Coveted

  Chapter 9

  My alarm went off painfully early. "Why can't school wait until the sun comes up?" I whined as I hit the snooze.

  "Because then you'd only get two hours of classes in a day," my mother said on her way to the kitchen.

  "That question was rhetorical!" I yelled back.

  "School isn't!"

  Riley jumped from my bed and bowed into a full stretch before trotting out the door to get his usual breakfast of kibble and my mother's leftover toast.

  I sat up and tried to wake myself with the temptation that Bran would be picking me up in a few minutes. A shot of panic went through me, piercing even the gnawing. How was I ever going to control myself around him again? After a good night's sleep, the pragmatic caution that I should have felt the night before made its belated debut. I pushed my panic aside. I was being silly. I had been caught up in the momentary rush of teenage hormones. That was all. I would be fine.

  I hurried to the shower. When I dried my hair, I scrunched it with the towel, hoping it would make it look wavy and more alluring. It was something my mother sometimes did on her days off and it made her look amazing. I surveyed myself in the mirror. The effect wasn't perfect but it was an improvement on my usual wash-and-go style. I put on some lip gloss but left it at that, no need to get crazy.

  I did not grab the first clean t-shit I saw but looked through my sorely lacking wardrobe for something interesting. Interesting in my case, proved to be embarrassing, not sexy. An array of geek fandom shirts emblazoned with things like "Free Bates" and a painted on piano key tie stared back at me. I might not have been that into fashion but even I had to admit my clothing selection was pathetic. I settled for a plain purple t-shirt. It was at least more interesting than my usual greys and blacks.

  I walked out to the front hall, pulled on Bran's red jacket, hoisted my bag over my shoulder, and waited. Bran had never shown up after I was ready. He was always early. I opened the front door and looked out to the road. His car wasn't there. I walked out onto the path to get a better look down the street; not a car in sight.

  I rummaged through my bag in search of my phone, glancing up periodically in case Bran's car pulled up. My phone had slipped under my sheet music. I bent several of the pages trying to wrench it free. I dialed Bran's number and waited but there was no answer. I left a message asking where he was before texting him with the same question. I looked at the time 8:05. 8:10 and no response. What had happened to our agreement?

  Michael's front door creaked. "What are you still doing home?" He asked when he saw me standing on the sidewalk.

  "I don't know where Bran is." The words extracted all the heat in my heart as they left my mouth. The talons clutched the frozen mass that remained in panic. What if he was gone? What if I never saw him again?

  Breathing. Yes, I needed to breathe. In breathing there was logic. He probably just slept in. There was nothing to worry about... I hoped.

  "Maria forgot to call me this morning," Michael called back. "Let's walk together but we better hurry."

  I nodded and joined him simply because I was beyond making any decision for myself. Bran would know to find me at school and when he showed up, I would let him know how much he had scared me.

  The moment I was through the main doors, I ran up the stairs to home room without even bothering to say good-bye to Michael.

  The red gold morning sun gave the desks a celestial glow interrupted only by the bodies of the students. Bran's chair offered no such interruption. My shoulders sagged at the same moment my heart restarted with a new rhythm, one too fast for me to keep up. I sat down and waited. He didn't show.

  He was missing from all of my classes and lunch. I kept checking my phone at every opportunity, almost having it confiscated during English, but it was no use. There were no messages. I was so distracted that I forgot to take notes and could do little more during lunch than sit in the corner of the cafeteria checking my phone every few minutes. Michael tried to get my attention from across the room but I ignored him. When Maria began to look disgruntled, he was forced to give up.

  Bran's disappearance was out of character and it was something, especially after the events of the previous night, that I couldn't handle. My torment was made worse by the fact that I was not the only one to notice his absence.

  "She finally drove him off," Samantha whined during gym.

  I tripped over my own feet and fell hard on my elbow. It hadn't hurt that much but I played it up just so I could sit on the sidelines for the rest of dodge ball. Samantha and Amanda were shooting me nasty looks as they talked to each other but at least I couldn't hear them.

  What if I had driven him off? What if that miraculous session we had had was so bad he left the school?

  I took a breath. That was silly and completely arrogant. I was probably worth little more than indifference. But there had to be some reason.

  What if something horrible had happened to him? How would I know? Did his father know to call me? Where did he even live? I'd never been to his house. I had no clue where to go. If something had happened to him, I might never find out what. And maybe Samantha was right. Maybe our first surrender to each other had scared him. I had scared him. I needed to vomit.

  Music was even worse without Bran. Mrs. Montgomery demanded to know what had happened to him and was nearly hysterical when I confessed in front of the whole class that I didn't know. For the rest of the period and the following rehearsal, she yelled and paced so much that any improvement we had made was destroyed by the stress she forced upon us. I managed little more than tangling my fingers against the keys.

  When it was over, I attempted to practice on my own but, even without the others, my fingers would not cooperate. I gave up. I stuffed my music back into my bag. I wiped my eyes with the back of my shaking hand. I wouldn't enjoy the walk.

  At least the sun hadn't quite set yet and the air felt downright summery. Any other day and I would have enjoyed it. Now, I was too worried about Bran and too nervous about the walk home.

  I tried to maintain a fast pace but kept slowing down to look at my phone. I was checking it for the fifth time when I heard the scuffing of a boot behind me. My heart jumped into my throat. My mother would kill me if she found out I was walking home alone. I closed my eyes briefly to swear at myself. I should have just called her or Michael to come get me.

  I walked faster, daring a quick glance over my shoulder. A tall, blond man was several feet behind me. I increased speed again, walking as fast as I could without breaking into a run. I looked at him again. His face was rough, scarred possibly. There was something strange about his eyes.

  I tightened my grip around the phone in my pocket. The scuffing of his boots on the pavement brought back my attention. Despite how fast I was walking, he kept gaining. I pulled out my phone and prepared to dial 911 but at that moment the phone vibrated and the screen changed to Bran's face smiling back at me.

  As I went to answer it, a cat ran across my path. I avoided tripping over it with a flail, nearly dropping my phone in the process. Muttering a word I wouldn't want my mother to overhear, I finally answered it.

  "Hey, dove," he greeted. "You called?"

  How could he sound so nonchalant? I took another quick glance over my shoulder and stopped. The man was gone. I looked around. There was no sign of him or anyone. The red light of the sun was fading as it gave its last. I broke into a speed walk.

  "Can you come over?" I asked. I needed his comfort. I was safe with him. I did not feel safe now. I also wanted to interrogate him about why he had ditched school, why he had ditched me.

  He hesitated. "Damn, I really want to but I can't. Some... family things came up."

  He so rarely discussed his family that I had completely forgotten about the immigration problems his mother had been having. He had insisted he wasn't worried and seemed fine most of the time but if something had happened... "Is it your mom? Can I do anything? Do you want me to come over?"

  "No p
oint," he chuckled. "I'm not exactly there at the moment. I've... kind of... had to go back to Scotland."

  "WHAT?" My shock echoed obscenely down the street. My panic had returned. Had he been deported? When would I ever see him again?

  "Dove," he said evenly, "Calm down. I haven't been deported."

  Without knowing exactly why he was no longer in the country, his statement offered minor comfort. "What happened?" I demanded.

  "My mother's been having some trouble and needed some help."

  "When will you be back?" I was aware that my breathing was bordering on hyperventilation. I needed to get a grip. He was just a boy. I was just a teenager. This level of obsession was not healthy. The gnawing disagreed.

  "My flight gets in first thing Friday morning. I'll come straight from the airport to pick you up for school. You won't even miss me."

  "I already miss you." Why was I crying? "And Mrs. Montgomery almost had a breakdown when you didn't show up today. I'm sure she'll be even worse tomorrow."

  His voice softened. "I'm really sorry, dove. I didn't want to wake you by calling late last night and I just got off the plane a few minutes ago but I promise I'll be back Friday morning. Can you manage until then?"

  "I'll live," I said in the strictest meaning of the word. My fear of moments ago had been replaced by total depression.

  "That's my dove. Just stay close to Michael and I'll see you Friday. I love you to the end of my life."

  Had it really been only a day since we had gotten together? No, it must have been longer. My body was already addicted to him. And my soul, if there even was such a thing, leapt with the joy of an ancient longing finally fulfilled. It all felt too intense to seem ridiculous. I needed to melt into him and indulge in his scent and his warmth but all I could have were words. "And beyond the end of mine," I whispered. With what little strength was left in my fingers, I hung up the phone.