Kelly Creagh - Nevermore

She swatted his hand aside and spun the rest of the numbers on her own, making a mental note to change the combination later.

When she tugged at the handle, the door stuck, and before she could stop him, Brad gave the bottom left corner a quick, rough kick. The door popped out.

“I said, go away!” she snarled.

First she got her binder, the one she’d left over the weekend, resolving to do her algebra tonight since she no longer had friends to go out with. Next she reached in to snag her cardigan, only to find that it had disappeared off the little hook inside. She blinked, then turned to find it draped by the collar off the tip of Brad’s finger.

“Stop!” She snatched the sweater away and pulled it on, juggling her binder from arm to arm in the process. He stood there, watching, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

Infuriated, she slammed her locker closed, shouldered her gym bag, and marched toward the front doors.

“Just so I have this straight,” he called after her, “you don’t want a ride home?”

“No.”

Isobel shoved open the push-bar door with her hip. A rush of cool, moist air blasted her in the face, whipping her hair into a frenzy as she slipped out to stand on the concrete steps.

The trees in the yard tossed their arms around as if hailing a warning, their yellows and reds flashing. A few dry leaves skipped and tumbled along the empty bus drive as though heading for cover.

The sky, looming gray, emitted a low rumble.

She could call her mom, she thought, but Mondays were her yoga nights, so she probably already had her phone off. Of course, she could call her dad. He was probably already home from work, but then she’d have to field the barrage of Brad-centric questions, since he was usually the one who gave her a ride home anyway.

She looked over her shoulder at Brad.

Cocking an eyebrow at her, he waggled his car keys.

Isobel loved how Brad’s face felt after he’d shaved that morning, smooth but still not completely soft. There was an underlying roughness to it that she liked to feel against the tips of her fingers and with her cheek while they kissed, a sensation like tempered sandpaper. She breathed him in as his mouth sought hers, savoring the smell of his cologne, musky and sharp all at once.

Outside, thunder rolled.

Steam coated the windows of Brad’s Mustang. Light rain pattered against the glass while the radio softly buzzed on a pop station.

On their way to Isobel’s house, Brad had pulled over into one of the vacant gravel lots of Cherokee Park. He’d said he’d wanted to talk, but so far they’d done more making out than talking. But that was okay with Isobel. She was ready for things to go back to normal, and if that meant just dropping the whole thing and pretending like it never happened, that was more than fine with her.

She felt Brad’s hands slip to her shoulders, where they burrowed between the fabric of her sweater and her T-shirt, coaxing the cardigan back. Isobel shrugged and jostled her shoulders to aid the shedding of the outer layer. Despite the drop in temperature outside, it had gotten warm in the car.

“Mmm, Brad?” she murmured around his mouth.

He grunted in response, tugging her sweater free from her wrists before slinging it into the back.

The leather seats creaked as he leaned in closer to her, his hands traveling lower.

“Mm—what time is it?” she asked, taking his hand and guiding it away from its original path toward her chest, placing it at her waist instead.

He made an “I don’t know” sound, his hand venturing upward again.

“Brad!” She squirmed in his grasp, trying to sound stern, but she had to laugh at his sneaky persistence. He grinned through kissing her and lightly pinched her side, causing her to jolt and wiggle. “Brad, I gotta go home!” she insisted through giggles. “It’s probably seven already, I know it is.”

“You’re just making that up,” he whispered to her, all husky and soft.

She closed her eyes, clamping her lips shut, fighting the seduction.

“—just trying to get away to see your new boyfriend.”

Isobel went still.

She knew he was teasing, but the words still managed to burrow beneath her skin. He wasn’t going to let it go. She felt like a kite sinking back toward earth after flying high on a rush of wind. She frowned and pushed against him again. He lightened up and leaned back to look at her.

“I told you,” she said, “it wasn’t like that.”

He watched her for a long moment before he sank back into his seat. Then he stared forward, out the steam-mottled windshield. “Well,” he said, “then why the hell do you keep getting so bunched up about it?”

“I’m not. I mean—I just—” Isobel couldn’t believe this. They’d been just fine two seconds ago. She reached for him.

He shook her off. “Would you wake up, Isobel? The way he stares at you, it’s like he can’t wait to tie you up!”

“Brad! Oh my God!”

“You just don’t get it, Iz. He’s a wing nut. A girl like you? You can’t talk to a guy like that without him thinking he’s won the freaking lottery!”

She thought about telling him that Varen had already cleared up the question of whether or not she was his type. That was probably a bad idea, though, seeing as it might throw Brad into Incredible Hulk mode, complete with bulging neck and psycho eyes.

“I’m not doing the project with him anymore, okay?” she said quickly, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“You’ll forgive me if I’m not exactly torn up to hear that.” He reached to snap on the defrost. “Put on your seat belt.”

Wrenching around, Isobel grabbed the belt and slung it over her lap. After the click of the buckle lock, Brad slammed his foot on the gas. Isobel braced herself. The back tires kicked a spray of gravel as he spun the Mustang toward the road.

It was weird.

After not talking to Brad for the rest of that night, Isobel returned to school the next morning to find him waiting at her locker, and with help from a bag of Hershey’s Kisses, they made up. Again.

After that, as long as no one brought up the “dentist” incident (or the V word), things appeared to go back to normal. The rest of that week seemed to slip past without any more nuclear meltdowns, and everyone ate lunch together again, complaining about terror tacos and boil burgers. Nikki had even warmed back up to Isobel, calling her on Thursday night to ask about borrowing her gold nail polish, then launching into a tirade about whether or not to ditch Mark and make her move on the cute chemistry guy.

She and Brad were better too. It seemed that all he’d really needed was a chance to cool down about the whole Varen thing. Of course, she hadn’t yet figured out what to do for a grade in Swanson’s class, but maybe if she talked to him on Monday, told him that her schedule conflicted too much with Varen’s, then he’d give her a separate project or let her join one of the other groups. If she told him they’d tried to meet but that it didn’t look like it was going to work out, well, that was mostly the truth. And that way, neither of them would take any blame.

It was better this way, she told herself. It was better for both of them if they just stayed away from each other. And whenever she caught herself thinking about him, about how he’d tried to warn her by slipping her that note, about how his voice sounded on the phone or about how concentrated he looked that day when he wrote on her hand, she pushed the thoughts away and tried to think of something else—anything else. It was her curiosity he’d piqued. That’s all. Only that and nothing more.

She had to admit, though, she was a little baffled concerning the crew. She wasn’t complaining, but at the same time, it was strange that everything could apparently be forgiven as long as it was never brought up again. She’d come to expect that sort of thing from Nikki, but even Alyssa was being super nice these days. In the end, Isobel chalked it up to everyone being psyched about the gamewhich, of course, Trenton won. Brad even made a touchdown in the second quarter.