Page 16 of The Storm
“I don’t think that works like a GPS.” Not that I would know. Dia and I have never had any kind of telepathy between us, let alone a “find my iPhone, the twins” edition.
Bridge pulls the book away from me.
“Hey!” I protest.
“You’re going to the bonfire tonight. Dia is going, I’m going, and you’re going.”
“If you have Dia, why do you need me to go?”
“Idon’t need you to go.Youneed you to go. I’m taking care of you, dummy. Being social is important. It’s vital for your mentalandphysical health. We, as human beings, are wired to connect. I keep telling you it’s?—”
“I’ve heard the lecture before.” I hold up a hand to stop her. Bridge has a lot of opinions about my bouts of introversion, and most of them tend to be somehow related to disapproval. She’s too popular to waste her time trying to convince me to come to a party, but we’ve been friends since Dia and I shared our apple slices with her on the first day of first grade, and Bridge, with all her trailing crowds of adoring jocks, is nothing but loyal.
“It’s important,” she says. “Becca will be there.”
I studiously avoid looking at Bridget. She nudges me with her foot. “She’s into you.”
I let out some kind of noise of acknowledgment. She laughs.
“Indy, come on. Becca. Becca!”
“I heard you.”
It’s not that I don’t like Becca. I like her just fine.
“Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on Ivy. Last I checked,youdumpedher.”
“Nobody dumped anybody,” I say. “We just… fizzled.”
Those few dates we went on were… fine. We hooked up in my car. Well, we made out. That’s probably more accurate. Hands were involved.
It was… I mean, I enjoyed it. Definitely. What guy wouldn’t have? Yeah, it was definitely good. Great.
My gaze moves to the large windows to my left. It’s nice outside and plenty of people are enjoying their lunch break in the courtyard. There’s a table underneath one of the trees, and sitting on the table is Nick. I’ve never seen a person who looksmore alone while surrounded by people than he does. He looks bored, but it’s not real. He’s thinking. About what? I don’t know. I’d kill to find out, though. And that fervent desire is a problem.
His elbows rest on his knees, and there’s a pencil dangling between his fingers. Every now and then, he absently twirls it. People scurry past him and the other people he’s with without stopping, sending careful looks his way that he never meets. He’s surrounded by all the popular kids. Almost like sitting near him is a status symbol, but even so, he’s out of reach for them. Everybody knows it. And he doesn’t try to join in either. He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even pretend to be interested in anything that’s going on around him.
Every now and then he scans the crowd with a disinterested look. Like he’s checking for something he knows he won’t find anyway.
This borderline obsession I’ve developed over the course of the last two years, ever since that first meeting at the boat shed, is not smart. Mostly it’s uncomfortable. And embarrassing. An itch underneath my skin.
I do stupid stuff because of it. Get distracted at the wrong moments. Get caught looking at him. As if reading my mind, his eyes meet mine. It’s only for a second, but that second is just long enough to make my chest feel too tight.
The bell rings, a loud, strident sound, and I look away.
“I’ll pick you both up at eight,” Bridge says, and before I can argue, she’s gone.
THREE
NICK
The firelight flickersin the darkness, giving everything in its reach an orange glow and covering everything and everyone farther away in a blanket of darkness.
I stand, leaning my back against a tree, the bark biting into my skin through my shirt. Music blares from the speaker wedged in the trunk of someone’s car. Laughter and shouts rise and fall with the music. Some people dance, others stand around in loose circles, talking, laughing, drinking, like they’re trying to relive the summer before it’s gone for good.
The air smells faintly of weed and wood smoke.
I didn’t plan to come here tonight.
