She watched him thumb a cigarette from a half-crushed pack he’d pulled from the inside pocket of his jacket. As he lit up, she sneered.
“So now you’re smoking at my parents’ house?”
“You going to tell on me?”
“What do you want?”
He took a long draw from the cigarette, which he kept pinched between his thumb and fingers, his eyes crinkling in thought. He held the smoke in his lungs for a moment, then exhaled in a sigh. “This is getting really old, Izo,” he said, and leaned his back against the brick wall beneath the porch light. “You need to just friggin’ forget it already.”
“Forget what exactly?”
The smirk reappeared as he tapped a few ashes onto the porch. “He dissed you in front of the entire school, Iz,” he said. “Face it, he basically told you to get lost yesterday.”
Her eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “Is that what this is about?”
“Look,” he said, “why don’t you just sit with us again tomorrow, and I’ll let everybody know we can forget the whole thing.”
“What?”
“I won’t even bother the little faggot anymore, if that’ll make you happy.”
“We are over. You of all people should realize that. And, anyway, what about Nikki?”
Putting the cigarette to his lips again, he took another long tug, as though only to keep from smiling. He shrugged, blinking down at her in lazy indifference.
“You’re such a jerk.” She turned, ready to stalk back inside the house.
“I’ll tell Alyssa to back off. I’ll tell her to chill out so you can get your spot back on the squad.”
Isobel turned to face him again. “Would you listen to yourself? You’re trying to bribe me into being your girlfriend. Don’t you think that’s just a little pathetic?”
“You belong with us,” he said, “whether you’re my girlfriend or not.”
“No, Brad. No, I don’t.” She shook her head, half in denial, half in disbelief. Did he even know how he sounded?
“You think you belong with him?”
“I’m not with anybody.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“You hear what you want to.”
At this he frowned. “Izo.” He dropped the cigarette and ground it out with the tip of one shoe. He stepped in closer. She stood her ground, eyeing him suspiciously as he drew nearer, close enough for her to catch the smell of his cologne mixed in with cigarette smoke and the spearmint gum he always chewed to keep his mom guessing. “The guy is a total freak.”
“Stop calling him that.”
“Listen,” he said, inching in, his expression hardening, “there’s something not right about all of this. He’s got you brainwashed or something.”
She felt herself bristling all over from his closeness, and she wanted to step back, away from his familiar scent and his low, protective tone, but that was exactly what he wanted. She could feel it. He wanted to know he could still affect her like that, that he still held that power over her.
He leaned down and kissed her neck.
She went rigid. “Stop,” she warned.
The smell of tobacco filled her nostrils as his mouth trailed up to her jaw. She felt his arms slide around her lower back, clamping her to his solid frame. “No, Brad,” she was scarcely able to squeak. She raised her hands, palms pressed against the front of his jacket. She pushed, angling back, but not far enough. “I said stop!” He pressed his mouth over hers.
She made a muffled sound as close to a scream as she could manage, even though she knew there was no way her father would hear over the blare of the television. If only he would walk into the kitchen and look out the window. He’d see—he’d know how Brad could be sometimes. She thrashed against him, preparing to bite down on his bottom lip, when suddenly, tensing, he stopped and pulled back.
“What was that?”
“Let go!” she growled, prying herself away, shoving him as hard as she could, though she only succeeded in rumpling his jacket. “What is wrong with you?”
He shushed her, tilting his head to listen. From above came the sound of heavy scraping. “There it is again,” he muttered.
Her eyes widened. Varen. He must have heard them arguing from the roof. What was he doing? Was he coming this way? Was he crazy? Her mind raced for a distraction.
“You’re such a jerk!” she shouted as loud as she could. Brad’s head whipped back around to her, his eyes, that angry, electric shade of blue, searching.
