AllFreeNovel
Share Us
More head shaking.
Michael drove slowly down the long driveway, not switching on the headlights until we reached the main road. He turned in the opposite direction of Ivy Springs.
“What about your car?” I asked.
“We’ll pick it up on the way back.”
“On the way back from where?” Ah, my old friend, anxiety—throwing itself into the blender with sheer terror and embarrassment.
“My place,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road.
“Isn’t it in the same direction as my place?”
“No,” he answered with forced patience. “I meant I’m going back to my place at school. And you’re coming with me. There’s someone I need you to meet.”
“Can’t it wait? Who is it? You have a place at school?”
“Would you please stop asking questions for one second? I have to figure out how to handle this.” The tiny muscles in his jaw tightened.
I waited exactly one beat. “When you left today, why didn’t you tell me where you were going?”
Michael let out a loud groan of frustration. “Didn’t I just ask you to stop asking questions?”
“You asked me to stop for one second. You should have been more specific if you wanted longer.” Having a big brother taught me quite a bit about arguing with the intent to wear down my opponent. Like a rat terrier with a pork chop. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to the Hourglass?”
“Well, Emerson, I obviously didn’t want you to follow me.” He turned up the radio in a noticeable ploy to silence me.
“I didn’t follow you. Exactly,” I argued, turning it back down.
“No, you invaded my privacy and then happened to end up at the one place I wanted you to avoid.” He kept his voice controlled, but anger simmered beneath the surface. “You should have stayed away.”
I briefly wondered if I should be afraid instead of mad. Michael had basically carjacked me and was driving somewhere unknown, against my will. That equaled kidnapping. I dug deep, searching for any indication I was scared.
Nope. Just pissed.
We turned down a small side street behind campus. The houses I could see were early-twentieth-century bungalow homes, all well appointed. We pulled into the driveway of one of the nicer ones. It boasted a low-pitched gabled roof, black shutters, and a wide front porch.
Michael came around to open my door. I didn’t move or speak as he took my bag and started for the house. When he realized I wasn’t with him, he turned back to the car, blowing out a gust of air that lifted the hair from his forehead. “Emerson? Don’t make me come and get you.”
I followed him to the front door.
I tiptoed behind him through a dark entryway into a high-ceilinged room with elaborate moldings and wooden floors. A long mahogany table in the back of the room boasted laptops and multiple mugs of coffee in different stages of use. He placed my bag on a side table and dropped down onto one of the leather couches.
“Am I supposed to sit?” I asked, pointing to the cushion beside him. The leather reminded me of a worn baseball glove. “Or did you prefer I wait on the porch?”
He reached up to grab my sleeve and pulled. I landed a little closer to him than I would’ve liked at that moment, but I didn’t move.
“I guess you’re still mad.”
Michael tilted his head to look at me, his lips twisted in disapproval.
“This whole thing is so unfair,” I protested. “You’re keeping secrets. Secrets about me. I know it, you know it—why aren’t we talking about it?”
“Isn’t the information about your ability enough to digest right now?”
“The info is digested, Michael. As a matter of fact, it’s so digested it’s getting ready to come out as a big pile of sh—”
“Don’t get snippy with me.” His eyes flashed a warning.
