice was shaky, and I heard him sob. He raised his arm, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "I know what you think of me. What you all think of me." "What's that?" "Look, I know you're going to give me crap. Can you save it for another day? I promise to listen." "I'm not going to give you shit, Dylan. Come on, I'll take you home." He stopped in his tracks and slowly turned to look at me. His cheeks were wet with tears. I let out a sigh, wiped his face with the sleeve of my jacket. "Let's go, Dyl." "How come you're not? Are you waiting until we get home?" I bit back a smile. He sounded suspicious. "No." I reached for his hand, laced his fingers with mine and pulled him towards me so we could start the walk to my car. It was in the opposite direction. "I don't know why Dad's telling them stuff about me. He told me he won't tell anyone." He sniffed and I could tell he was trying not to cry. "About the college application?" "It's not even a degree. It's a certificate. Not even close to what their kids accomplished. I'll never be able to measure up." "To their standards?" He curled his hands into fists. "Look, I know you don't care what they think, Kar, but I do. I don't want to, but I hate it when they look down on our family like that. When they say bad things about us, it hurts. And it makes me so mad because it hurts, and I don't want it to hurt because that means I care what a bunch of jerks think about us." He withdrew his hand from mine and crossed his arms in defense. "I know we didn't grow up with a mom, but do they have to point that out every chance they get?" He was crying again. His face turned away from me. "It's not like you and me asked to grow up in a broken family. Who wouldn't want to grow up with a mom and dad together? I just...I just..." "I get it." "Did you hear how they talked about us? Like we're the poor relations to be ashamed of. I've been hearing that all my life! I'm so sick of it. I don't like feeling inferior to those people. And Dad's just giving them more ammunition to make fun of us! Can't he see that? I can't trust him. He tells them everything! Why? So they can make fun of him? Of our family?" "Do you really think that's the reason why Dad talks about you?" He jutted his chin out. "Dad doesn't have anyone but you and me, Dylan," I said softly. "To Dad, you and I are his everything." I stopped walking when he did. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk, his head bowed low, arms straight at his sides, hands in fists. "So when you get mad at him, he takes it hard. It breaks his heart. You know he loves his siblings very much, but he doesn't care what they say. Have you heard Dad compare us to their kids like his siblings do every chance they get? He's never done that. When he says he doesn't care if you get a certificate, a degree, or nothing, he means it. He loves you. Let me tell you one more thing." Dylan lifted his eyes to mine. His lower lip trembled, and tears poured down his face. "When you feel angry with him, watch your words very carefully. I know it's hard to do that when you're angry but one day he'll be gone, and all the hurtful things you threw at him will haunt you. You'll be sorry you said them and you're going to wish so hard you could take them back, but you can't. Even if you want to say sorry, there'd be nowhere to reach Dad anymore. So next time you yell at him, think about that." I know I did, especially last time when I got unfairly angry with him after my mother visited our home. "I will. I promise," he said once we got into my car. "Kar, I can't face Dad right now. Is it okay if you drive me to a...friend's house?" "Which friend?" "Um... Mom?" "Really, Dylan?" He hung his head. Then I thought back to all the things he said. It's not like you and me asked to grow up in a broken family. Who wouldn't want to grow up with a mom and dad together? I didn't have the same need as Dylan, but I could sympathize with him. Didn't mean I had to like it. I raked my hands in my hair, leaned back against my seat and closed my eyes. I felt drained. "It's just that we're all here celebrating, and she doesn't have anyone." "Fine. What's the address?" "Are you sure? I can just take a taxi." "If you really wanted to take a taxi, you wouldn't even ask me in the first place. Just tell me where before I change my mind." "Okay! Thanks, Kar. I'll GPS it. Here." He hooked his phone on the vent slat. "I'm sorry about what I said to Dad." "You should tell him that. He's going to worry about you all night." "I already texted him." I should have known. Dylan hated confrontations and he was usually the first one to apologize.