Dylan sauntered through the building’s main lobby, waving at the receptionist. He had been coming here the first weekend of every month since his parents divorced. The teen knew every receptionist and they never bothered to have him sign in anymore, not when a wave was sufficient.
He punched the button in the elevator and sighed as he went up to the eighth floor. Without looking up, Dylan walked to the lobby and took up the entire couch. Where his dad worked was like a hospital, reception areas on every floor. Mrs. Wharton smiled from her desk and Dylan could see her pick up her phone.
“No need to call me, Wharton,” a gruff voice said.
Dylan only glanced up at his father. The relation was physically obvious. They both had the same face shape, sharp features and high eyebrows. That was where the relationship stopped. Their unnaturally dark blue eyes regarded each other in a manner that was not indicative of a father-son relationship. Dylan looked at his father as he would a stranger he did not trust. Dr. Jones looked indifferently at his son, like he would a patient he did not actually want to deal with.
“I have a meeting,” Dr. Jones said calmly. “Stay.”
His father did not even wait for a response and continued down the hallway. Not like Dylan had paid attention after his father had said his first word. Every month Dylan came, and every time it was the exact same conversation. His father always had a meeting and so Dylan had started playing a handheld video game before his father had ordered him to remain seated.
“Can I get you anything?” Mrs. Wharton asked.
“Huh?” Dylan looked up, letting himself get a game over. “You’re too nice to me Mrs. Wharton. I don’t need anything.”
“It looks like it’s going to be a long meeting,” she said sympathetically. “Are you sure you don’t need anything.”
“Water will be fine,” Dylan finally said.
“That’s right. You don’t like soda.”
“Carbonation isn’t good for training.”
The receptionist smiled politely and left to get Dylan’s request. Unlike the receptionists in the main lobby, Mrs. Wharton was the only eighth floor secretary that Dylan knew. She was there every time and always offered to get him something.
Putting away his video game, Dylan pulled out his homework and tried to get as much done as possible. He had finished his math twenty minutes later and finally grabbed the bottle of water that had been set next to him. It was still cold and he gratefully drained the entire bottle in under a minute.
He pulled out his history book and tapped the screen to get to the right chapter. Dylan kicked up his legs and skimmed the chapter, only looking for the answers to the review questions in the back. He started feeling dizzy after five minutes and decided to rest his eyes for a moment.
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