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Gwen looked thoughtful and added, “And wasn’t he the one who sliced off his ear and mailed it to his girlfriend?”
“Van Gogh,” said Varen, in a monotone that suggested he might be in pain.
“Van Gogh,” Gwen said, leaning away, waving the apple. “Edgar Allan Poe. Close enough!”
The bell ending lunch sounded. Stevie broke away immediately. As he went, tray in hand, he shot Isobel a pointed look from over one shoulder. She frowned, remembering his warning about Brad and Mark.
“What was that all about?” Varen asked.
She turned to face him as he stood. She should tell him what Stevie had heard, she thought. She should warn him. But didn’t he already know? After all, it wasn’t like threats from Brad were anything new. And didn’t they have enough to worry about as it was? She shook her head. “Nothing,” she murmured, deciding that, at the very least, it could wait until after tomorrow, after the project. “He just wanted to sit here today.”
“And so the monarchy crumbles in your absence,” he mused.
That made her smile, although a little sadly.
“Gwen,” he said in acknowledgment.
“Your Darkness-ship,” she returned with a bow.
His eyes remained on Isobel as he began a slow backward walk. He was doing it again, speaking to her with his eyes. She remained trapped in his stare, trying to hear him, to read the underlying message. Finally his gaze broke from hers and he turned away, walking off through the cafeteria doors.
There was a pause before Gwen spoke.
“Let me guess,” she said. “Right now, you’re trying to decide if that was hot or annoying.” She paused, as though formulating her own opinion. Finally she said, “It was so totally hot.”
Before lunch was over, Isobel had made sure to stop by the office and give her mom a call to let her know where she’d be, since she wasn’t supposed to use her cell until school let out.
She left out the no parents part.
Her mom had been cool. Mostly. At least she hadn’t asked too many questions, especially after Isobel had reminded her that their project was due the very next day and that they were behind. Way behind.
She’d assured her mom that yes, Varen would give her a ride home and that yes, she’d be through the front door by ten at the absolute latest.
“What are you going to tell Dad?” Isobel had asked before hanging up. Her mother’s response had been, “Let me worry about that,” which made Isobel worry even more. She hated it whenever her parents fought. She certainly didn’t like being the cause.
After the final bell, she found Varen waiting for her at the same place as yesterday.
“Hey,” she said as she drew closer to where he stood in the open doorway, the autumn sunlight streaming in, outlining one side of him in a rim of gold. He turned toward her, the light casting a glossy sheen against the black of his hair. He smiled, just barely, and the sight of it, the idea that she had induced this rare response in him, sent her reeling.
“Nice job on the paper,” she said.
She’d read the ten-page essay during algebra, when they were supposed to be working on the day’s problems. She could finish those that weekend, she’d reasoned, since the worksheet wasn’t officially due till Monday.
Varen nodded once, but said nothing. They walked out into the parking lot together, Varen slipping his sunglasses into place. It felt good walking next to him. Almost like they were . . .official.
He stopped.
“What?” Isobel asked. When he didn’t answer, she followed the direction of his stare.
The words had been carved into the paint of the Cougar, across the driver’s-side door and all the way to the rear fender. The message had been scraped out by a key or another sharp object, showing up primer-gray against the once sleek black finish. YOU’RE DEAD FREAK it read.
“Damn it,” Isobel breathed. “That’s it.” She pivoted to march back toward the school, a new kind of rage surging through her, intensifying with each step. Abruptly she swiveled again, changing her mind. No, she thought, she wouldn’t go to the office. Brad and Mark were both varsity players with loaded parents, and that’s why everyone always looked the other way.
She’d go to the practice field instead, right to the source. If she had to kick Brad’s ass in front of all his football buddies and get suspended in the process, then fine. So be it. This time, he had gone too far.
“Where are you going?” she heard Varen call after her, and it was like he’d tugged on a string tied around her heart. Her footsteps slowed, but she didn’t turn around and she didn’t stop. She could hear him following her, but if she looked now, she knew she’d lose her resolve. She sped up again.
Brad was doing this because of her. That meant that it was her job to fix it.
