Читать книгу Spellbound - Cara Shultz Lynn - Страница 11

The air was brisk and I pulled my leather jacket more closely around me as I walked up Third Avenue, regretting not wearing a scarf or something warmer. I hadn’t realized how wacky New York weather could be—cold one day, warm the next.

I got to Ninety-first Street and pulled out my new cell phone to check the time. I was eight minutes late. For me, that was early. I looked around and realized that I was standing in front of a sandwich shop.

For a split second, I wondered if it was all a joke on me. That Cisco was watching me from across the street, laughing as the loser girl stood there, waiting for friends to show up who would never come. What a waste of a good flat-ironing job.

“Hey, chica!” A few minutes later, I heard the call from down the block and looked up. Francisco was walking closer, flanked by three friends.

Relief colored my face. “Hey, look, new cell phone!” I waved the phone at him.

“Yeah, welcome to 1998.” He laughed, taking my cell phone and calling his number so I’d have it. “This is my cousin, Samantha,” he said, gesturing to a petite, older-looking girl to his right, “and her boyfriend Omar. They graduated last year. This is my friend Derek, he goes to St. Agnes.”

“Hey, guys,” I said, nodding to them. My breath came out like smoke against the cold.

“We’re just waiting for one more person.” Cisco elbowed me in the side. I cocked my head and stared at him quizzically. “In the meantime,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small card, “you’ll need this.” He pressed the card into my hand and I looked down.

“A learner’s permit?”

“Correction, my sister’s learner’s permit. She got her license when she went to Michigan State. You look enough like her. For the rest of the night, you’re Angie Marie Fernandez. I forgot to ask you if you had fake ID.”

“Okay, I’m Angie Marie. And look, I’m still an Aquarius. That’s nice,” I said, smiling as I looked down at the card. Apart from the same dark hair, we looked absolutely nothing alike. I was mentally telling myself to get over my internal freak-out about going to a bar when I heard Cisco call to someone.

I looked up and saw a figure stroll over slowly from across the street. I really hoped my eyes didn’t look like the Frisbees they felt like.

I was suddenly very happy that I’d spent so much time trying to look my best. At Vincent Academy, Brendan Salinger looked like the hottest guy in school. Outside of Vincent Academy, he looked like the hottest guy in Manhattan. Maybe the state. It didn’t help my pathetic case that he was completely my type. I’d always liked dark hair. Brendan wore a dark T-shirt pulled over a long-sleeved gray one, and had some sort of leather cuff on his wrist. Of course, his hair was still messy. It was legitimately messy too, not that look-what-I-can-do-with-gel look. Total wash-and-go hair. I doubted he even owned any hair products. Brendan carried a black hoodie under his arm, and greeted Cisco with one of those one-handed, back-pump bro-hug things. What was the deal with those things, anyway?

Brendan bent down to kiss Samantha on the cheek and I was instantly jealous. I tried to remind myself that he likely just knew her from school—she graduated last year, after all.

Then, those green eyes were focused on me.

“Hey, Brendan,” Cisco began. “Have you actually met Emma yet?”

His eyes stared into mine. “Not officially.”

“Hey, what’s—uh, what’s up?” I tried to act nonchalant, but my voice cracked midgreeting.

Brendan’s eyes were so serious, staring at me, but a smile played on his lips—those ridiculously soft-looking lips!—before forming a short, curt greeting. “Hey, Emma.”

Cisco rounded us up and we walked down the block to a small dive bar, marked by a sputtering red neon sign reading Idle Hands in the window. The bouncer’s eyes flitted to my face briefly when looking at the expired learner’s permit. He rolled his eyes and waved me inside. No one else seemed to have any trouble either, so we headed into the slightly crowded, dark bar. An old Green Day song pumped out of the jukebox, and the crowd was a mix of underage kids downing pitchers of cheap beer and old men playing cards and drinking scotch. Peanut shells crunched on the floor under the heel of my boots, and I almost slipped on one, catching my balance just before I completely humiliated myself. I stopped to scrape the shell off as everyone else walked past me and filed in, one after another, at the bar along the wall on the left. Cisco was first, greeting a short, cute brunet whom I assumed was Gabe.

“Thanks so much for coming, you guys,” Gabe said with an anxious laugh. “Just remember, we’re really not that good. But hey, we get a cut of whatever the bar makes tonight, so as long as we don’t get booed off the stage we should be okay.

“And you must be Emma.” Gabe smiled, looking at me warmly as I was still trying to scrape the peanut shell off my heel. “I’ve heard a lot of nice things about you.”

“All lies,” I said, grinning. “I paid Cisco off.”

Gabe laughed, and said, “Well, hope you’re not expecting much tonight. We’re really not that good. So yeah, don’t hate me.”

I smiled back at him. After finally getting the shell off my boot, I looked around to hop on a bar stool and realized the only one left was between the wall and Brendan. Gulp.

“So, what do you do in the band?” I asked, stalling.

“Drums,” Gabe said, raising his voice over the music. “The band is just for fun. For now anyway, since we really do suck. Okay, round of shots anyone? I need some liquid courage.”

Everyone in the group agreed enthusiastically. Or should I say, everyone else. I stayed silent. Sure, I was no stranger to drinking. I’d had plenty of warm keg beer and Goldschläger at friends’ parties. But since the accident, I hadn’t done much other than nurse a light beer in a feeble attempt to show that I was still socially acceptable. And I had never been to a freakin’ bar before! Keansburg was way too small for that. Before I could even think, the bartender was lining up shots at the bar. I stood at the empty spot, between Brendan and the wall, and lifted the shot glass. Giving a wary glance to everyone, I made sure they weren’t looking and threw it over my shoulder.

I wiped my mouth and sucked on the lemon the way everyone else had, casting a look behind me to see if I’d hit anything—or anyone. The tequila had landed on the wall beside me—leaving a small swoosh on the pale plaster.

“All right, I gotta set up. See you guys in a bit,” Gabe said, flashing a big grin. “And seriously, we do suck. So don’t leave in the middle of it!”

“Do they really, or is he going to get up there and be the next Blink-182?” I asked, calling across to Cisco after Gabe was out of hearing range.

“Oh, they’re not good. He’s good,” he emphasized proudly. “But the band isn’t all that great.”

“They’re not that bad,” Samantha disagreed, lightly slapping her cousin on the shoulder. Cisco gave her a pointed look, and Samantha conceded. “Okay, they are pretty bad. Gabe is the only bright spot. Some of it might make your ears bleed. Nails-on-a-chalkboard time.”

She formed a claw with her hand and made a screeching sound and I winced, laughing. Brendan motioned for the bartender to come over and he threw down a black credit card.

“I got this round,” he said to the bartender. If Brendan noticed that the bartender’s jaw dropped a little when he got a good look at the card, he ignored it. “Round of tequila shots and whatever everyone else wants,” Brendan said. He then regarded me over his right shoulder.

“So, Emma, what would you like?” Um, how about you, shirtless? The minute Brendan talked to me, my brain felt like it exploded. What did he just ask me? Oh, yeah. Drinks.

“Just a beer, whatever, thanks.” I tried to sound casual as I absentmindedly dragged my necklace back and forth on its chain before tucking it back under my shirt.

“What’s that?” Brendan asked, pointing to the base of his own throat.

“Oh, nothing, just a charm necklace,” I said dismissively, smoothing out the neckline of the shirt. If I answered, then he’d ask about my brother…and my family…and he’d never want to talk to me again. He already knew I was lying about where I was from.

“You know,” he said, his voice low as he leaned in more closely. I could smell Brendan’s shampoo—it was a clean, fresh scent, like grass in the rain. “You don’t have to drink. I don’t care—I mean, no one cares if you don’t.”

Did Brendan see you throw the tequila over your shoulder? He doesn’t sound judgmental.

The bartender arrived with the shots and Brendan took mine, placing it in front of him.

“No sense in wasting good liquor. Or, as is the case here, very cheap tequila.” Brendan kept his eyes on me as he drained my shot, and I began to wonder if a beer wouldn’t be a good idea, just to calm my nerves.

I met his gaze. “I’m good with a beer, thanks.”

He shrugged and ordered my drink, which the bartender promptly brought over. Then Brendan casually leaned back against the bar, stretching his long legs in front of him.

I tried to think of some kind of conversation starter. “So, how do you know Cisco?” I asked, sitting on the bar stool next to Brendan.

“We go to the same school,” Brendan replied, tilting his head toward me. “Maybe you’ve heard of it? Vincent Academy?” His voice was playful and teasing.

“You’re a Vincent Academy!” I blurted out.

Brendan laughed—a big laugh—and shook his head at me, smiling.

“What the hell does that mean?” he asked.

“I, um, have no idea,” I said, embarrassed. I couldn’t believe I pulled that stupid joke in front of Brendan, of all people.

“So, is Gabe’s band your kind of music?” Brendan said, still laughing.

“I don’t even know what kind of music Gabe’s band is. Other than bad, apparently. So I’d have to say no, it’s not my kind of music. I’m weird like that. I only like good things.” What am I babbling on about?

“You really weren’t far off with the Blink-182 reference,” Brendan said, brushing his hand through his hair, causing the black locks to fall haphazardly.

“Maybe I’ll like them,” I said. “I love Blink.”

“Me, too. You ever listen to their old stuff?”

“You mean Dude Ranch, or you mean their really old stuff?”

His eyes twinkled at me. “Oh, you’re a musicologist, are you now?”

“I don’t know about that…I can’t play an instrument to save my life, but Buddha is one of my favorite albums. I always go back to it and get obsessed with a different song.”

“What’s your current favorite?” Brendan asked.

“Well, lately it’s been ‘Carousel,’” I started…then realized I’d given up way too much info. Ten minutes into conversation, and I’m telling him about the song about unrequited love and loneliness that’s jumped to the top of my iPod playlist. Smooth, Emma. Why not pick “Pathetic” while you’re at it?

I took a quick swig of my beer and kept my eyes trained on his, keeping my voice level. “I just really, really like the chorus on that song.”

Brendan opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, then just shut it. “Oh, hey, they’re about to start.”

We turned around, leaning against the bar as Gabe’s singer and guitarist, a lanky guy with badly dyed cherry-red curls enthusiastically screamed into the mike, “Hey, we’re Broken Echo, and are you ready to rock?”

Apart from our little group, no one cheered. Gabe just looked embarrassed—and his face burned as red as the singer’s curls when he burst into an off-tune guitar riff. I wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be that out of tune, or if it was a mistake, but judging from the crestfallen look on Gabe’s face, I could tell their gig had started off badly.

Gabe, for his part, was actually talented, but unfortunately, the guitarist ruined most of their performance. Grandstanding poses, sticking his tongue out and throwing up the horns every chance he got… His schtick got old before the first song was over.

In the middle of the second song, a butchered version of a My Chemical Romance song, Brendan leaned in next to me, placing his left arm along the bar behind my back, and I felt my breath quicken.

“In chemistry today, Cisco told me that Gabe’s dying to leave the band and start his own, but Kenny—that’s Captain Clownhair over there—he started the band. So Gabe feels loyal, like he can’t leave.” I snickered at the joke about Kenny’s hair, but could feel my cool slipping away as Brendan’s breath tickled me, warm on my ear. So I just nodded in agreement. His arm lingered along my back, and I realized I was holding myself stiffly against the bar, afraid to lean into him.

I extended out my arms in front of me and pretended to stretch, resting more of my weight against the bar. Brendan’s arm stayed against my back. I acted like I didn’t notice and focused on the band, peeling the label off my now-empty beer bottle. Summoning some more courage, I leaned back into Brendan some more.

Brendan removed his arm—only to turn around and order something else from the bartender. Wordlessly, he handed me a new beer. Was he paying that much attention to me that he noticed I needed a refill? I mouthed, “Thanks,” and put it to my lips.

After getting his drink, Brendan lounged against the bar and stretched his arm along its very welcome spot along my back. I cast a sideways glance at him, and internally imploded when I saw he was looking at me, too. I smiled, a little shyly, and he leaned in more closely until he fully had his arm around me. Aaand, my guy-cation is officially over.

Two songs later, Brendan started drumming his fingers on my side in time to the music. I felt like my heart was keeping time with the ramming bass line. Every time he’d bend in to ask me something, or laugh at something I said, the bass line in my chest turned into a hardcore song.

The band was winding down their final song—which ended with an earsplitting two-minute solo guitar riff from Kenny. I squirmed uncomfortably on my bar stool, and Brendan covered my ears with his hands, laughing with me the entire time. He only kept his hands there a few seconds, but they felt warm against the side of my face. The pounding bass line in my chest was now speed metal.

When the set was over, we all cheered, enthusiastically yelling Gabe’s name—much to Kenny’s dismay. The jukebox came back on, and Brendan and I turned to face the rest of our crew.

“So, what are we doing now?” Samantha asked over the music, tapping her glossy pale nails on the bar. “Let’s go to the Met. I wouldn’t mind seeing who’s there. Come on, Omar, it’ll be fun,” she pleaded when he made a gagging sound.

“I never went when I actually was a student at Vince A, and I’m not going to start now,” he snorted.

“Let’s go,” Cisco said, looking at the time. “Gabe has to load up their equipment and bring his drums home—I won’t be meeting up with him until later.”

“Um, what’s the Met?” I asked.

“You know, the Met? The Met!” Derek exclaimed, looking at me like I was a confused fourth grader. “The Metropolitan Museum of Art!”

“You guys hang out there?” I looked at my phone. It was 10:30. “Is it even open?”

“We hang out next to it,” Cisco explained, shaking his head at my cluelessness. “There’s a big glass wall, and you can see in, see the Egyptian temples and stuff. It’s cool.”

“Okay…I’m in,” I said, a little bewildered. At Keansburg High, we hung out behind the gym. At Vince A, they hung out behind priceless works of art. Riiight. And I bet the school play is directed by Martin Scorsese.

We started walking toward the museum, and Cisco fell in line with me while Brendan and the others walked on ahead. I heard Brendan asking Samantha about Columbia, which is where she was studying business. I pulled my leather jacket around me and tried not to shiver against the cold.

“So, what’s going on, Miss Connor? Makin’ some new friends?” Cisco asked, shooting me a big grin.

“Nothing’s going on,” I mumbled, embarrassed. “I’m just making friends, like you said. So,” I started, turning my head to him, “Why is this the first time I’m hearing that you two are friends?”

“He’s not my best friend or anything—he keeps to himself, if you haven’t noticed—but we’re cool. We had every class together in freshman year. He’s actually the first person at school who found out I was gay.”

“Really? How’d that happen? I’ve never seen you guys together,” I said, wrapping my arms around my thin jacket as another cold blast of wind shot through me.

“You don’t have chemistry with me—we’re lab partners. But last year, Brendan saw me with Gabe at Warped Tour. I asked him to keep it to himself. He did and told me he didn’t see what the big deal was anyway. Nothing changed.”

“Wow. Decent guy.”

“Yeah, he is. And,” Cisco said, getting a teasing tone in his voice, “he asked me about you. You’re why he’s here tonight. You know, you’re the only girl at school that hasn’t tried to kick it to him at one time or another.”

“He’s here because of me?” I squeaked, then lightly punched Cisco on the arm. “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming? What exactly did he say?”

He just chuckled. “You had no cell phone! Besides, he only just asked about you this afternoon in chem. I told him you were coming tonight, and he should come and find out for himself. I mean, damn, Emma, you stare at the guy enough, I had to do something.”

“Oh, no,” I moaned, covering my face with my hands. “Am I that obvious?” I anxiously peeked at him through my chilly fingers.

“Nah, it’s not too bad. I just sit next to you so I noticed. It’s not like you’re going to cut a piece of his hair off and build an altar to it,” Cisco said, putting his hands together and bowing. “Oh, Brendan, you’re my hero! You’re ever so dreamy!” he whispered in a high-pitched imitation of a girl’s voice. “I wuv you so much! I want to have a trillion bajillion of your babies.”

I whacked him in the arm again.

“So, how’d it go with him?” Cisco continued, elbowing me in the side with a knowing look. “You two sure looked comfy at the end of the bar.”

I tried to figure out how to phrase it. When I didn’t think about what he looked like, lounging at the bar next to me, I felt like I was talking to someone I’d known for years. And then I’d get a look into those twinkling green eyes, and realize how we just didn’t match.

“I feel really…comfortable with him. Which is weird, cause, well, look at him.”

“You do look, all the time,” Cisco teased, then lowered his voice. “Heads up, he’s coming this way.”

“Hey, I’ll meet you guys at the Met. I’m going to stop for a water and some beer,” Brendan said, the wind whipping his hair in a billion different directions.

“Emma, do you want anything?”

“I’ll just take an iced tea, thanks.” I’d had a few beers and the last thing I needed to do to Aunt Christine was show up on her door hammered, after everything that’d happened and all she’d done for me.

Brendan regarded me for a minute standing there with my arms wrapped around my jacket.

“Take this,” he ordered, shrugging out of his black hoodie.

“Won’t you get cold?” I asked, hesitantly taking the black sweatshirt from him with frozen fingers.

“No, I’m good,” Brendan said dismissively. Hell yeah, you are.

I pulled the oversize—well, oversize on me—hoodie around my jacket and instantly felt better. The sleeves hung low, several inches from my balled-up fists.

“I’ll see you guys in a minute,” Brendan said, turning to walk away. With his hands in his pockets, Brendan walked that same slow, deliberate walk to a deli on the corner.

About fifteen minutes later, we made our way across Fifth Avenue and crossed into Central Park. The Met stood there, silent and imposing, and I could hear some noise coming from the right side of the building.

Cisco and I followed Omar, Derek and Samantha, climbing up the rolling green lawn to the right of the massive white building. I recognized the shadowy forms in the distance as some of the people from my class—including Jenn, who staggered over with her arms open. I spotted a two-liter bottle of lemon-lime soda in her hand.

“Emma! You never come out,” she slurred, her low-cut white sweater stained with droplets from whatever she was drinking. Jenn shoved the soda toward me and offered me a drink. The sugary citrus-and-cranberry-vodka smell was heavy and sweet as it wafted up from the bottle.

“Oh, no thanks,” I said, recoiling at the smell. It reminded me of the perfume Ashley loved. “Beer before liquor, you know.”

She looked confused, then stumbled back to the group of people near the trees. I squinted my eyes, trying to make out who was there when I noticed Kristin actually smiling in my direction. I stared, stunned, as she waved to me, beaming a bright smile. I raised my hand up to wave and stopped halfway when I realized she was waving behind me—not actually at me. Kristin hadn’t noticed me standing there, until the person she had targeted in her gaze was right behind me and Cisco. And then her gaze turned ice-cold.

Brendan poked his head between us, throwing his arms around me and Cisco. He had an iced tea in his left hand, and started tapping it against my cheek. The coldness of the glass, coupled with another chilly wind, forced me to shiver again.

“Oh, thanks,” I said, hastily grabbing the drink. “How much do I owe you?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Brendan asked incredulously, dropping his arms and reaching into the white plastic bag at his feet, pulling out a bottle of water.

“Cheers,” he said, tapping his plastic bottle against my still-unopened iced tea. Brendan handed Cisco the bag of beers and Cisco walked away, giving me a thumbs-up as he left. I hoped Brendan didn’t notice.

“No beer for you?” I asked, gesturing to his bottle of water.

“No beer for you, either,” he pointed out, tapping my glass again with the top of his water bottle.

“Yeah, I just didn’t want to—I mean, not get wasted,” I stammered, trying to explain myself. “Um, why aren’t you drinking?”

“It’s not a big deal.” Brendan shrugged. “I didn’t want you to feel weird, like you were the only one not drinking.”

“Oh,” I murmured, in shock and half in love with him for squashing one of my biggest social insecurities with a bottle of Poland Spring. “Um, thanks,” I said shyly. “That’s really nice of you.” I can’t believe he’s curbing partying…for me of all people.

“No problem,” Brendan said, playfully taking the hood on his sweatshirt and flicking it up over my head. “So Emma, are you feeling a little warmer?”

“A lot warmer, thanks.” I laughed as the oversize hood fell over my face, covering my eyes.

“So,” I began, peeking out from underneath the hood, “what’s that Halloween movie thing next week at school all about?” I tried to sound nonchalant, but I already knew all about the event at school: Austin had been gabbing in my ear for a week about Vince A showing scary movies for Halloween. I had to find out if Brendan was going. Then it might be worth me going.

But he didn’t get a chance to answer, since our attention was grabbed by a series of high-pitched squeals across the grass. We turned our heads to Kristin, who giggled loudly and deliberately looked over at Brendan as she let Anthony lick tequila salt off her neck.

“The bar’s open!” she called, holding out a shot and patting more salt on her collarbone—and a little lower. Kristin’s invitation was clearly meant for one specific person. The possessive way she stared at Brendan infuriated me.

“Less than fifty feet from priceless art, surrounded by a ton of people and oh, Kristin’s doing a body shot,” I snorted, then feared I sounded way, way too bitchy. To my relief, Brendan just laughed.

“She sucks,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “So Emma, back home, where did you guys hang out?” he asked, suddenly serious as he turned away from Kristin to stare intensely at me. “The Liberty Bell?”

“What do you mean, the Lib… Oh.” My guard was completely down around Brendan. I exhaled nervously, reminded that he knew the truth. “You know, it’s a landmark and all, so that was impossible.”

“So, you hung out at school, right? At that magical high school on the corner of Made-Up Street and Fiction Avenue?” Brendan smirked a knowing smile. More significant than him standing up for me that first day was the fact that he knew my story was faker than pro wrestling.

I tried to think of an excuse, a good story to tell, when he took another gulp of his water and said, “You don’t have to tell me anything right now. But I’d appreciate you telling me eventually.”

“Why does it matter?” I asked, annoyed. He ignores me, and now I owe him my life story?

“Why wouldn’t you want to tell me?” Brendan asked. “Don’t you trust me?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but I had no idea what to say. For someone with major trust issues, I already did trust him. And that just felt unnatural. Fortunately, I didn’t have to answer—Cisco called us over to the sloped glass wall of the Met, where he was standing over a very passed-out Austin.

“I think we need to get him in a cab,” Cisco said, chuckling slightly at the slumbering Austin. Here he was, the student council rep, who had spent every lunch period since we first met trying to convince me to join any club, looking like he was the poster child for our chapter of SADD. Which, ironically, was the club Austin had tried to get me to join at lunch that very afternoon.

“I’ll help you,” Brendan said, lifting up Austin effortlessly. It surprised me, since after the way Austin had talked about Brendan on my first day at school, I was under the impression that they weren’t exactly friends. Brendan and Cisco were about the same height, so they balanced the shorter guy between them easily. Austin woke up, stammering, “What? Ma? Time for school?”

“Yeah, buddy, it’s time for school,” Cisco said, grinning, then added to me, “Emma, we’ll be right back.”

They were gone for merely seconds when Jenn came bounding over again, her bottle almost empty.

“What were you guys… Who left?” She drained the rest of her beverage and looked around, dismayed when she noticed Austin was missing.

“Aw, he left me his drink,” she giggled, waving the now-empty two-liter at me. “So sweet. I’ll give it back to him tomorrow,” she whispered loudly. “We’re going skating at Wollman Rink!” She meant for her voice to be low, her statement confidential, but her drunken confession spilled out all over the lawn.

I put an arm around Jenn to steady her and advised, “You should throw that bottle out, you know. I’m sure he doesn’t need it back. But that’s cool about the skating.” I didn’t expect either one of them to be out of bed before 2:00 p.m.

“Let’s go hang out over by the—oh, no. Wait.” Jenn was gesturing at the cluster of trees where Kristin was holding court, until she realized that Kristin had her usual “Death to Emma” glare trained on me. Closer to us, Anthony and a short guy I recognized from math class were arguing. It looked like the conversation was getting heated.

“I think Anthony’s gonna beat Frank up,” Jenn whispered conspiratorially. “They’ve been fighting all night. Too bad. Frank’s kinda cute.”

I looked around anxiously for Cisco and Brendan, my friends—I could count Brendan as my friend now, right?

“What time do you need to be home, Jenn?” I asked, looking again at my phone. Even though I didn’t have a real curfew, I didn’t want to push my luck.

She shrugged, then ran down the green, yelling, “Cisco!” Jenn jumped on him, knocking him down. At the same time, Anthony shouted something I couldn’t quite make out at the other guy—Frank Carney—and my feet started twitching to run in the other direction. Henry was quick with his hands when he was drinking, and his alcohol-fueled rages had taught me at least one thing—I had an uncanny ability to know when things were about to get physical. Even though it had healed, my scar began to throb.

I jogged over to Cisco and helped him off the ground.

“Hey, you’re meeting Gabe soon, right?” I asked, darting my eyes to where Anthony and Frank were getting more agitated. Anthony menacingly shouted something in Frank’s face. Kristin and her posse had moved away from the guys, but she pulled out her cell phone and started recording them, snickering as she clearly enjoyed watching someone else’s misery.

“Yeah, I’m meeting him downtown. What’s up?”

“I just— I want to get out of here before that—” I gestured to the fight “—becomes something else.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it did. Anthony’s always starting trouble,” Cisco said.

I knew it. There is no way Ashley is allowed near him.

“Where’s Brendan?” I twisted my head around, searching for him.

Cisco smiled. “We couldn’t get a cab. He sent me back here to make sure you were okay.”

I blushed a little, almost forgetting where I was. That was sweet. Really sweet. First he stops drinking, now this…he’s probably just a nice guy. Then a shout broke through my thoughts.

With his lips curled back over his teeth, Anthony snarled several choice swear words at Frank before pushing him into a tree. Frank crumbled on the ground, then pulled himself back to his feet, charging at Anthony to shove him in his chest. Anthony barely budged—Blondo towered over the smaller guy. Anthony threw the first punch, hitting Frank forcefully in the stomach. Frank doubled over, gasping as he clutched his midsection. Anthony took advantage of Frank’s vulnerability, kicking him again in the stomach with his heavy boot and knocking him down on the grass. Once the smaller guy was down, Anthony—stumbling a little in his drunken state—hurled himself on top of Frank, throwing a hard punch in his face. It connected with a sickening thud. I wasn’t sure what to do—call someone? Why wasn’t anyone stopping this? Fortunately, someone did, as a third figure ran past me and jumped in.

I realized it was Brendan, breaking up the fight. In one quick movement, he pulled Anthony off Frank.

“Stop it! What the hell is wrong with you?” Brendan spit out, steadying Anthony by holding a fistful of his collar. Frank sat upright, wiping away the thick smear of blood coming from his nose. His eye already looked red.

“Stay out of it,” Anthony growled, trying to stand upright. He couldn’t quite coordinate all his limbs in his drunken state and fell on his rear.

Brendan leaned forward and helped Frank up, leaving Anthony on the ground. “Get up, dummy,” he said to Anthony, sounding annoyed. He turned to Frank. “You good?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Frank brushed some leaves off his brown jacket, glaring at Anthony. “We’ll continue this later.”

“Oh, shut up, no you won’t,” Brendan snapped, sounding more and more like a ticked-off kindergarten teacher. “Enough of this crap. Stop being such friggin’ babies.”

Frank stalked away, while Anthony scowled at his back. Brendan leaned in and said some hushed things to Anthony, his hands gesturing wildly—it looked like he was reading him the riot act. Loudly, Anthony told Brendan where he could stick his head and walked—or should I say, stumbled—toward a concerned-looking Kristin.

The whole scene made me very, very uneasy. This was the real Anthony, I figured—not the charming sweetheart that my cousin thought he was. I turned to Cisco and said, “I’m out of here. Tell everyone I said bye, okay?”

“Tell everyone? Or tell him?” Cisco replied, with smart-alecky emphasis on the “him.” Before I could answer, Cisco said, “Actually, tell him yourself.” I looked up and saw Brendan walking over, a little faster than I was used to seeing him move.

“Hey, guys—Anthony and Frank had a fight at practice and clearly are taking things home with them. Anthony said something about Frank’s mother. Anthony’s an idiot. He’s not going to start anything else tonight, though,” he explained, looking back and forth between both of us. Brendan then stopped and turned those emerald eyes back on me.

“You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeeeah.” I drew it out slowly. “I’m— I’ve got to get home. Curfew, you know,” I lied, hastily draining the rest of my iced tea, then shuddering from the cold drink.

Brendan just nodded. “I’ll walk you to a cab,” he said quietly. He stayed silent, walking toward Fifth Avenue with his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets until we were back in front of the museum, looking down the street for an available taxi.

“That was nice of you to get Austin a cab,” I said a little formally, leaning against a lamppost. I wasn’t sure what to say to him all of a sudden.

“Least I could do. He’s your friend, right?” Brendan said matter-of-factly. “I guess.”

“He sits right next to you at lunch every day,” Brendan pointed out. Wait, did he get Austin a cab for me? Does he think I’m dating Austin?

Before I could clear up my relationship with Austin, Brendan spoke. “Did Anthony scare you?” he asked, his eyes searching mine.

“No,” I fibbed, then looked down. “Well, I wouldn’t say scared….” I mumbled, hiding my embarrassment by picking at some chipped paint on the lamppost.

“I wouldn’t let him hurt you,” Brendan said, his voice almost a whisper. I was taken aback by how seriously he said it. I tore my eyes away from the flaking paint to face Brendan, and was surprised at how close he was to me. His face was mere inches from mine. I took a deep breath, getting lost in those eyes as the lamppost above me flickered on and off. I could see the light dancing in the flecks of gold in his eyes, as he stayed close to me. The light fizzled out with a thin hiss, but I could still see the intensity in his eyes in the shadows. Brendan rested his palm on the iron street lamp behind me. He leaned in more closely, and I let my fingers brush against his side, skimming along his dark shirt. I felt that familiar fluttering in my stomach again, hoping, praying that he was going to kiss me. Brendan was so close I could smell his shampoo again, which overpowered the sulfuric smell from the burned-out light above.

But Brendan stopped short—pulling back and flagging the lone available cab cruising down Fifth. I straightened up awkwardly. If I wasn’t already red from the cold, I would have blushed a thousand shades of crimson.

“Thanks,” I mumbled weakly. “And yeah—thanks for this,” I said, pulling the hoodie off.

“Keep it, it’s cold out,” Brendan said, his tone businesslike as he opened the taxi door for me. He gave me another smile, then, slamming the door shut once I was inside, he turned on his heel.