"Hey, Taylor! Wait up!"
Soft groan. I knew that conspiracy-freak voice. I rolled down my window and cut off the radio. "Unh?" I demanded, in the most lady-like way possible.
"Construction site, tonight," he informed me. He was nearly bouncing with excitement. "Patrick's in. Keith's in. You're in. Let's go!"
"Awfully fired up about this, aren't you?" I sighed and perched my sunglasses on the top of my head. "You're sure Keith's going to be there?"
"Absolutely. He promised. So you have to come." He leaned on the car door. "Anyway, how come you'll only come if he does? Aren't I good enough?"
"Hahaha. Wait, not joking?" I grinned anyway. "You're not my type."
His expression became serious. "Taylor, sometimes friendship's worth a little time too, you know? We've been friends for years but it's like I don't know you anymore. You don't come near me if Keith isn't around."
I shifted. "I'm busy."
"Not too busy for him."
"Of course not. He's my boyfriend."
"Oh, so screw all your other friends?"
"What time do I have to be there, Brent?" I snapped.
"Six. Don't be late. Eat early. If you even eat." He threw an appreciative glance at my thin figure, then reddened a little and brought his eyes back up to my face.
Uncomfortable, I retorted, "That's not funny."
"Mm. Isn't supposed to be."
"Are you done?"
"I guess I have to be. It's not like you have time for me anyway. Sorry I took up this much of it."
I hit the window button and he yelped in surprise as the glass shot up, taking his arm with it. I paused. "Remove your arm from my car, or my car will remove your arm."
He looked disgusted as he jerked his hand back. "See you tonight, Taylor."
"Goodie."
Press the brake. Move the gear shift. Let up the brake. Back out. Good. I wondered why I was thinking myself through this. I turned the radio back on and pulled out onto the road. Brent had rattled me. What about it had rattled me?
Did he mean anything by any of it? Did he care about me? I snorted. Tough luck for him if he did.
Way to be a good friend, Taylor.
"'S not my fault if he has a crush on me," I muttered out loud.
Before I could figure out exactly why I was talking to myself, the backpack I'd thrown on the passenger seat started... rustling. I went still, taking my eyes off the cement in front of me. They rested on the shaking bag. "What the hell --" The zipper started sliding back, and I had a flash of two black, mutated sticks clutching it. There was just nothing to do but scream, so I did. I closed my eyes and screamed as loudly as I could and realized -- when the car's front wheels thudded onto a curb -- that maybe, just maybe, closing my eyes was a really bad idea.
Trembling, I clutched at the strap of the backpack and jerked it hard. "Come out of there!" I yelled. "Get out!"
Nothing. The bag stopped shaking, the top of it now open. I parked the car in an empty driveway and jumped out. I grabbed the bookbag and threw it at the cement.
{Oww!}
I froze, then kicked at the black fabric. "Get out of my bookbag!"
A fly that must have landed nearby, unnoticed in my terror-crazed distraction, buzzed away from the bag. I ignored it. I had bigger problems. Summoning all my courage, I jerked the bag open and stared in.
Nothing. "WHERE ARE YOU!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. I threw it against the ground, once, twice, three times. I slammed my foot down on the crumpled heap of fabric, books, and paper that remained. "Out! Out! Out!" I wondered if I was squishing some mutated creature beneath my designer shoes. I wonder if I was getting guts all over my homework. I screamed again, less coherently this time.
A little more tapdancing. A little more hollering. A little more frustration. "GET THE FLAMING FU--"
"Excuse me, ma'am?"
Very slowly, I stepped off my bookbag. Very slowly, I turned to face the elderly man standing on his porch, shading his eyes from the sun with a shaking hand.
"Uh. Yessir?"