Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Izzy
I barely manage to collapse into bed and fall asleep when my alarm starts bleating.
My eyes flash open, and I stare at the ceiling in groggy disbelief.
Is it really time to get up already? I will myself to stand up and turn off the alarm, but I can’t quite summon the strength to move.
My arms and legs feel pinned to the bed. My muscles feel like mush.
Last night rushes back in a blur of memories that doesn’t even make sense. Whatever the hell happened in the library. Wilder holding me, trying to calm me down. The car ride with him and Van...and then the park. I squeeze my eyes shut. It must have been a dream.
There wasn’t anyone chasing me. Or a scary demon creature with an eight-legged horse.
Even the guys didn’t feel real. After all, Wilder doesn’t pay attention to me.
And do I really remember Van being...protective? Yeah, I definitely made that up.
Someone bangs on the door to my room. “You’re going to be late for school, loser.”
Oh, yes. My foster brother, Carl, is always so helpful.
With a groan, I slam the button on my clock and stop the damn alarm from blaring. Then, with another loud groan, I finally stumble out of bed, praying I don’t fall over. My legs feel like they’re made out of jello--not even good jello, like red jello. More like disgusting lime or lemon.
Stumbling down the hall, I make it to the bathroom and feel a wave of gratitude when I find it empty. I brush my teeth in a sleepy haze. Then I grab my hairbrush, preparing to run it through the wild snarls that I call my hair. The brush slips unexpectedly through my soft strands like butter.
Since when is my hair soft? Usually I’d describe it to be more like a rat’s nest in the morning. Weird.
I glance in the mirror, and my own face surprises me.
I’m still me, the same small upturned nose and brown eyes and the scar just under my eyebrow.
But I look… prettier. My brown hair that I’ve always described as mousy has caramel highlights, and it’s smooth and shiny, hanging in loose curls at the ends. It looks like I tried this morning.
I push my hair back from my face, examining my lips, which look full and red, and the pink blush that accentuates the curve of my cheekbones.
I rub my jaw, remembering the two little zits that decorated my face yesterday that I’m pretty sure came into existence because I drool in my sleep, but there aren’t any bumps under my fingertips.
I frown at my reflection. I should be happy that I look nice for once, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something weird going on. I still feel unsettled by my odd dreams.
I know I’m being crazy. Everyone has a good hair day now and then. Not me usually, but hell, it’s possible...
Someone bangs on the front door, but it barely registers in the back of my mind. It’s always the same people in the morning. Friends of the elementary-aged foster kids that live in this house too.
I go back to my room, dress, and grab my backpack. Glancing at my clock, I swear under my breath. I’m going to have to run if I have any chance of making it to school on time. And I need to make it to school on time. I have finals!
I’m halfway down the stairs when I realize the banging has started again. Isn’t anyone going to get that?
“Izzy, I think that’s for you!” My foster-mom sounds aggravated as she shouts from the kitchen.
For me? My ears strain, and for the first time I realize I don’t hear the noises of the younger kids. They must have already left for school. But then, who could it be?
I run the rest of the way, knowing better than to piss off my foster mom. From the moment the kids are out the door, that’s her time. And God help anyone who interrupts it.
When I swing the door open, I freeze. Aiden leans in the doorway, standing like this is the most normal thing in the world.
In shock, my gaze runs over him from head to toe.
He always looks good to me, with his ruffled, dark hair and his big jaw and the way he chews a toothpick absently, but today he looks especially perfect.
His cheekbones are sharp beneath those lush-lashed, deep green eyes.
“Ride to school with me,” he says. “I want to talk.”
His arrogant words snap me out of my ‘stunned by his hottness’ stupor.
“Good morning to you too,” I say, an edge to my words.
Why does he always have to be so damn rude? He gets under my skin, and the worst part is that I always want to give him what he wants anyway. Would it hurt him to at least pretend to be nice to me?
“Yeah, good morning,” he says dryly. “So how about that ride?”
I sigh. It’s probably my only shot at getting to class on time, but this wasn’t at all how I planned this day to go. I’m already nervous enough about finals. The last thing I need is some sexy guy leaving me feeling wired and stressed.
“Fine. I guess.”
He catches my arm, pulling me onto the porch with him.
I turn back to close the door behind us, and when I turn back, he’s right there, so close to me that I almost bump into his chest. I look up into his face, my lips parting in surprise.
“You feeling okay?” he asks. “Anything...weird?”
“Besides this conversation?” I smile to ease the mood. Absently, I tug at the ends of my hair, feeling the curls sliding between my fingers. No, I’m not about to tell him that I woke up pretty this morning. It sounds stupid. “Are you feeling anything weird?”
He shakes his head, but his eyes are troubled. He inclines his head toward his car, parked in his driveway, and the two of us walk across the patchy grass. He heads to the driver’s side, then abruptly comes around the car and swings open the passenger side door.
I stop, staring at him.
“Well?” He sweeps his hand toward the car, the gesture imperious, but there’s a funny look in his eyes.
It’s definitely weird that Aiden just opened the door for me like we’re on a date.
Although any date that ended in homeroom would be a pretty sad one.
“Thanks.” I slip into the passenger seat before he closes the door. Aiden’s car smells good--actually, it smells like him, like his spicy cologne and the faint clove scent he carries on his skin--and the dark leather interior is scrupulously clean.
When he gets into the driver’s seat, a strange tension strains between us. I shift uncomfortably, trying to think of something to say to break the silence.
“Your car is nice.”
He stares at me for a second, and I get the impression I said the wrong thing.
“Nicest thing I own. Well, just about the only thing I own.” When he turns the key in the ignition, rock music blares out of the speakers, and I jump. His eyes flicker toward me as he hits the button, and the car’s suddenly quiet.
I expect him to say something, but he doesn’t. We pull out onto the road and head toward school, silence heavy between us.
“You’re not waiting for Reid?” I ask.
“He’s catching a ride in the geekmobile like usual, I’m sure,” he mutters.
The two of them used to be close, like you’d expect from twins.
Aiden’s always been popular, with a dangerous edge and a quick grin.
Reid is quiet and sensitive; Aiden was fiercely protective of him.
When I moved to this town when we were nine, it took me the longest to get to know Reid.
He wouldn’t talk to me. Then one morning before school—after a very long night in a very bad house—he sat down next to me, pushed his glasses up his nose with one finger, and told me jokes until I couldn’t catch my breath from laughing so hard. And that was that. We were friends.
I had a little-kid crush on all four of them, on Wilder with his freckles and his boyish grin, who ran so fast, and Aiden, who was so cool, and fearless Van, and even quiet, smart Reid, who used to always know what I was thinking.
But then something changed.
And then, when Aiden and Reid lost their sister, they changed. Especially Aiden. I can’t shake the feeling that something else happened that night, but I can’t ask. Aiden and I used to tell each other all our secrets, and now we feel like strangers.
Tension knots my stomach as we drive. The memories from the night before aren’t fading like dreams do. But Aiden doesn’t say anything, even when we pull into the parking lot and he cuts the engine. In front of us, kids slowly make their way to the massive school building, ignoring us entirely.
We’ve got five minutes until we need to head to class. Mr. Guarded is going to need a push or I’ll never know what he wants.
“I thought you wanted to talk,”I say, trying to sound nonchalant.
He nods, biting his lip like he’s holding back some thought. There’s something so sexy about his teeth worrying his pink, kissable lower lip. Then he asks, “How come you never ride to school with me?”
A million excuses come to my mind, but I’m too tired for any of them.
“How come you never ask me, Aiden?” I’m a bit surprised by how quiet my words come out.
He tenses, and his voice becomes defensive. “You know I’m going this way.”
“You know I’m riding the bus,” I say, not backing down.
He rakes his hand through his hair, blowing out a slow breath. “Whatever.”
And here we go. He’s shutting down, even though he’s the one that brought this up.
The truth was, I gave up on inviting myself along anywhere with these guys.
Wilder, Reid, Aiden, and Van fight like they’re all brothers, but the four of them are one tight-knit little unit.
When we were kids, there was room for me to slip into their circle, and then, one day, there wasn’t anymore.
It was… crushing. I already felt like an outsider in my foster family. I didn’t need to feel like an outsider with them too. The people who were supposed to be my friends.
But he gave me an opening; if I didn’t say something now, I never would. “Would asking me really be that hard…”
Something unreadable flashes in his eyes, and he grips the steering wheel, shifting in his seat. “Hey. What happened last night?”