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The only one who looked up when she got right to the table was Brad. He watched her blatantly with those gorgeous, almost neon blue eyes as she edged onto the bench across from him. Nikki huffed and moved down to make room, slamming her tray around.
Nobody said anything.
Act normal, she thought. Just act normal.
Brad took a swig of his Coke. Eyeing her, he said, “So . . .”
Isobel squelched her smile and met his gaze, not liking his all-too-casual tone.
“Me and Mark were wondering, Izo,” he continued. “Since, uh, you and I go to the same dentist . . . When did Dr. Morton start taking Saturday appointments?”
“Yeah,” Mark chimed in from the other end of the table, gesturing at her with his corn dog. “Just curious.”
Isobel took a deep breath and focused on Brad, pleading to him with her eyes to stop this before it started and just let the rest of lunch be normal. He could do that. He could have everyone laughing it off and talking about the upcoming game on Friday against Ackerman.
He looked away from her, chewing his burger like it was a chore.
“I had something I had to do,” Isobel said, tearing open a ketchup packet. Maybe if she acted like it wasn’t a big deal, then it wouldn’t be.
“So you lied to us?” This came from Nikki, as she tossed her fork onto her tray. It clanged sharply, but the noise was lost in the surrounding cafeteria racket.
o;What?” she demanded.
He moved to walk past her and Isobel thought about telling him off right then and there, in front of the whole hall, for trying to pull this Dawn of the Dead crap with her.
That was when she felt his hand, which still held the morning’s chill, slip against hers.
Isobel’s breath caught in her throat, and her eyes widened.
What did he think he was doing? What if someone saw?
He pressed something into her palm. Her fingers curled to secure it and, for the briefest moment, clenched his.
In the next, he moved on, and she felt herself turning to stare after him, rubbing her thumb over the smooth slip of folded paper.
She felt it crinkle in her hand as she watched his back, clad in a dark green mechanic’s jacket. On a piece of white fabric, safety-pinned to the jacket, was the silhouette of a dead bird lying on its back, its legs crooked upward.
He walked to the group of goths standing in front of the window by the radiator and, lifting a hand, touched the shoulder of a dark-haired, copper-skinned girl. She turned, a sultry smile gracing her full, darkly painted lips. She had a red envelope in her hand, which she held out to Varen.
As the crowded hallway absorbed them, Isobel felt as though someone were lifting their finger off the slow-mo button.
She took a cautious look around to see if anyone had noticed, then casually pretended that there was something she’d forgotten in her locker and reopened it. It swung out without a fuss this time and she leaned in, unfolding the piece of notebook paper inside the darkened space.
They know you lied.
At first Isobel wasn’t sure what it meant. When had she lied and to whom? And how would he even know? That thought in particular sent a chilling spark running along her spine and tingling through her shoulders. Maybe Nikki had been right. Maybe he was trying to freak her out.
As if on cue, Nikki strolled by.
“Hey, Nikki! Wait up,” Isobel called, taking a moment to refold the cryptic note and slip it into the pocket of the periwinkle blue cardigan hanging in her locker. She’d worry about it later, she decided, and shut her locker door before giving her number dial a twirl.
When she turned again, though, Nikki had gone.
Had she not heard her?
That seemed unlikely, given she’d passed by less than six feet away.
Something must be up.
