Nevermore

“I don’t want to hear it,” he said, holding his hand up. “Now I’m leaving the kitchen, because whatever this is about, it’s something you guys need to iron out.” He gestured loosely between them. “But you two have been together long enough to do it in civil tones. If I hear any yelling,” he said pointedly to Isobel, “then Brad’ll go home, and it’ll be another week of house arrest for you.

Understand?”

Staring stubbornly at nothing, chin up, Isobel nodded, not trusting herself to give a verbal reply.

With that, her father breezed past her and into the living room, where she heard the volume of the TV spike a few notches, and then she was alone with Brad.

They stared at each other and Isobel waited for him to speak first. She wanted to know exactly what this was about before making any assumptions. After a moment, Brad scooted his chair back and stood, his letter jacket still on, she was glad to see. Maybe that meant he hadn’t planned on staying long.

“I figured you hadn’t told them,” he said, grinning.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get around to it.”

“I came to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you.” She folded her arms close against herself. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her, like he was assessing her for damage.

“Hey,” he said, louder, anger flashing in his features, those sharp blue eyes blazing. “I’m trying to warn you about that freak you’re screwing.”

Isobel felt her face flame. She rushed him, pushed him toward the back door. He stayed rooted to the spot, smirk in place. She spared a worried glance over her shoulder into the living room, then scowled at Brad. She gave up, knowing she’d have better luck in displacing a tree, and strode past him. She snapped on the porch light, then wordlessly opened the back door and stepped out into the brisk night.

Folding her arms, this time against the cold, she huddled into her sweater, waiting for him to follow.

He took his time, making a point of closing the door behind him as he ambled out. 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.