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Varen’s expression remained blank, though his gaze chiseled into her, causing the world around her to smudge into oblivion, and she found herself unable to break away.
Did he think she ran off to tell Brad? Then again, what else was there for him to think?
Isobel opened her mouth to speak again, to set the record straight, but Brad’s arm tightened around her shoulders, jostling her against him. This, combined with his deodorant and Zest soap smell, reminded her that he was there. Still in macho mode and still in reach of the strange boy who had asked her what she was staring at and who was now, intently, staring at her.
Isobel closed her mouth.
She let Brad angle her away. He dropped his arm to pat her tender rear.
“Don’t,” she said, wincing, but kept moving.
Anything to get away from those eyes.
3
After Nine
“You want to meet the crew at Zot’s?” Brad asked as he pulled out of the school parking lot, joining the flow of traffic.
“I’m supposed to eat with my parents tonight,” Isobel lied, shifting in her seat to stare out the passenger-side window. She knew she was doing the girl thing, the full-on “you should know why I’m mad” tactic straight out of the Petty Playbook, but she didn’t care.
“Going to invite me?” he asked, not bothering to put on his turn signal when they reached the light.
“No.”
“Oh,” he said, “okay.”
That was it. She jerked around in her seat to face him. “What did Nikki tell you?” she demanded, deciding to forgo the whole dance-around chitchat thing and cut to the chase.
“Nikki didn’t say a thing,” he said, making the turn. He reached up to pull down his sun visor, and a pack of Camels fell into his lap. Isobel sneered and turned to look back out her window. She hated when he smoked, and lately it had become more than just an after-school fix.
“Mark told me,” he said.
Of course, she thought. It all made sense now. After lunch, Nikki, two shades short of bursting, must have told Mark, who, being Brad’s best friend, must have then blabbed to Brad sometime before football practice. Just like preschool. Connect the dots.
“Listen,” Isobel said, “we’re paired to do a stupid project, that’s all. He doesn’t want to work with me, either, so just leave him alone.”
“So he wrote his number on your hand?” Brad asked, his expression darkening. He took another turn, this one too sharply. Isobel gripped her seat. One of his hands left the wheel to slide a Camel from its pack.
“Never mind. Just take me home.”
“Would you just chill out?” he growled. Finding his Zippo between the seats, he flipped open the metal lighter and held the flame to the cigarette. “All I told him was not to talk to you,”
he mumbled, the cigarette bobbing between his tightened lips. He snapped the Zippo shut and tossed it into the backseat, taking a long draw from the cigarette before returning both hands to the wheel.
Isobel hit the power button to crack her window.
“What?” he asked, an amused smile playing at his lips. “Excuse me if I don’t like makeup-wearing fags writing on my girlfriend.”
Isobel glared at him. He only shrugged again, like that excused him or something. She folded her arms and stared straight ahead, deciding it was best to give him the silent treatment, though her plan semi-backfired when he didn’t say anything else. He only smiled away like he thought she was being cute.
After pulling into her driveway, Brad got out, like he always did, to get the car door for her. This time, though, Isobel threw open the door for herself. She slammed it shut behind her, the bang echoing through her neighborhood.
“Hey!” he said, arms spread. “What gives?”
She ignored him and marched up the brick sidewalk without a word.
“Izo!” he called. “Babe!”
