#(ask dated may 8)

When he called explain his absence and ask for another chance, he received only a curt dismissal in the form of: "Ravens are not mental patients. Try South Carolina."

He didn't get a chance to question what that remark meant; the man hung up a breath later. A couple minutes after, Dylan realized he'd been referring to Palmetto State and its band of merry sociopaths. With a bitter laugh Dylan threw the phone at the wall and it burst into pieces. Maybe he would've fit in at PSU, too bad they hadn't offered him a place.

After pacing for a few minutes he put his phone back together and turned it on. He called for pizza— because that's what Marcus would've done— then sat in the foyer of the Butler's home until a dinky car with a sign on its roof pulled up. He opened the door and descended the steps just as a twiggy guy hopped out of the car with a pizza in hand.

"Er… Dylan Faust?" He asked, checking the box. Dylan held in a grimace, nodded, and handed the man twice what he was owed—because that's what Marcus would've done— and started up the steps again. "Oh. Hey. Thanks, man!"

Dylan threw a hand up in a wave and went back inside, to the kitchen. When he opened the box he was bewildered at what he found inside. He'd forgotten he didn't actually like Hawaiian pizza. It was Marcus's thing. Dylan ate it anyway, a couple slices. Then he left the box on the counter and went back to Olivia's room.

As he went in he noticed something he'd missed earlier. A stack of envelopes on the dresser, the ones he'd had that night in the park. Someone must've found them. He wondered whether the EMTs grabbed them or one of the Butlers. The orange envelope from Tennessee still split down the middle, one half stained with something brownish-red. Dylan tried not to think about whose blood it was, choosing to pretend it was just mud. Mud or clay dirt or anything else.

He eased the other envelopes out from under the soiled one. The UK envelope was bright blue and it had a smiley face drawn on one corner. Marcus had put it there with a marker the day it came, hung it on the fridge like he was proud. It was the first one Dylan received. When Dylan told Marcus UK was his second choice, he'd said, "Why? You'd look good in blue."

Dylan hadn't even opened the envelope yet. He thought he wouldn't need to. He sighed and ran his fingernail under the flap, then dumped the paperwork out on the bed. He skimmed it, looking for a date and expecting it to have passed already. Dylan didn't breathe again until he saw it.

June 18th. He had time. He had, he glanced at Olivia's pretty pink calendar to check. He had fifteen days.

He needed to practice. He really needed to practice. He wondered if there was an Exites nearby. Dylan called for information, found an address. He'd need a ride later. And he also needed some help.

-

He poked his head into Marcus's father's office that night. The older man was talking on the phone in a hushed voice until he saw the boy at his door, then he murmured a goodbye and hung up. "Hey, kid. How you doing?"

Dylan didn't know how to answer that. He was doing terrible. 

"I wanted to ask you for a favor." Dylan said, coming further into the office when he was waved in. He took a seat in a plush leather armchair opposite the desk, perching on the edge of it. "Uh. Mar-" Dylan took a moment, and a breath. "Marcus told me you could sort of pull some strings for me?"

Marcus Sr.'s eyes narrowed, "What kinda strings?"

"Um, I. He said you could help me get my name changed?"

"Oh." A sigh of what seemed like relief followed and the older man cleared his throat. "Yeah, I can probably handle that. Why are you changing it?"

"I never really liked Dylan." Dylan said. But the real reason came out through grit teeth, "And I don't want my father's name on my jersey."

"Makes sense. You got a new one picked out?"

"Not yet." Dylan admitted. He and Marcus had talked about it and the other boy had promised to help him find one, but it was too late for that. His father made a face and opened one of the drawers on his desk, he rummaged a bit then pulled out a book. He slid it across the desk.

"Take this and find one, then come back to me. Okay?" He said. Dylan looked at the book in question. 'The Complete List of Baby Names', the title read. It felt brand new.

"Did you know I was gonna ask?"

"Didn't have a clue. My son left it in here a while back. Thought he got a girl pregnant or something." Marcus Sr. said flippantly. The idea made Dylan's insides twist. Evidently Marcus's father realized that because he quickly said. "But I was wrong, he was making a list for you."

"He was?"

Marcus Sr. hummed. "It should be in there. Take it and see if you can come up with something. Oh, you'll need this one too." He drug out another book and handed it over. 'The Surname Handbook'. "That one's mine, so I'll need it back. I suggest opening it to a random page and pointing, spending too long looking will drive you crazy."

Dylan was beyond confused by that but he took both books and stood up, offering a thank you as he left. He settled into bed with the two name books and a pen, and when he opened the first one he found a slip of scratch paper inside. It was covered in Marcus's almost unreadable scrawl. Dylan fondly ran a finger over the page.

He returned to the office a couple hours later. 

"Aaron Farris." He said when Marcus Sr. looked up from his work.

"Aaron Farris," he repeated thoughtfully, sitting back in his chair. He considered the name for a moment and nodded slowly. "I like it. Have you got your original papers? Birth certificate, social security card, all that?"

Aaron nodded. "I took them when I left my parents' house. They'd be at Marcus's, I guess."

"Good. Then it'll be easy. I won't have to pull too many strings. Come sit down, Aaron."