Deconstructing Dylan by Lesley Choyce Page A

compression of water all around me, familiar and vital, as I went deeper and deeper into the loch.
    In the morning I was surprised to discover Robyn banging on my door. “I asked around and found out where you live. I decided to give you a lift to school. My mother gave me the skid for the day. So you want a ride or what?”
    I guess I was still coming up from the depths of the loch. I must have looked at her kind of oddly as I shielded my eyes against the sunlight.
    â€œIt’s not like I’m stalking you or anything.”
    â€œOh,” I said, groggily. “It would be okay if you were. I’ve never been stalked by a girl before.”
    She smiled. When Robyn smiled, her whole face, her entire being, changed. The world changed along with her. The sun became even brighter and the birds started singing. I saw a blue jay and I swear he winked at me. When a dark, beautiful, cynical girl smiles, she has no idea how powerful the effect can be.
    â€œSo are you ready to go or what?”
    I was still in my pyjamas — the ones with images of flying insects all over them: mosquitoes, flies, lady-bugs, and dragonflies. “I need a few minutes. You want some breakfast?”
    â€œToast,” she said. “I’d eat a piece of toast as long as it’s not white bread.”
    â€œWhole wheat, stone ground. Is that okay?” “My favourite kind of grinding. And coffee. I need coffee in the morning. You have coffee?”
    â€œWe do coffee too.”
    My mom walked up behind me. She brushed her hair out of her eyes. I noticed the darkness under the skin. She yawned once, pulled her housecoat a little tighter around her, and then smiled at Robyn.
    â€œThis is Robyn,” I said. “That’s my mom.” Robyn nodded. My mother studied her. She was evaluating her, judging her, but she remained polite.
    â€œRobyn’s gonna give me a lift to school. I’m gonna make her some toast and coffee first.”
    â€œI’ll do that,” my mom said. “You go get dressed.”
    When I came back down, they were discussing — well, arguing about — genetically modified foods. This public debate had been going on ever since I’d been born or before. My mom was solidly in favour of GM foods. I’d heard all of her arguments and they made sense. I could have guessed that Robyn would be on the other side of the fence.
    â€œSo we’ll agree to disagree,” I heard my mom say when I walked into the room. The debate had probably started with the toast. Was the wheat GM or not GM, Robyn would have asked, and it went from there. My mother changed the subject. “So you drive?”
    â€œGot my licence when I turned seventeen.”
    I didn’t know she was seventeen. Not that it much mattered.
    It was my turn to change the subject. I didn’t want this to become an interrogation. I sipped my coffee. “Mom, I went to tuck you in last night&hellips;”
    â€œSorry about that, Dylan. Your mother has had a bit of a rough spell here.” She looked embarrassed.
    â€œNo, it’s not that. But I found these two pictures of me by your bed. One I recognized but the other one &hellips; someone had digitally altered it or something. What was that all about?”
    She didn’t seem to know what to say. There was an awkward pause and then she said, “Oh, that. Your father’s idea of a joke. He and I had differing opinionsabout whether you should keep your hair short or let it grow. So that was what you would have looked like if you had had long hair. He put you in Scotland as a reminder of the old days when he and I were working there — before you came along.”
    I was hoping Robyn wasn’t going to ask but she did. “What kind of work were you doing?”
    My mother looked at her fingernails. “Research.”
    â€œIn what?” Robyn asked, probably just trying to be polite.
    â€œGenetic engineering,” my