come to him. I looked back, as if he had called someone else, just to buy some time.
A girl standing behind me looked behind her, at another girl, who did the same. I acted like I had no idea it was me that he wanted. When I turned back, he had assumed the straight position, his posture posed and prepped for action.
If the mountain wouldn’t come to Muhammad, Muhammad would go to the mountain.
“Wait for me,” I whispered to Violet.
“No worries. I’m not moving.”
I tucked my fingers behind each side of my bag, pulling forward to lighten some of the tension. I stopped longer than I should have to allow cars to move past.
It was hard to decide if the cars were going faster than usual or if I just imagined them going faster than usual. Either way, it was respite, until some clown tooted his horn and motioned me across.
Once across the street, I approached with caution. I added clueless, calm, and controlled to the caution. The four c’s. True opposites of what I felt. But I hoped the mask I slid on conveyed all those things, even if they weren’t true.
“Scarlett.” He nodded.
“Brando.” I nodded back.
“Get in.” He opened the door for me.
“No.” I lifted my chin.
The sucker rolled around his mouth. His jaw pulsed. He lifted a finger. “Once more. Get in.”
“I thank you—” the urge to call him kind sir grew strong, but the look on his face restricted me from speaking those particular words “—but no. I have a ride.” I squeezed the straps of my bag a little tighter.
He leaned down close, even closer, and I could smell cherry on his breath. His nostrils flared. “You lost your chance to ride with Violet. You’re with me now.”
Ha, little did he know! Losing my right to ride with Violet when he stood just a breath from me made me almost high-five myself in triumph. But then I added “childish” to the c’s because I went for it. “I wasn’t riding with Violet.”
Going low really wasn’t my style, but my temper flared. He was acting like my older brother—overprotective and domineering. The only reason he had bothered to come and get me was because he had something to prove. It had nothing to do with us, but everything to do with male pride and an XY agenda.
I didn’t need him to be my brother. I had a brother. I needed him to be something else. If he couldn’t, then I needed to find a way to let go now—or I’d never be able to.
His hands squeezed the metal door, the tendons in his forearms flexing with the pressure. We glared at each other, as well as two people could behind sunglasses, for an uncountable amount of time before his stare took another direction.
“Get in the car, Scarlett, or I’m going to hurt that kid.” His tone was flat and his words a solid promise. My word is as good as my blood. I didn’t doubt it for a second.
“Fine!” I threw my hands up. “You win!”
He took my bag, giving me a hard look when I tried to squirm from him, and then set it in the backseat. Nice and gentle, as though threatening to hurt a kid was on his agenda every day.
The Chevy’s seats were deeper than I expected, so when I plopped down it wasn’t the smooth move I had meant it to be. It didn’t matter. His attention had turned, his warning on the entire school, making all of the watching boys go about their business. He didn’t waste another moment on Ace.
I had to use all forces available to a mere mortal like me to resist hiding my face in my hands and groaning. This, this was something Elliott would’ve done. Or put Brando or Nick up to doing.
“Brando.” I repeated his name several times. I took a deep breath in and huffed it out. I steadied my voice, resisting the tremble that threatened to make me stumble over words. “Can we just go? Please?”
He took his time, but finally, he turned and bent down to meet my eye. “Buckle up.” He straightened and shut the door. Even though the sound of the door shutting could almost be described as a soft click, the calmness of it in the face of his suppressed irritation made me flinch.
The extent of his control was nothing like I had ever felt before; so was the depth of his anger.