* * * * *
The rest of the day moved by in slow motion. Social studies dragged. Ms. Mires was droning on about the Revolutionary War, which Abby was certain they’d studied back in fifth grade. But wasn’t that the thing about history? Didn’t it always repeat itself? It didn’t matter anyway, since she was only pretending to listen. A plan, a plan, you need a plan. The mantra stuck in her head as the seconds ticked by. She had to meet him; there was no other way. She needed to convince him that he’d made a mistake.
Finally, it was time for trig. Abby took a deep breath and entered the class, her eyes scanning the room for Brian Baker. He was there, sitting alone at a table in the back. There were two empty seats next to him. Abby paused at her usual spot in the front, not quiet sure where to go. Confront him, commanded a voice in her head. You know what you have to do.
Abby felt the other kids’ eyes on her as she made her way to the back of the room. But she didn’t sit down right next to Brian. Instead, she took the spot at the left side of his table, leaving an empty seat in between. And she didn’t acknowledge him, not in the least. She just pulled out her binder, opened her book, and tried to focus on last night’s assignment, while pretending not to see him at all.
It took him less than a minute to lean over and whisper, “You got my message.” His dark eyes were hot on her skin.
Suddenly, Abby was so mad she could scream. Rage sped through her like a rogue wave, unexpected and terrifying. She repressed the urge to reach out and smack him. Come on, she thought, get a hold of yourself. Don’t let him see that you’re upset.
With all the self-control she could muster, Abby leaned toward Brian and hissed in his face: “Who the hell do you think you are? Were you spying on me? Is that what you were doing?”
Brian jerked back as if he’d been slapped, while Abby shaped her lips into a frigid smile. Good, she thought. Don’t make it all on his terms. Don’t let him think he has the control.
Class started. Mr. Hinely took roll. Brian waited until his name was called. Then he leaned over and whispered, “I wasn’t spying, I just happened to be on the beach, that’s all.”
“Right,” spat Abby. “That early in the morning? Please. How long have you been following me?”
“I haven’t,” he said. “And this isn’t about me.”
“Mr. Baker,” Mr. Hinely broke in. “If you have something to say to Ms. Carson then why not tell the entire class? I’m sure we’d all like to hear.”
Oh God, thought Abby, her face starting to burn. She wished she could hide her scalding blush. Oh why couldn’t you have been a good girl and sat in the front? What in the world are you trying to do?
Brian said nothing, he just stared at his desk. But she could see his ears were on fire too. “All right Mr. Baker,” said Mr. Hinely, turning to write something on the board. “Then I assume you two can finish your discussion after class.” Then he started to go on about Negative Angle Identities, something else Abby didn’t understand.
The clock didn’t seem to be moving at all. For all Abby knew, time was standing still. She couldn’t shake the feeling of Brian next to her, his body exuding in awful heat. Abby peeked over at him, but he was ignoring her, his eyes set straight ahead.
Brian was excellent at trig. He always got every answer, while Abby dreaded being called on at all. She was only in this class because Matilda had pushed it. Matilda, who wanted her to go to college, who wanted her to be normal somehow.
Finally it was over. Abby snatched up her book and stuffed it into her bag. She was about to race out of the classroom, when Brian’s voice cut over to her. “So are you coming?” he asked. He was still staring at the board, not even daring to look at her. He obviously didn’t want to make a scene. In fact, to Abby’s amazement, he didn’t seem to want anyone to know that they were speaking. Why not? she wondered. What’s so wrong with me? But there were so many ways she could answer that question, she suddenly wished she’d never asked it at all.
“I’ll be there,” she grumbled, charging toward the door, relieved that trig was the last class of the day. Now she could meet him and get it all out in the open. Find out what he saw, do damage control. But while she attempted to take a pragmatic approach, her stomach tightened with a terrible dread. Because she really had no idea what he knew. The e-mail didn’t specify. Please, she thought, begging now. Praying to someone, she had know idea who. Please don’t let him know what I am. Please let me be able to fix this somehow.
Black Waters (Book 1 in the Songstress Trilogy) Page 7