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She ignored him and marched up the brick sidewalk without a word.
“Izo!” he called. “Babe!”
It was the amusement, the underlying laughter in his voice that made her anger swell. Isobel stalked to her front door, refusing to let him cajole her into admitting that she was overreacting.
“All right. Fine,” he called after her. “Then I guess I’ll just leave your stuff on the porch?”
She paused on the front stoop of her house, then turned back to see Brad standing at the rear of his Mustang, trunk open, her gym bag hanging by its strap from one outstretched hand.
She was annoyed at herself for not thinking and annoyed at him for that big, churlish movie-star grin on his face. Abandoning the walkway, she stomped through the yard and jerked the bag from his grasp.
“Ooh,” he said with a wink.
“Brad,” she snapped, “you didn’t have to do that.”
“Aw, c’mon, Iz, I just talked to him. You heard what I said.”
“I heard you threaten him!”
“I didn’t threaten him.” He laughed again, shaking his head like he thought she needed glasses or a hearing aid, or a head check.
“Good-bye,” she said, and trudged once more for her front door.
“Okay, baby.” He sighed. “Love you, too.”
Isobel forced her lips to pinch together. As much as she wanted, she would not return the sentiment. She knew he was only probing for a response, trying to wriggle his way off the hook.
“All right,” he called. “Tell Paps I said what’s up.”
Isobel flung open the screen door and stalked inside her house.
He yelled after her, “Change your mind, you’ll know where we’ll be.”
She shut the door behind her and dropped her bag in the foyer. She stood motionless as she heard the slam of Brad’s trunk, followed by the clap of the driver’s-side door. She turned, ready to push her way back outside, to catch him before he left, but his engine revved, and he took off, music blasting, tires squealing.
“I don’t understand what you see in this game,” she mumbled, chewing on the crust of her last slice of pizza. Her parents had gone out for the night, leaving her alone with Danny, whose entire twelve-year-old existence revolved around his collection of video games, consoles, and online RPG empires. “It’s the same thing over and over, only with a background change.”
“No, it’s not,” Danny said, and waggled the controller to the right, as if that would make the armor-clad figure on the screen jump farther.
Isobel narrowed her gaze on the back of Danny’s school uniform pants, at his crack poking out just above the belt. She couldn’t believe that he hadn’t even bothered to change when he’d gotten home. Instead, like always, he’d plunked himself in front of the TV. “What’s the difference, then?” she asked, only mild interest backing the question.
“Each level gets harder,” he explained, leaning to his left while trying to get the figure on the screen to do the same. “Duh. And eventually you have to face Zorthibus Klax.”
Isobel glanced down at her hand, at the pale purple lines that had somehow, very faintly, remained. “Sounds like some foul disease.”
“Your face is a foul disease. Now shut up so I can concentrate.”
Isobel rolled her eyes. She leaned her head against her hand, her elbow resting on the arm of the sofa, and eyed her metallic pink cell phone, which she’d set on the end table next to the TV remote. It sat there silent and still beneath the glow of the beige, fat-bellied lamp. She’d brought it down from her room after letting it charge just in case Nikki, the traitor, sent her a text.
Or in case Brad called.
She couldn’t get it out of her mind, though. The way Varen had looked at her in the hall. He probably thought she’d told Brad everything, just to get back at him. He must have thought she’d run right to him and told him what happened, showed him her hand and said, “Go get him!”
Absently Isobel ran her fingers across the back of her hand, over the place he’d written on her. If she concentrated, she could still feel the sensation of the pen, the weight of his hand, the sharpness of the ballpoint.
Hunkering down into the couch cushions, she hooked a thumb in her T-shirt, biting the collar, unnerved all over again by the memory.
Were they even still on for the project?
