by Zara Rivas
"I figured we'd just get the basics out of the way. The juvenile 'Hi my name's Suzie' kind of crap."
"Suzie? Sounds like a wholesome name." Xavier raised an eyebrow.
Sloane's eyes glittered with amusement. "Maybe not Suzie, then. I'm not sure 'wholesome' is a word that's ever been used to describe me."
"Probably not." Xavier cast his mind around for a personality-revealing question to ask. "I'm guessing the 'what's your favorite color' route won't work here."
"You're right about that." Sloane flipped the notebook open. "You're supposed to ask something fun and informative, like…If you had to go to jail for something, what offense would you like to have committed?"
He stared at her incredulously for a second, and then thought about it when she waited, expectant, for a response. "Crop circles," he said finally.
"Crop circles? What do you mean?"
"Crop circles. You know, sneaking onto some farmer's land and making him think aliens are all over his property." His eyes glittered with a repressed smile.
"Can they even arrest you for that?" Sloane asked, mouth twisted in amusement.
"My guess is yes. If you were a farmer, would you want some asshole teenager tramping around on your carefully cultivated crops?" Xavier said, not bothering to contain his laughter anymore. "It would make my day."
"You are so weird." She shifted on the couch so she could tuck her feet under her. "How did you worm your way into my social circle?"
"Why do you want to know that?" He sounded wary suddenly.
"I want to make sure no one can do it again. You seemed to sneak in pretty easily, Sinclair."
"That's because it was easy. Besides, I knew Christian before—we went to boarding school together. I don't know if he told you."
Sloane looked surprised. "I should have guessed."
Thunder crashed outside, and the lights unceremoniously flipped off for the second time. She heaved a sigh and shifted slightly on the couch, throwing the curtains open so the lightning could reach inside her room.
"I'll volunteer this bit of information," Xavier said slyly, inching a little bit closer on the couch. "Or rather, make you guess it. What's the perfect way to pass the time when the power's out, you're alone in a house with a gorgeous girl, and there's a raging storm outside?" A lascivious smirk overtook his face.
It was worth saying, he knew, even when a pillow flew at his face.
Chapter Eight
I strained some pasta in the sink late that night. Sinclair sat at the island and watched, but claimed he wasn't hungry at all. We'd just been hanging around talking (a much easier feat than I'd imagined), and the rain still hadn't let up. He kept flicking aggravated glances out the window.
"What's wrong, Sinclair? Have a love-hate relationship with water?" I flicked some at him from the sink, where I was draining some pasta. "Afraid you'll melt?"
He caught the Wicked Witch reference and said sardonically, "I think I'm safe if you didn't melt by sticking your fingers in it."
I stuck my tongue out at him. Very mature. I tossed the pasta I'd cooked with tomato sauce and poured it into a bowl, tossing a fork in after it. Glancing at the kitchen clock (it read 1:15am), I grabbed my umbrella from the kitchen counter.
"C'mon, let's go watch the rain."
I walked to the front door and he followed with a peculiar grin on his face. I decided not to ask.
"This is a fantastic house," Sinclair said, more to pass the minute silence than anything.
"My mother designed it," I said, and left it at that. He looked curious but I wasn't going to indulge him by filling him in on the story.
"Well, great design."
I nodded and we reached the front door. Opening it, I stilled when I saw what was resting under the overhang that blocked out the rain.
"Sinclair," I said slowly, "why is there a motorcycle parked in front of my house?"
"Because this is the twenty-first century, and we have self-powered vehicles now."
"Are you insane?" I whirled around, on the verge of insane laughter. "You rode here? On a motorcycle? In a rainstorm?"
"Looks that way," he said, amused.
"No wonder you were drowning when you got here. Why didn't you take a car?"
He shrugged. "Don't have one."
"Why didn't you get a ride?"
"Didn't need one. That motorcycle is perfectly good transportation."
"Yeah, on a dry, warm day." I threw my hands up, exasperated. A small chuckle reached my ears and I turned, finding Xavier just a couple of feet away.
"What's this? The ice queen worried?"
"I'm not worried, Sinclair, I'm marveling at your stupidity."
"Stupidity, hmm?" He took a step forward.
"You call this being Einstein?" I gestured to the motorcycle. A helmet was attached to the back of it. Faint outlines of water droplets were visible from where the rainwater dried.
He kept advancing. I backed up so I stood next to the two-wheeled washing machine, and he smirked.
"No no no." I held up my hands as a barrier to keep him from advancing. "You have to come up with some new tricks. Caging me in somewhere is just getting old."
"What am I supposed to do? You're standing in front of my bike, which is, might I remind you, my property." He carelessly brushed his hair out of his eyes with one hand. "Trying to keep me here?"
"You wish."
"Maybe I do."
I stepped away from the bike and held out my arms like a presenter for a prize show. "All yours."
"Clever girl." He stepped over and rested his arm against the bike leisurely, watching me the whole time. For some reason it made me nervous.
"I can give you a ride if you want," I said suddenly, nearly kicking myself for it when I heard the word escape my mouth. "When you want to go home."
He watched me with amusement (not seeing the internal debate going on, I hoped), and said, "I'm good, but thanks."
oOoOo
I woke up the next morning and rubbed my eyes blearily. Avery sat on the edge of my bed, watching me with a bemused smile, and gestured to my couch with an inquisitive movement. I looked over and saw my notebook sitting there, with a few lines of a previously-blank page filled in. I clambered out of bed and untangled myself from my comforter, picking the note up and scanning it quickly.
Alright, Sleeping Beauty, the truce is set in stone (for now).
I've been to twenty-two concerts in the past three years. I have two tattoos, though you get to figure out where. I've rebuilt that motorcycle so many times I'm surprised it hasn't fallen apart.
And that's all you get for now. You'll have to work for the rest.
And don't forget—it's your turn next.
—S
"What's all that about?" Avery said, reading it over my shoulder. "Good morning, by the way. Thought I'd drop by and get ready for school with you."
"Morning. I guess we were all in an awful mood yesterday so I didn't tell you," I said, "but Sinclair and I have to work on the CAP together. The main piece. So we have to sort of...cooperate."
"Whoa." Her eyes widened. "That's amazing! Well…maybe not with Sinclair, but you've wanted the senior solo piece since we were freshmen."
"He's not so bad," I conceded. "I think we might actually be able to restrain from killing each other while working on it."
"So what time did he leave?" A mischievous look settled into her eyes. I tossed the note back onto the couch and grinned at her.
"I dunno. Last thing I remember is hanging around eating dinner on the couch. I must've fallen asleep."
"Which means," she sang, "he must've carried you upstairs to bed."
"Shit."
oOoOo
Neither Xavier nor I made any mention of our hanging out at my place for the next few days. I didn't even see him, really, which wasn't surprising considering we shared no classes and at lunch we were wrapped up in our separate conversations. In Art on Thursday, Amy handed me a sheaf of rumpled-looking
papers. I started digging through them curiously, and realized they were all proposals for the project.
"These are the ones that have been turned in so far," she said by way of explanation. "So you and Mr. Sinclair can choose what you want the overall theme to be from these, and go from there on your own. I'll hand the late proposals to you on Monday afternoon."
"I thought you didn't accept late work," I commented, reading through a couple of the papers. Interesting ideas, but they didn't quite fit.
"Sometimes procrastinators have the best ideas for things like this," she shrugged. "And I'd hate for you to miss out on something great just because the next great artist of the world turned in a paper a couple of days late."
"Thanks, Ames," I said absent-minded. I shuffled slowly back to my favorite couch, sitting next to Tyler but saying nothing. He immediately leaned over and grabbed some of the papers, reading them through and smiling.
"I swear you're a klepto," I said, handing him a few more. "Potato chips, pens, papers, what's next?"
"I was thinking a few toilet seats," he shrugged. "You know, a wacky keepsake from our senior year."
"Weirdo." I ruffled his hair and he batted my hand away.
"You know you love me."
"Of course I do," I smiled. "Just don't send me a toilet seat when the year's out."
"Aye aye, cap'n," he mock-saluted. "You know, the rumor mill is churning like crazy."
"What about?" I asked, although I already had an idea.
"You and mister hot-new-student, of course." Tyler neatly set his stolen papers back on top of mine. "All the girls are insanely jealous."
"Just shows them where assumptions will land them." I rolled my eyes. "If any of them had half a brain in their heads they'd realize he's fair game."
"Maybe, maybe not," Tyler grinned. "They're all afraid to get their claws into them, considering he spends most of his time with your group. And nobody makes it into your group without being…you know, recruited."
"Something like that. Although Sinclair made it in, so I guess our group isn't as exclusive as it used to be."
Tyler waved this statement away. "He already had a foothold, he knew someone in it. Speaking of which, why is our darling Christian looking so bummed out lately?"
"I don't have any idea. Everyone's seemed off lately. I thought was senioritis at first, but…" I trailed off. "Who knows."
"You should pump that darling girlfriend of his for information." He gave me a knowing look.
"Am I missing something?" This troubled me. Avery and I had been best friends for forever and a day, and we were usually very in tune with each other, but lately that had been a little bit off as well.
"Things just seem weird."
"Yeah, you're right about that." I cast my mind around and it landed on the rumors again. "So, who's the person perpetuating the rumors about me and Sinclair?"
"Jade Cohen." He shook his head and laughed quietly. "You'd think she'd learn."
Jade Cohen, junior, vying for my position as leader of the social scene at Carroway once I left. I paid attention to her attempts sometimes, but in all likelihood she would never end up the solid leader. Her moves lacked finesse and she didn't have the sort of charisma that would allow her to be liked by a large number of people.
I dismissed her this time, too. "Learning's not her strong suit. We only have a few months left anyway, let her talk."
oOoOo
"Locker number?" Xavier asked, turning to Christian in the empty hallway. Classes weren't out yet, but their Calculus class got out early.
"Two eighty-four." Christian looked down at his phone, distracted.
"Thanks." Xavier paced up the hallway a few feet and walked up to Sloane's locker. He slowly slid the note in between the slats on it, careful to not let it rip.
Avery trotted up the hall towards them, stopping in front of Christian and panting a little. "Hey, got your message."
"I figured," he said, smiling a bit.
"Yeah," she said lamely.
"How'd you manage to get out of class?" Christian asked, shoving his hands in his pockets and starting to walk.
"Oh gee, Mr. Henderson, I think I'm cramping, oh no," Avery faked, throwing a dramatic hand up to her forehead and acting like she was about to swoon. Xavier watched her with amused interest.
Christian chuckled and tossed his head towards the exit. "Let's blow this joint."
"You got it."
He turned back to Xavier. "Catch you later."
Xavier nodded and held up a hand in a wave.
oOoOo
I sat on my front steps, playing on my laptop with the note I found in my locker resting beside me. There was just a time and place scribbled on it, the time being 8 p.m. and the place being my front porch. I recognized Xavier's handwriting instantly when I saw it.
It was dark when I went outside to wait; the sun had gone down about an hour earlier. Xavier rode up, his motorcycle humming softly, and turned off the bike and got off of it.
I didn't bother to look up.
"Ready to go?" he asked, holding something out to me. I held up a finger.
"This is the single most engrossing game of spider solitaire I have ever played," I murmured, stacking a few cards.
He made an amused sound in his throat and reached out, closing the laptop lid with one finger.
"Oi! I was playing that!" I protested, shooting him a death glare and standing up.
"Yes. Were." He smiled rakishly and picked up my laptop, handing it to me. "You might want to put this back in the house; there's no room for it."
I then saw what he tried to get me to take, and shook my head uncomprehendingly. "Why would I need….oh, no." He held out a motorcycle helmet, and his smile only widened at my last statement.
"Can't I drive?" I said, glancing furtively at his bike and back to the helmet in his hands.
"Oh please, don't tell me you're scared of motorcycles?"
"I'm not afraid of them, but I don't know what kind of driver you are," I pointed out.
"The kind that won't get you in a wreck. Just take the damn helmet."
"Where's yours?" I asked shrewdly.
He pointed to the seat of the motorcycle, where a sleek black helmet rested.
I shrugged. Fair enough. "Let me grab my thicker coat. I don't want to freeze to death on the back of that thing."
"You can hold onto me for warmth," he teased.
"I'll have to hold onto you anyway to stay onto that thing," I said. "But I doubt even you can wrap yourself around me completely for insulation while driving."
I went inside and he followed, noting the empty rooms and dark hallways.
"Brother still not back yet?" he asked curiously, and I shook my head.
"No, he said he wouldn't be home until probably Saturday afternoon." I grabbed my favorite jacket off the hook and swung it around, slipping my arms into the sleeves and buttoning it up.
"Still don't want to take me up on my suggestion?" He edged closer with a sly look. I put a hand flat on his chest and pushed him backwards, not using much force but still getting my point across.
"Not a chance, Sinclair. Time to go anyway, right?"
"Yeah. Time to go."
oOoOo
Motorcycles were fun. Finn went through a phase when we turned sixteen where he decided he wanted to ride them, so he got his license and bought a bike. I forget what kind it was, but it still sat in our garage. He didn't ride it much anymore, stating it wasn't practical for university and moving all his junk around, but he took it out occasionally. Mostly when the weather was gorgeous.
Riding with Sinclair was a completely different experience than being on the back seat of my brother's bike. For one, I was entirely too aware of how warm Sinclair was, and how I had to wrap my arms around him to stay on. Plus, the inner sides of my legs were bumping his sides, and he tapped my leg with a finger to let me know when to get off, instead of going to the trouble of twisting around on the bike.
He was a good rider, though, so I couldn't complain about riding with him anymore.
"Oh look, you're not dead," he said dryly. I pulled the helmet off my head and shook my hair out, feeling like there were a thousand knots in it.
"I must have a guardian angel, then," I shot back. "Ever heard of laws, Sinclair?"
