“I’m starting to think the only reason you keep offering me a ride is because you know how not fond I am of this thing.” I blew out a jittery sigh, scrunched the helmet on, then swung on behind him. It wasn’t entirely my fault that I was snuggled up close to him. The seat wasn’t exactly spacious.
Patch made a low sound of amusement. “I can think of a couple other reasons.”
He sped down the straightaway of the garage, gunning it toward the exit. A redandwhitestriped traffic arm and an automatic ticket machine barred the exit. I was just wondering if Patch would slow long enough to feed money into the machine, when he brought the bike to a smooth stop, jolting me even closer into him. He fed the machine, then floored the bike up onto the street above.
Patch edged his bike up my driveway, and I held on to him to keep my balance while I climbed off. I handed back the helmet.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said.
“What are you doing Saturday night?”
A moment’s pause. “I have a date with the usual.”
This appeared to spark his interest. “The usual?”
“Homework.”
“Cancel.”
I was feeling a lot more relaxed. Patch was warm and solid, and he smelled fantastic. Like mint and rich, dark earth. Nobody had jumped out at us on the ride home, and all the windows on the lower level of the farmhouse glowed with light. For the first time all day I felt safe.
Except that Patch had cornered me in a dark tunnel and was possibly stalking me. Maybe not so safe.
“I don’t go out with strangers,” I said.
“Good thing I do. I’ll pick you up at five.”
CHAPTER 17
THERE WAS COLD RAIN ALL SATURDAY, AND I SAT NEAR the window watching it pepper down on the growing puddles in the lawn. I had a dogeared copy of Hamlet in my lap, a pen tucked behind my ear, and an empty mug of hot chocolate at my feet. The sheet of reading comprehension questions on the side table was just as white as it had been when Mrs. Lemon passed it out two days ago. Always a bad thing.
My mom had left for yoga class almost thirty minutes ago, and while I’d practiced a few different ways of breaking the news of my date with Patch to her, in the end I’d let her walk out the door without vocalizing any of them. I told myself it was no big deal, I was sixteen and could decide when and why I left the house, but the truth was, I should have told her I was going out. Perfect. Now I was going to be carting around my guilt all night.
When the grandfather clock in the hall chimed to announce 4:30, I gladly tossed aside the book and jogged upstairs to my bedroom. I’d burned through most of the day with homework and chores, and that had kept my mind off tonight’s date. But now that I was down to the final minutes, nervous anticipation overruled all. Whether or not I wanted to think about it, Patch and I had unfinished business. Our last kiss got cut short. Sooner or later, the kiss would need resolving. I had no doubt I wanted resolution, I just wasn’t sure I was ready for it tonight. On top of all this, it didn’t help that Vee’s warning kept popping up like a red flag at the back of my mind. Stay away from Patch.
I positioned myself in front of the bureau mirror and took inventory. Makeup was minimal, reserved to a sweep of mascara. Too much tumbleweed hair, but what else was new? Lips could use some gloss. I licked my bottom lip, giving it a wet shine. That got me thinking more about my almostkiss with Patch, and I got an involuntary rush of heat. If an almostkiss could do that, I wondered what a fullon kiss could do. My reflection smiled.
“No big deal,” I told myself while trying on earrings. The first pair was big, loopy, and turquoise … and tried too hard. I put them aside and tried again with topaz teardrops. Better. I wondered what Patch had in mind. Dinner? A movie? “It’s a lot like a biology study date,” I told my reflection nonchalantly.
“Only … without the biology and studying.”
I tugged on matchstick jeans and ballet flats. I wrapped a Hallyblue silk scarf around my waist, up over my torso, then tied the ends behind my neck to fashion a halterstyle blouse. I fluffed my hair, and there was a knock at the door.
“Coming!” I hollered down the stairs.
I did one final check in the hall mirror, then opened the front door and found two men in dark trench coats standing on the porch.
“Nora Grey,” said Detective Basso, holding up his police badge. “We meet again.”
It took a moment to find my voice. “What are you doing here?”
He tipped his head sideways. “You remember my partner, Detective Holstijic. Mind if we step inside and ask you a few questions?” It didn’t sound like he was asking permission. In fact, it sounded just this side of a threat.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, dividing a glance between them.
“Is your mom home?” Detective Basso asked.
“She’s at yoga. Why? What’s going on?”
They wiped their feet and stepped inside.
“Can you tell us what happened between you and Marcie Millar at the library Wednesday evening?”
Detective Holstijic asked, plunking down on the sofa. Detective Basso remained standing, scrutinizing the family pictures arranged on the mantel.
His words took a moment to register. The library. Wednesday evening. Marcie Millar.
“Is Marcie okay?” I asked. It was no secret I didn’t hold a warm, affectionate place in my heart for Marcie. But that didn’t mean I wanted her in trouble, or worse, in danger. I especially didn’t want her in trouble if it appeared to involve me.
Detective Basso put his hands on his hips. “What makes you think she’s not okay?”
“I didn’t do anything to Marcie.”
“What were the two of you arguing about?” Detective Holstijic asked. “Library security told us things were getting heated.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“What was it like?”
“We called each other a few names,” I said, hoping we could leave it at that.
“What kind of names?”
“Stupid names,” I said in retrospect.
“I’m going to need to hear those names, Nora.”