Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
CADENCE
“Have some yoghurt,” my mother says when I arrive back in the kitchen, blouse changed to a dry one, school bag in my hand.
Drake glowers at me, keys jingling in his hand. “You don’t have time for yoghurt.”
I kiss Mum goodbye and Drake ambles towards the front door, moving with all the urgency of a snail.
“Come on,” I blurt, dancing ahead of him—and setting off the ear-drum-bursting blare of an alarm when I open the door.
“I’ve got it,” Drake yells back to the kitchen, flipping down the cover on a box two metres from the door. He punches in a code and the head-splitting shriek dies, thank fuck.
He reverses out of the garage, and I jump in the passenger side, smoothing my skirt and fiddling with my hair, dread expanding with every passing second.
Along with the first day jitters, my nerves still hum from the earlier scare. Drake saved me, but my body reacts like he caused the danger. A behaviour that isn’t helped by the irony of our current situation—that I’m being driven to my new school by the same psycho who ruined my experience at the old one.
After the incident, when I shed old friendships like dead skin and shook myself to pieces just cycling through the gate, I started skipping, but I can hardly do that now.
Not with Arnold funding the expensive tuition.
“You all right?”
Drake arches an eyebrow at me, taking no notice of the road although we’re about to strike the intersection at the base of the hill. My hand creeps to the handle above the door. “Good, thanks.”
“Because I thought you might’ve had a restless night.”
I scowl at his smug grin. “You know you—”
He pushes a button and music blasts from the speakers, drowning out what I wanted to say. Which, on second thought, is probably for the best. It wasn’t very complimentary.
The volume stays high until we turn into the student carpark.
Gretchen waves to me from beside the main entrance, and before the car comes to a full stop, I’ve got my belt off, bag in hand. I pull at the door handle, then turn to Drake with a grimace when I find it locked, meeting his cold grey eyes.
“What? You were planning on leaving without wishing me a nice day?”
I don’t know what to make of his deadpan delivery, but mutter, “Have a great day,” relieved to hear him release the central lock.
A relief that’s short-lived as his long-legged stride easily keeps pace with mine. His imposing height casts a shadow as I walk towards my new friend, making my skin crawl with his menacing presence.
Gretchen’s eyes light up at his approach, but he cuts off to the side just before I reach her, and she pouts.
“He’s not my biggest fan,” I admit, pulling a face. “You might have more luck if you ditch me.”
“Never,” she declares, eyes still glued to his departing frame. It’s only when he’s out of sight that she leads me inside. “Your locker’s right next to mine.” She helps me set the combination as Felicity and Rox arrive, their morning greetings muted compared to their weekend selves. “And we’ll save a seat for you at lunch.”
“Thank you.”
Gretchen is so kind, I’m glad I ignored Drake’s advice. When I’m sitting in my morning classes, English and Calculus—ugh—it seems obvious the warning was nothing but him baiting me. I have no intention of letting a friendship go based solely on his highly suspect warning.
She gets me to every class on time. Where I’d be lost in the angled buildings, built from brickwork so old that half the structures have iron bands for earthquake strengthening wrapped around them, she guides me through their similar corridors with ease.
The physical classrooms are small—a sign of their age—but they make up for it with a reduction in the number of pupils. Where Alabaster routinely had classes with twenty-five or more, the most voluminous at Ashford Crest has thirteen students.
I’m sure if you’re there from year nine, it works miracles on your education. With mine nearing its end, the added attention feels daunting.
At lunchtime, Gretchen is true to her word, waving me to her regular table in the cafeteria. She spends so much time drooling over Drake, I don’t need to keep my eye on him. She’ll give ample warning if he heads our way.
Under the guise of becoming familiar with my surroundings, I also peek at him. At home, our encounters have been too tangled with emotion and Saturday through binoculars doesn’t count.
Here, now, it’s easy to see what has my friend drooling. I said goodbye to my last growth spurt back in year ten, but Drake is two or three inches taller than when I last saw him.
The added height has been joined with a plenitude of muscles. His shoulders are so broad I’m amazed the uniform blazer fits him. When he hangs it over the back of his chair, the seams of his shirt strain, the part-elastin blend finding every highlight of his defined torso.
Our table aren’t the only ones keeping tabs. When he sweeps his dark fringe back, slate-grey eyes scanning his immediate surrounds, I watch a girl on the far side of the cafeteria practically melt into the floorboards.
“He keeps looking at you,” Gretchen says, elbowing me in the side. “Every time you duck your head, he checks you out.”
“Arnold told him to keep an eye on me,” I correct her, rolling my eyes at her summary. “He is not checking me out.”
“Hm.” She presses her lips together in a perfect parody of a school matron, then loses focus. “You think we should invite him over?”
“You might have better luck if I’m not sitting at your table. I don’t think he appreciates me moving into his home.” I give a soft laugh at her disappointment. “And if you ever refer to me as his step anything, I’m coming for you.”
She arches her eyebrows. “Bitch, you don’t frighten me. Bring it on.”
The afternoon drags. Between the sleepless night, jumping at every noise that sounded like a boy creeping across the hallway, only my anxiety kept me alert this morning. Now I’m acclimating, my energy fades. I spend most of the time fighting yawns.
“I’m definitely going ahead with the party next month,” Gretchen says as the final bell goes, and she guides me toward the student carpark. “Once I’ve sorted the details, promise me you’ll invite him.”
An offer that sounds like a recipe for disappointment, but I nod in agreement. I can ask. “Of course, I will.”
I find the park and Drake arrives a minute later. His scowl makes me glad we’re only sharing a car until next month. Another wriggle of joy hits at the thought of Arnold buying me a vehicle of my own.
“Lucky bitch,” Gretchen mouths as I get in the passenger side.
I ignore the heat of his glare. It can’t be due to me—I’ve stayed out of his path all day—but he’s upset.
“Hey. Did you have a nice—”
“I told you to stay away from her.”
“Sorry if I don’t take advice from boys who creep into my bedroom at night.” His eyes blaze until I turn away, muttering, “She’s been really nice to me.”
He pulls across his seat belt and adjusts the wing mirror.
“Would your dad mind if I invited some friends to the house?”
He reverses while I’m waiting for an answer and I grip the dash, concerned at the speed. Students nearby jump out of the way, flipping the bird, yelling arsehole.
I wave to Gretchen, giving an elaborate shrug.
Drake reaches across me, fast, full of anger. His body drags against mine from shoulder to hip, face an inch away as he slams the buckle into place. His breath is hot on my cheek as he snaps, “Stop simping for the school bully and put on your fucking belt.”
He guns the engine, and I grab for the passenger handle as he speeds across the student lot, tyres squealing at the sharp turn onto the street.
“Slow down.”
Instead, he plants his foot, tearing through an intersection against the lights. The crossroad was visibly empty, but still.
I bite my lips to stop another admonishment slipping past, guessing Drake’s day went far worse than mine.
Just as I think we’ll pass the journey in silence, he abruptly asks, “Why do you take those pills?”
“None of your business.”
I fold my arms, staring out the passenger window until the silence is thick enough to cut with a knife.
“Why do you even care?” I flick him a sidelong glance. “You used to smoke with the other stoners behind the bike sheds, and your room stinks of weed. Hypocrite, much?”
He slams on the brakes, momentum throwing me forward until the belt locks, pain igniting along the edge. “What the fuck?”
“Get out.”
A car behind nearly clips us, steering around the side just in time, honking.
The next vehicle does the same.
“Are you crazy? Pull to the side if you want to stop.”
“I told you to get out.” He leans across me, undoing my belt, then hitching the door release, shoving it open. “Out. Now.”
I grab my bag and run for the side of the road, face red. A sharp pain pulses across my torso, and I rub where the belt pulled taut.
Drake floors the accelerator, my door thumping closed as the vehicle lunges forward, soon settling to the speed of the other traffic. Just before the corner, he pulls into the forecourt of a petrol station.
Even from my faraway position, I can see him thumping the wheel.
It takes four minutes to walk there. When I reach him, he’s visibly calmer, eyes coldly watching me approach. I want to keep on walking, but we’re hours away from home. Arnold’s warning about the impossibility of getting around the hills on foot replays dully in my ears.
Still, I hang back until Drake gets out of the vehicle, then ask, “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. The smoulder as his eyes lock to mine would probably set Gretchen alight, but I cross my arms. Wary.
“Too many things to list.” He straightens, palms resting against the top of the car. “You shouldn’t be taking those pills, and you definitely shouldn’t be handing them out to others.”
“It was only—” He cuts me off with another laugh. Harsher. “Fine. I haven’t given anybody, anything. Not since Harriet. They’re just to help me sleep.”
“Yeah, they help all right. You want to know how long it’d take me to wake up if you came into my room at night?”
My chin juts out as I try to pretend the twinges in my stomach are from the seat belt and nothing to do with shame. “I don’t need to know because I wouldn’t do that.”
His eyes linger, then he gives a one-sided shrug. “Fair enough. But I don’t want you bringing that shit into my house again.”
I want him to answer my question. To tell me why it matters, but I already know he won’t. Besides, with so much on the line, it’s not like my mother will continue hooking up with her overly friendly pharmacist.
My supply is cut off, either way.
So, I answer, “Fine. Can I get back in the car now?”
He comes around to my side, staring at me through narrowed eyes, licking his lips. “If you want back inside this vehicle, you’ll have to pay a forfeit.”
“Of what?”
He manoeuvres me until my back is against the rear door of the vehicle, his arms caging me on either side. When he leans in to whisper in my ear, his warm breath sends a shiver racing along my spine.
“Show me the message I wrote.” His cheek brushes against mine, and spit pools in my mouth. The twinge of danger makes the angles of his face look more enticing.
Sick bitch.
He curls his knuckle, tracing my jaw from ear to chin, then following the curve of my throat. The gentle touch exerts just enough pressure to feel along the length of my windpipe, then he taps my collarbone. “Show me my handiwork and I’ll let you back inside for the ride home.”
My nipples stiffen, their outline pressing against the clinging fabric of my blouse. A change he sees, pupils widening until his eyes are black.
When his hand moves, the rough pad of his thumb rubs across the peaks in my shirt. His eyes lock to mine again, leaning closer while my pulse accelerates.
With a gasp, I shove at his chest. “I’m sure Arnold will love this story.” I push again as a car pulls to the kerb behind us.
Hudson gets out of the driver’s seat, expression cautious. “Hey, guys. Are you two okay?”
Drake straightens at the interruption. “We’re fine. Why don’t you—”
“Would you be able to drop me home?” I ask, ducking under Drake’s arm to walk over to Hudson’s vehicle. “If it’s not too far out of your way.”
“Sure. Our house is just around the bend from yours, but—”
I jerk my head towards Drake. “A friend of his called and wants to meet him but I’d rather not.” Then I turn my hopeful gaze back to Hudson. “If that’s okay?”
“Fine by me.” He walks around to open the passenger door for me, checking, “Is that good with you, Blaine?”
He makes a low grunt that could mean anything, but I’m relieved Hudson takes it as acceptance and gets into the driver’s seat, starting the engine. With a smile, he crosses his eyes at me before pulling into the flow of traffic.
I watch Drake in the wing mirror as we drive away. He stands by his car, hands clenched into fists, jaw locked, eyes blazing.
No doubt thinking of all the horrors he’ll inflict on me once I make it home.