Читать книгу Spellcaster - Cara Shultz Lynn - Страница 9

Chapter 3

At first, my feet were frozen to the ground. My brain screamed to my body to run, but I couldn’t force my limbs to move. It was like they were locked—immobile from the fear that this was happening to me. Again.

“This can’t be real,” I whispered, my brain reeling as the hooded figure swerved around the trees, coming my way.

“Run.”

I heard the disembodied voice from somewhere. The rough sound of it was enough to jolt me out of my shock until I realized it was mine. I spun around and started running through the trees, back to the path, the panic building as I stumbled through the unfamiliar terrain. The last time I had to run for my life, it was right after the winter formal, when Anthony chased me through Central Park. But then, I knew the area. I knew the park. This time, I was racing through Fort Tryon blind.

I sprinted back toward where I thought the path to the Cloisters were, weaving my way through the landscape. I had no idea how close the hooded figure was. I just knew I had to get away.

My shoes skidded on the rain-dampened blades of grass. I pitched forward, my palms outstretched as I stumbled into the trunk of a nearby tree, the slick soles of my Mary Janes slipping on the wet ground. I whipped my head around, looking for the hooded figure. I didn’t see him, but that didn’t mean anything. He could be anywhere. He could be behind me.

He could be Anthony.

The thought was like an injection of ice water into my heart, pumping the chilling fear through my body as I pushed myself off the mossy tree trunk. I whirled around, seeing nothing but trees.

I heard a car horn in the distance and headed off after it. The West Side Highway—the Cloisters sat high above the busy thoroughfare. I could flag someone down—someone would see me.

I pumped my arms, trying to force momentum as I slammed each foot into the ground. I weaved through the trees, skidding a few more times on the slick grass until I stumbled forward. My left knee plowed into a splintered tree branch, a casualty from last night’s storm. I cried aloud at the sharp jolt in my knee, as the broken-off wood ripped into my skin, stinging my jagged, torn skin. I shook it off, forcing my hands to push myself off the muddy ground.

Then a different kind of pain—blunt, dull pain against my shoulder blades, as I was shoved. I stumbled forward, my hands outstretched and taking the brunt of the blow, protecting me as someone tried to slam my face into the trunk of a tree. My head jerked back as he grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking Ashley’s clip and some of my hair out. I instinctively jabbed my right elbow behind me, catching my assailant in the ribs.

I heard a muffled grunt and his grip disappeared altogether.

I whirled around and, crouching slightly, put my fists up in the self-defense pose Brendan and kickboxing had taught me.

Standing a few feet away from me was the hooded figure, his right hand resting slightly on his abdomen, his shoulders rising as he panted from the struggle. He—or she, it was hard to tell—was shorter than I had first noticed. Definitely wasn’t Anthony, whose massive size eclipsed Brendan’s six-foot frame. But it didn’t mean he wasn’t behind this.

The thin figure had some kind of black silk mask covering his face underneath a nondescript, bulky black pullover hoodie. A silver pentagram and another charm I didn’t recognize peeked from under the blackout mask, hanging from a thin, roped band. Baggy black jeans and black leather lace-up boots completed the look. I almost expected cloven hooves. The normal attire—and the fact that his hand hovered over his abdomen, where I had elbowed him—were almost comforting; at least I knew this monster was human. That I could hurt him. That I did hurt him.

“What do you want?” I growled, trying to make my voice sound menacing in spite of my terror. I searched the black figure for some kind of identifying mark. Some telltale sign. Hell, even just knowing what gender would have been helpful.

“What do you want?” I shouted again, taking a threatening step forward as I cocked my right fist back, searching the black hole where a face should be for a target. As I advanced, he stepped back a little, and I felt emboldened.

I reared my fist back and slammed it into what I assumed was the right side of the face. The head snapped back and black-gloved hands flew up as he—I assume a he—staggered back a few steps. I took a step forward—push him, Emma. Just knock him down and then run—but he reached his right hand behind him to quickly pull something from the back of his belt.

The hooded figure shook his head back and forth, slowly, like he was shaming me. He raised his shaky right hand high, and the sun glinted on what he held through the dappled light.

I knew how to throw a punch. I knew how to dodge a punch.

But I had no idea what to do with the silver blade that the shadowy figure held above his head. His shoulders raised up and down with exertion as his black-gloved hand flipped the handle so the blade now faced downward. The better to stab you with, my dear.

“This doesn’t have to be so hard,” a muffled voice said, and I gasped at how, well, human it sounded. And oddly false, like it was deliberately brought down a pitch. Almost…female? No…

“Just let me cut you once, Emma.”

I fought my body’s urge to lock in fear that this psycho knew my name. And said it with such disgust. Instead I screamed loudly, trying to attract attention as I shuffled a few paces back, but my hooded assailant mirrored my movements.

“Don’t make it worse for yourself, bitch,” the voice said, more a growl this time than anything. It’s got more hate…

My eyes quickly searched the ground around me, looking for a rock or some other weapon. And then I realized something.

I could be a weapon. And it might be the only thing to save me.

I took a deep breath, letting my rage and fear saturate into every pore as I kept my fists up in defense. My palms got hot, and that burning heat raced up my skin, taking over my body as the edges of my vision seemed to get a little sharper. Just as the hooded psycho pulled back the knife, charging forward, I lifted my knee, extending my leg with all the force I could muster. As the bottom of my foot smashed into his stomach, I extended my palm, screaming out, “Emoveo!”

It was the spell Angelique had managed to make work—but had always failed for me. Until now. The figure blasted back several yards—farther than ever would have been possible by the force of my kick alone. He flew backward, feet kicking uselessly in the air, his body emitting a heat-wave-style ripple around him until he crashed into a tree about eight feet off the ground. My attacker slid down the length of the trunk, shredded fragments of bark falling around him as he collapsed at the base.

The hooded head jerked up, a blank black hole facing me. I didn’t need to see his face to know that we both wore matching expressions of shock. He jumped up—my muddy footprint front-and-center on the black sweatshirt—and raced away, deeper into the park, limping slightly.

At first, I was too in awe to move from where I stood, my fists still held up in their defensive pose. I didn’t know whether to cry or cheer or yell, “Yeah, I thought so!” after my attacker. I briefly entertained the thought of chasing him down—but disappearing farther into the park didn’t seem like such a bright idea. I pulled my backpack from my shoulders, digging in it until my fingers closed on the small pump of pepper spray Brendan had given me. I slipped it in my sweatshirt pocket—I didn’t know if it would work against someone in a mask, but better to have it—right as I noticed something glinting in the grass near where the hooded psycho had fallen. It had to be Ashley’s hair clip…about twenty feet away. Impressive. I looked down at the foot that kicked him, expecting it to glow or shoot lasers out of the toes. Instead my shoe was just a little muddy.

I bent down at the spot where the figure had landed to examine the shiny piece of metal. It wasn’t the hair clip. What it was set my stomach to churning again, as I squatted in the wet grass, staring at the very intricate, very fancy, very demonic- and evil-looking knife. This wasn’t just some kitchen knife, conveniently grabbed to mug unsuspecting teenage girls by a psycho in a cheap Halloween mask. This knife was special. Of course, the handle just had to be carved with a bunch of grinning skulls. I would never be so lucky as to be attacked with a boring old wooden-handled steak knife, would I? Noo…I get the skull monsters.

As if the psycho knowing my name didn’t clue me in, the creepy knife confirmed it for me. This was the evil Angelique’s spell had warned of. A sickly chill washed over me. Obviously, what Brendan was going through at school was just a nasty prank, one that would blow over—the real danger was after me all along.

I pulled my sleeves down around my hands and used my fabric-covered fingers to pick up the knife, willing myself not to retch as I touched it. I just hoped Angelique knew what this knife was—maybe the skulls were famous skulls, what did I know? She was the one who had recognized my medallion as being significant, after all. I had just slid the knife into my bag when I heard footsteps behind me.

I jumped up and whirled around, grabbing the pepper spray from my sweatshirt pocket. I shot a stream of the toxic liquid in the grass, right at Cisco’s feet.

“Whoa!” he shouted, putting his palms up and backing away from me, his eyes wide as he took in my appearance. “What happened to you?”

“I just—um,” I stammered as I held on to the silver pump. You just what, Emma? You just somehow used magic to disarm your demonically dressed attacker? And used your own unmagic fists of fury to punch his face?

I slid the canister back into my pocket.

“I fell down—you just scared me,” I said, trying to sound sheepish. I couldn’t exactly explain what had just happened. “I thought you guys went into the café?”

“We did, and then you were nowhere to be found, so I went to find you before McNelly had a conniption,” Cisco explained, looking at me curiously. “And then I heard screams and some kind of commotion.”

“I must have screamed when I tripped…and fell.” I shrugged, running my hand through my hair in an effort to look nonchalant. More likely, he heard you scream, heard your spell—then heard your attacker go smashing into a tree trunk.

“Whoa, your leg is bleeding—like, gushing blood,” Cisco blurted. Now that he reminded me about my sliced-open leg, it burned like I’d just set it on fire.

“You’re bleeding a lot,” he said. I looked down, and blood was pooling at the top of my white ankle sock.

“When I tripped, I fell onto a tree branch,” I explained. At least that part was true.

“Poor Emma, you’re having a really sucky day.” He pulled some napkins out of his backpack and handed them to me.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, wiping up the streaming blood from where it left trails down my leg, and winced when the napkins brushed against the splintered bits of branch in my leg.

“There’s your culprit,” Cisco said, pointing to the tree that just minutes before, I’d blasted my attacker into. “Damn trees. Don’t worry, I got a good description of the perp. Tall, skinny, really bad skin. Forces me to make bad jokes because you’re having such a craptacular day.”

“It was a funny joke.” I smiled weakly, thinking of how I actually didn’t get a good description of the actual prep. Not so tall, possibly skinny, penchant for cheap, ghoulish Halloween hoods…busted left eye.

“Do you need help walking, or something? You look really shaken, I won’t lie,” Cisco added, giving me a sideways glance. “You tripped and fell? That’s it? That knee looks brutal, Em.”

“Yeah, I just fell. I’m okay, though, thanks.” Out of habit, I brushed my grimy hands on the shirttails that were peeking out from the bottom of the sweatshirt then grimaced when I realized I’d smeared blood and dirt all over the front of me. Great, so I’m attacked and I get to look like a dirtbomb.

“Are you sure?” Cisco asked, his cocoa eyes twinkling mischievously. “I mean, what if I carried you? You could throw the back of your hand to your forehead and swoon. Give them something to really talk about.”

“Yeah, and you can have your shirt half-ripped off, showing off your man cleavage. Your he-vage,” I joked as we trudged up to the Cloisters.

“I’ll be all sweaty and glistening all over my heaving pectorals.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “They heave?”

“Please, Emma. They’re the heaving-est.”

“It’ll be like a romance novel cover,” I said, amazed that I was able to joke after everything that had just happened.

“Seriously, though, are you okay?” Cisco asked, looking at my disheveled appearance. “You look kind of a mess, Em. No offense.”

“None taken. My knee and my pride are hurt—and that’s it.” I grinned weakly, my mind still reeling over what had just happened. Part of me wanted to call Angelique and tell her she was right. So very, very right—witchy powers really are rooted in emotion, and in the past twelve hours I’d been more in touch with my emotions than most self-help gurus are. Another part of me wanted to brag that I actually managed to remember the pronunciation for Emoveo—it was in Latin, after all. Part of me just wanted to shout from the treetops that I just used magic—and my own inner kung-fu master—to disarm, and defeat, a hooded attacker. But then, as the fact that I was just attacked, on purpose, began settling in, all I wanted was to curl up in Brendan’s arms and stay there for a week.

“Let’s find you a first-aid kit,” Cisco said as we climbed the steps to the Cloisters, but I protested.

“Really, I’m fine. Let me just go to the bathroom and clean this up.” I gestured to my knee, which was still bleeding.

“I’ll tell McNelly you fell and need a minute,” Cisco offered, before he headed off in search of our art history professor.

I found the bathroom, frowning when I surveyed the damage. No wonder Cisco kept asking me if I was all right. I looked like I had been through a war. My hair was wild, with sweaty strands plastered to my face—my Wite-Out–pale face. And my leg looked like a zombie had tried to eat my kneecap. I wet a paper towel and cleaned off the dried blood, dirt and bits of branch as best I could, my face twisting at the sting. At least it didn’t seem like it would scar. I had a bottle of vitamin E at home—the car accident with Henry and the battle with Anthony had left me with plenty of battle scars. Literal battle scars, much worse than this. But the tree branch bits proved to be pretty stubborn, and finally, I just resolved to have a piece of Fort Tryon Park stuck in my knee until I made it home. If you need to knock on wood, you’ll have some handy.

I brushed my hair and wet my face, but the bottom of my shirt was a lost cause, smeared with bloody fingerprints along the front. I thought about trying to dab at them with a damp paper towel, but my life at Vince A was frustrating enough without my classmates thinking I had peed on myself. I stuffed the shirttails underneath the sweatshirt instead.

My classmates. I steadied my hands on the sink, grateful that no one else was in the bathroom. The adrenaline rush had worn off, and surprisingly, anger—not fear—was starting to set in. Was my attacker someone from Vince A? It was plausible…Angelique was a witch. I was a reincarnated witch. Brendan’s wealth, strength—hell, even his looks—were a part of Archer’s millennium old bargain. Who knew what other kinds of supernaturals strolled the halls of Vince A? From the looks of that knife—and that getup—I didn’t need yesterday’s spell to clue me in that this was definitely magical in nature. Besides, who else would know where I was today?

I reached in my pocket, relieved to find that my cell phone and camera hadn’t fallen out during my sprint from the psychopath. The last thing I wanted to do was go wandering around the area where I was just attacked looking for them. The first thing I wanted, however, was to hear Brendan’s voice, but I knew if I actually spoke to him, there was a good chance I’d break down and tell him everything, and he’d go crazy being trapped at the school waiting for me to show up.

If he was still at school.

If he was still allowed at school.

How did everything go from perfect to utter disaster in twenty-four hours?

I pulled out my phone, and was consoled to see a small check mark in the win column. Some time in the past half hour, Brendan had sent me a text.

Don’t know what u heard, but u know it’s not true. I’m ok, just really pissed. Sorry I couldn’t text earlier. I’ll wait for u @ school. Want to come over?

I couldn’t type my reply fast enough.

Absolutely. Skipping work. See u soon. I really need to see u.

I sniffled as I typed that last part then hit the delete key. It would clue Brendan in that something was wrong, and he’d find out soon enough. I sighed as I scrutinized myself in the mirror, running my fingers through my now-smoothed hair. I looked fairly composed, in spite of eyes too bright from unshed tears, and my face a ghastly pale from being completely overwhelmed. Good. If my attacker was a classmate, he was not going to know that he’d ruffled a single feather. Even though your feathers have totally been sliced, diced and put through a blender.

I stepped outside, walking briskly through the exhibits until I found my classmates in a darkened room. I immediately started sneaking glances at their bags, trying to see who could be hiding a change of clothes—until I realized most of us had big backpacks on. Vince A piled on homework to the point where it was borderline abusive. Finally I looked up and realized I was in the room that housed the Unicorn Tapestries, recognizing the first one we had studied.

I surveyed the most famous of the collected works in the museum. I had been looking forward to seeing these, but now, all I could focus on was my heart, thudding in synchronization with the throbbing pain in my knee. I tried to maintain some semblance of composure as I looked at the tapestries in between sneak peeks at my classmates. In one, the unicorn reared up, resplendent and bright on the intricate tapestry.

And then I looked at the other tapestries—The Unicorn Is Found. The Unicorn Is Attacked. Each one an intricate scene where the mythical animal is hunted, cornered. It was reared up, surrounded. Dr. McNelly’s lecture about the unicorn being an allegory and the complicated weaving process fell on deaf ears as my eyes found the gruesome tapestry that seemed to celebrate the death of the unicorn. It hung there, lifeless, its eyes shut, its mouth open but unbreathing. It looked almost relaxed—there were no more battles ahead.

I took a sharp breath. I feel your pain, sister.

It seemed fitting, in a twisted way, that there had been a unicorn on my medallion. No matter how much I fought, it seemed like I was supposed to be doomed, too.

I gritted my teeth as I stared at the tapestry. Not this time.

After the last exhibit, I finally made my way to the front of the museum, where I rejoined my classmates as we milled about the parking lot. I spoke to Dr. McNelly, showing her my knee and explaining that I was fine, didn’t need to see a nurse and just wanted to go home. She clucked over my raw, shredded knee, and promised to explain my accident to Mr. Emerson, the English teacher who also oversaw the library operations. As much as I could use the money, there was no way I could suffer through stacking books today.

Jenn and Cisco waited for me before we all piled onto the bus—we were almost the last people on, but there was no risk of anyone taking our uncomfortable, noxious-smelling seats in the back. I tapped my foot impatiently. It felt like people were deliberately moving slowly. I tried to focus on the fact that in just thirty minutes, I would be home. But I should have known this day from hell would get one last lick in.

As I approached Kristin’s seat, Amanda—Kristin’s unfortunate-looking sycophant who occupied the seat behind Kristin—stood in the aisle, deliberately taking her sweet time sticking her jacket on the overhead shelf. Which left me standing right next to Kristin, the Creamsicle-colored harpy. I felt like that chained-up goat from Jurassic Park, just waiting for the T-Rex to come and bite my head off.

Kristin flipped her ultrawhite streaked blond hair. I groaned internally. Whenever Kristin flipped her hair, it was a sign that something incredibly bitchy was about to go down. She would be the world’s worst poker player—the hair flip was a big tell.

“Aw, why the sad face? Is Emma having a bad day, too?” She sneered in that same sickening baby voice. For a brief second I wondered if she was my attacker—but her left eye was (unfortunately) free of any bruising. I considered remedying that, but decided to just ignore her.

She looked me up and down critically, dissecting me for something to pick at. Then Kristin saw the bloody smears on the front of my shirttails, which were peeking out from the sweatshirt, and my red-stained sock, and grinned, baring a Pepto-Bismol–pink-painted mouth full of straight white teeth. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear she had fangs. Or a baby bunny in her mouth.

“Nice shirt, Emma,” she scoffed, cackling. “So, like, what? Did you just get your period or something? Can’t your rich aunt buy you tampons?”

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying anything back to her. It was never worth it: the more I fought back, the more venomous Kristin got.

“Knock if off, Kristin,” Cisco said from behind me, annoyance permeating every syllable.

“Oh, shut up, Cisco,” Kristin snapped in reply. “Who asked you?”

“Can you please hurry up, Amanda?” I said calmly, lifting my chin. I didn’t want my friends getting caught in my drama—and this high school drama was definitely less significant to me than my real-life drama. “You’re holding everyone up.”

“Don’t worry about what she does, Emma,” Kristin snapped, flipping her streaked hair. “She’s the one who belongs here. You don’t. And Brendan will see that soon enough.”

She flicked a thick, shimmery-painted nail toward the bloody splotches and her pink lips curled up in disgust.

“At least we know you’re not knocked up. For now.” She sneered. “You’re just the type to try to trap someone like Brendan. He probably got an STD from your low-class ass. Or your little slut of a cousin.”

And with that, the thin thread that held my composure together snapped. I crouched down so my face was eye-level with Kristin’s.

“Since I’m so low class, what makes you think I won’t jump you after school today?” I challenged, staring at her with unblinking eyes. I was so angry, at that moment I was glad I didn’t know how to turn her into a toad, or I’d have done it. She put me in a dangerous situation with Anthony, countless awkward situations at school…but she was not going to slander the people I loved.

“You really don’t want to mess with me,” she said coldly, but she leaned back in her seat a little. “You’ll get what’s coming to you.”

“Shove your idle threats up your ass, Kristin. You don’t scare me,” I hissed, not bothering to craft a clever reply. Simple worked. I didn’t wait for her reply. I whirled around and strode to my seat in the back of the bus, flopping in the window seat this time. I stared out the window, not even noticing that Cisco and Jenn had taken their seats next to me until he nudged me.

“I don’t know what you said to Kristin, but she looks scared. And angry. And oddly constipated,” Cisco whispered approvingly.

“That’s just her face,” I retorted, adding ruefully, “I’ll pay for it later.”

“Still, it was worth it. I never thought someone so orange could actually turn red. It was like staring into the sun,” he said seriously, and I chuckled.

Jenn was immersed in some game on her cell phone, so Cisco brought his voice even lower and leaned into me.

“Are you okay? I mean, really okay? I’m pretty sure I heard you scream loudly back there. And you usually don’t let Kristin get to you.” His brown eyes searched my face, and I squirmed a little.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just in shock when I fell,” I lied.

“Are you and Brendan okay? I mean…the cops show up this morning, you look like you were just attacked or something. It just…I don’t know, Em.” Cisco fidgeted with the tail of his black tie, curling it around his finger and unraveling it. “You can talk to me, you know. I can keep a secret if something’s going on with you.”

“I know,” I said. “Honestly, I do.” And I did—he was the first person at school I’d told my real story to. Pretty much everyone else still thought I had moved here from Philly, a lie constructed to put more distance between me and my painful past. But that was when my reality seemed…real. I didn’t know how I could explain the very supernatural turn my life had taken.

My reality was highly unreal.

“Okay. Just know if you guys are involved in something, I’m not going to judge.” Cisco innocently held his palms up, and I couldn’t help but laugh at his insinuation.

“There’s nothing drug-related going on, I promise. No gangs. No sinister, clandestine meetings in the park. I swear.”

“Or anything else? You guys had a traumatic time of it just a few months ago…” His voice trailed off, looking down at my right hand. “And your knuckles look swollen, too.”

“Tree branch,” I lied again automatically, pulling them into the sweatshirt sleeve. “And I promise you, me and Brendan are fine.” That much, at least, was true. “In fact,” I added, pulling out my cell phone, “I heard from Brendan. He’s okay. Just pissed off. So it was just some big prank, I’m sure. Maybe Jenn’s right, maybe it was a rival school.”

“Maybe.” Cisco shrugged, dragging his fingers through his chestnut curls as he still eyed me suspiciously. “Well, if you guys feel like stepping out in public and showing how very undrugged out he is, you should come by Battle of the Bands and help me cheer for Gabe.”

I just gave him an apologetic smile as I shook my head. As much as I wanted to support Gabe, Brendan and I avoided school functions like the plague. Hell, the fact that you just got mugged, attacked, demonically assaulted, whatever that was, on a school trip proves that you and school functions go together like peanut butter and razor blades.

Jenn finished her game, and she and Cisco talked about making plans to meet up before the Battle of the Bands. My head was beginning to throb, so I leaned it against the chilly window, the cool pane of glass soothing my skin. I stared at the cityscape, relieved to see that we had made it across Manhattan and were just twenty or so blocks away from Vince A. The posh store windows on Lexington flashed by, their designer wares just a blur. A chunk of my resolve to maintain my composure broke away with each block we passed. It had been less than twenty-four hours since I’d last seen Brendan, and my world had completely transformed in that time.

Brendan had texted that he would wait for me outside the school. And as if there were an invisible chain pulling me to him, I knew exactly where to look for him the moment the bus pulled up.

His hands were in his pockets as he leaned against the school, his right foot propped up against the building behind him. He wore a navy hoodie over his uniform, keeping the hood up, his head casually resting against the stone structure. He looked calm and unbothered to any of the passing students who looked at him—and they most definitely did look at him, the scandal du jour—but his eyes were alive, actively scanning the darkened windows of the bus, looking for me. I held my palm up against the glass, and when our eyes found each other, his lips curled into a small smile—which faded almost immediately.

Brendan stood up straighter, and I could see his body get rigid. He squinted his eyes, giving me a questioning look.

“You okay?” he mouthed, taking out his earbuds and stuffing them in the pocket of his hoodie. I just shook my head.

My classmates had started filing out of the bus. I was antsy to get off, but we were stuck in the back, waiting for everyone to take their precious time exiting. Really, it’s the weekend. Don’t you all have somewhere to be? I glanced out the window and saw Kristin approach Brendan, holding out a Cloisters pamphlet and her notebook as if she were offering him her notes from the class trip. Of course, she held everything right underneath her overly padded chest—her boobs were practically sitting on her notebook. Really? Who did she think she was kidding? She must truly want me to jump her after school. She said something, but Brendan’s lips curled in disgust as if she were offering him a cool, refreshing drink of water from the subway tracks. He waved his hand as if he were swatting away an insect and walked away, continuing to scan the bus windows for me. Kristin pulled on his sleeve—and for a brief second, I considered doing the Emoveo spell on her from my perch in the back of the bus. I could feel the same heat taking over my body, crawling up my skin. In that moment, I had no doubt that I could definitely knock her down the block—or hell, through a building. I took a deep breath, regaining control of my emotions as Brendan jerked his arm back, giving Kristin the finger. Pure shock was etched on her tangerine face—surprising, since it wasn’t a secret that he hated her. She stomped away, pulling out her cell phone, no doubt to complain to one of her sycophants.

I looked up, and the bus had cleared out. I gave Cisco and Jenn hugs goodbye, and walked off the bus as quickly as I could, barely stopping myself from just running straight into Brendan’s arms.

“What’s going on?” he asked, taking my hand in his as we began walking slowly to the train station.

“Not here. People are looking,” I said quietly, casting a glance around at the students milling about.

“Don’t care. Are you okay?” he asked, kissing the top of my head softly. Finally I shook it back and forth, frowning.

“I knew it. As soon as I saw you, I just knew something was wrong,” he whispered, dropping my hand to rest his arm across my shoulder, tucking me into his side. “Let’s just get out of here.”